A Minha Vida

Povo Que Lavas no Rio

This is one of my favorite Portuguese songs.  The lyrics and the music make me feel very nostalgic.

Enjoy x

A trip to Morocco and a journey into my soul

 

I had only just managed to get into bed 20 minutes before the alarm went off at 2am.  That night, while everyone was sleeping, I was working on publishing March's issue of NAFOURA Magazine.  I was really tired, numb in fact, but, putting all of the tiredness aside, I had to get ready to drive everyone to the airport.  The flight was scheduled to leave at 6am, so there was no time to waste.  We were all very tired, but excited about our trip to Morocco. 

We were all excited to have arrived in Marrakech.  The passport control hall was jam packed with people, and the queues moved very slowly.  On a positive note, when we did eventually get passed passport control our bags were ready for collection.  The journey to Dar Nimbus was relatively quick and straightforward.  The taxi driver dropped us off near the gates to the old city (the Medina) and then one of the Riad's workers, Ali, met us and led us to our accommodation.  On route, we met up with Karim, the Riad Manager, and he then showed us to our rooms.  My friends had decided to go exploring, while Maani and I had a nap.  I was shattered, as I had only managed to get 20 minutes of sleep the night before. 

  

We had woken up to a very quiet Riad, with little birds chirping away and the sound of flowing air brushing against the leaves of the plants in the courtyard.  We showered, got dressed and then walked over to the other Riad, where we met up with the girls.   They looked quite stressed (but in good spirit) and of course they had a story to tell us.  While on their tra vels in the Medina, a maze of streets and little walkways, they got lost and then acquired several unofficial guides who had led them virtually everywhere, including a tannery that had workers knee high in pigeon poo making leather, and had cost them 100 dirham (equivalent to £10) to eventually (3 hours later) find their way back to the Riad, just ten minutes before Maani and I had met them in their courtyard.  They were tired and hungry and needed to take in everything that had just happened.  

 

A while later, we set foot to try and find the Jemaa (main square in the Medina), where we would be able to have an early dinner and watch the snake charmers and entertainers.  We ended up walking for at least two hours, through the maze of streets and walkways.  It was a bit stressful, because all of the locals could see that we were tourists and no one would guide us in the right direction without a fee.   All of the houses are painted the same and everything pretty much looks the same.  The people walk around in galabeyas (long robes with hoods) and the women also wear headscarves.  Anyone not wearing these items automatically stands out, hence we were prime targets.    

From past experience of doing business in developing countries, a compliment is almost always the start of a business proposition.  To those who are unaware of this custom, and who by their very nature seek compliments, they can be easily lured into giving away all of their money without even realising that they have been duped for the sake of someone telling them that they are beautiful and that they have a nice arse! When we eventually found the square, we had a walk around and found a quaint restaurant serving Moroccan food.  To be honest, pretty much everywhere in Morocco serves Moroccan food, so the chances of eating authentic food are in your favour.   

After dinner we took a stroll around the square, where performers and artists put on little shows with snakes and musical instruments in exchange for tips.  Beware, some performers are really pushy and can be very aggressive when you don't tip them what they ask for!  One instance that comes to mind was when a Henna artist grabbed one of my friend's hands and lured her in with compliments and kind words. Moments later she is getting Henna painted on her hand and when it is finished the woman tells her that she needs to pay 200 dirham (equivalent to £20) for something that shouldn't have cost her more than 70 dirham (equivalent to £7) max. As it happened my friend only had 20 dirham, and I had to try to negotiate with the woman to take 40 dirham (equivalent to £4), which was what she was paid in the end, despite her annoyance, aggression, and blatant disapproval with this sum of money.  So the moral of the story is to always agree a fee before actually having a service carried out.  

That evening we had a debate, on the terrace of the Riad, about whether it is an act of charity to get ripped off by a Moroccan Marketeer.  If one had the means to afford 200 dirham for a henna tatoo, would you pay it without haggling, knowing that the service being carried out is not worth more than 70 dirham?  The views were split.  I felt that irrespective of whether or not you have the means to pay over the odds for something, you shouldn't mixup being ripped off as being an act of charity.  These people have difficult jobs, but that happens all over the world.  When one tourist takes the view that it is ok to be ripped off for a service, then they set the precedent that all tourists have the same mindset.  These marketeers are accustomed to the age old tradition of haggling, it is a part of their culture and also their social interactions with customers.

The following day we decided to take a train trip to Casablanca.  For some reason, we were lead to believe that the journey would only be a couple of hours each way.  So, we  ventured off at midday to find a taxi to drive us to Marrakech train station.  We took the next available train to Casablanca, which cost us 140 dirham (equivalent of £13) each way in first class.  It was a long train journey, and we hadn't packed any lunch to take with us.  To make matters worse, we only found out halfway to Casablanca that the journey was actually 4 hours each way!  When we eventually arrived in Casablanca, the next and last train was due to depart in two hours, which meant that we had just over an hour to go into the city, have lunch and make our way back to the station.  

 

One of the girls had strained her foot, from all of the walking on the previous day.  It had also become apparent that it was going to be unlikely that we would be able to see much of Casablanca, given the amount of time we had.  Everyone was hungry and by the time we managed to find a place to eat.  We only had an hour to eat and then make our way back to the station.  The cafe that we chose was grubby and very basic.  The food was greasy and the salt looked like it had fallen on the ground a couple of times and then picked up and put back into the little pot.  Furthermore, when we tried to settle the bill, the waiter had added an extra 40 dirham to the total amount, which got disputed and eventually we agreed on a more realistic total. After dinner, the girls went to sit down in the square, while Maani and I tried to find a grocer that sold bandages, paracetamol, and snacks.  I tried to buy oranges from a couple of fresh fruit stands, and they tried to charge me 20 dirham (equivalent to £2) for 4 locally grown oranges and 3 bananas!  Finally, when we got to the platform, we ended up waiting another hour for the train to arrive, as it had been delayed.  I am sure that it must be quite obvious that we did not have a very pleasant trip to Casablanca. 

 

On the following day (Sunday), we had planned an excursion to the Atlas Mountains.  The guide took us to a natural cosmetics farm on route to the Mountains.  It was quite an experience to see how the locals harness oil from the fruits of the Argan tree and then use this oil in their cooking as well as beauty products.  I was taken back by the whole environment and the people that I ended up getting told off by the farm guide for not paying attention to her talking!  We were then led into a tent where tea was served and then the same guide gave us a demonstration of all of the cosmetics and creams and then later tried to sell them to us.  The next stop was an essential oils farm, where locals grow various medicinal plants and herbs and use these to create various medicinal mixtures to treat a variety of conditions and illnesses.  While we were trying to park at the Berber Pharmacy, a motorcyclist crashed into the mountain guide's van!  

 

After lunch we set foot to climb a part of the Atlas Mountains to see a waterfall.  I had worn the most inappropriate pair of shoes ever!  The climb took as through a small village, then past these small cafes and small mountain souvenir shops, set up alongside the route.  I realised how much I hate heights and on a few occasions, when I had to cross these flimsy wooden bridges, I actually froze still with fear. Maani was very helpful, especially as he hates heights too, and he was always encouraging and affectionate.  I know, I was a typical girl, but at least I did it.  I got to the top and saw the waterfall, which was a naturally beautiful sight. 

After our rock climbing excursion, we stopped off at a local off license to buy some wine and vodka, which isn't always that easy to find when you are a tourist in a muslim country.  On our way back to the car, we picked a couple of oranges from a tree.   When we later tried them we came to the conclusion that the reason that they are free is because they were lemons in disguise!  

Maani and I spent the last day walking around the Jemaa and picking up some items, tajine, galabeyas, and shisha, from the souk.  It was a quiet day, which was nice.  We also tried some fresh OJ for £.50p, from the stands located in in the middle of the Jemaa.  The oranges, as opposed to the 'lemons in disguise', are actually very tasty!  I really enjoyed this day.   

The following day we made it back to London.  Oddly, the flight felt quicker than when we went out to Marrakech.  I also got to see the Straits of Gilbralter from the plane window!  Ok, it wasn't anything spectacular, but it was cool to actually see it live than to see it on a map.  Anyway, when we arrived at Luton Airport, everyone went their seperate ways, and I was quite pleased to finally be back in my own bed! Morocco was certainly a trip with many stories!