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| A Moroccan woman and I enjoy a quick break from the hot, Moroccan sun. |
DAY ONE
At 3 o'clock on Friday afternoon, I boarded a coach bus full of American students and elderly Spanish tourists with nothing but an efficient travel backpack and a sense of adventure. I was off to Morocco with an open mind and some pre-Africa jitters, which were to be expected. Most of Friday was spent traveling, hauling down the highway towards Cádiz to pick up some more elderly Spanish folk, and then Algeciras, where we boarded a 45-minute ferry towards Africa. On the way, we passed through the Strait of Gibraltar, and saw the awesome Rock of Gibraltar on the horizon. We finally arrived at the border patrol in Ceuta, an autonomous city that is under Spanish rule, but is surrounded by Moroccan territory, at around 7:30 p.m. Maybe it was the ominous warning, "Don't take pictures of the Moroccan police!" or maybe it was the shocking sight of 10 Moroccan men using a rope to repel over the border fence, but, while waiting at the border patrol, I finally realized that there were stark differences between Morocco and my homeland, the U.S. I grew anxious, ready to explore the new culture and people that lay ahead. We drove on and finally stopped in a small fishing village outside of Tetuan to eat a traditional Moroccan dinner of vegetable soup, chicken with lemon and olives, and custard before retiring for the evening. I met my roommate for the weekend, an Englishman named Adil who is also studying in Seville, and we watched a little bit of "Arab's Got Talent" before falling asleep.
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| The Rock of Gibraltar encircled by clouds. |
DAY TWO
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| Hamed poses for a picture. |
The next day, we woke up at 7:30 a.m. (6:30 Moroccan time--we stayed on Spanish time throughout the trip because the one hour time difference was negligible) ready to embark on our first real experience through Morocco. After a meager breakfast, we drove towards Chefchaouen, a small village carved into the green mountains of Northern Morocco, and our tour guide, Larvi, narrated our journey. He spoke of the diverse terrain of Morocco, ranging from rolling pastures to towering mountains and from frigid ski slopes to scorching desert. Along the way, we passed many Moroccan farmers, some shepherding their sheep, donkeys and cattle, others peddling their fresh, handmade goat cheese on the side of the road. Once we arrived in Chefchaouen, we met our new guide, Hamed, a tiny, caricature of a typical Moroccan man, wearing traditional garments, a fez and yellow, clog-like shoes. As he snorted crushed tobacco off of his hand, he ushered us through the narrow, winding streets of Chefchaouen. The true appeal of the village is its quaintness. Chefchaouen has its steep streets cut right into the Moroccan mountain range and is entirely painted blue. The pale blue coloring not only keeps the mosquitoes at bay (mosquitoes apparently hate the color blue), but it also serves as a means of communication. For example, blue paint on the streets themselves means a dead end, where as blue on the houses alone signifies open road. As we strolled the residential areas, I took notice of the customary style of Morocco. The female inhabitants of Chefchaouen and most of Morocco wear long garments and headdresses called hijab, while the elderly men wear long, colored outfits with pointed hoods (eerily similar to Ku Klux Klan uniforms). On our way, we stopped at a weaving cooperative. There, we sat down for a 20-minute presentation of handwoven fabrics, sheets and comforters. The owner of the store spoke eloquently about the detail and time devoted to each fabric. He spoke in perfect Spanish, as most Moroccans have an understanding of Arabic, French, Spanish and even English based on their schooling and their former imperial occupiers. Later, we were able to see the looms and browse the items for sale. Finally, we were provided an hour of free time, where we strolled marketplaces with bushels full of spices, racks of Arabic garments and stacks of ceramics, before meeting up for lunch. Seated upon cushioned benches, we ate diced cucumber, tomato and red onion salad, followed by a stew of carrots, potatoes, zucchini and goat meat still on the bone. We bid goodbye to Hamed and left Chefchaouen, driving around the curved, twisty avenues alongside the Moroccan mountains on our way towards Tangier.
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| I camouflage myself in Chefchaouen. |
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| I ride a gallant Moroccan camel. |
Before Tangier, we made several stops along the Atlantic Ocean, first at the Caves of Hercules. The Caves of Hercules are mostly made by the Atlantic sea eroding away a rock face to form a dank passageway. Inside, there is a beautiful view of the ocean, as well as some wry salesmen, setting up their shops inside of several crevices in the rock. Further down the road, we unloaded once again for a camel ride. A friendly Moroccan man led me down the beach for a while, as I my camel strode lackadaisically behind him. Our last stop was at a yellow lighthouse, a seemingly inconsequential landmark but for one small detail: the lighthouse marks the invisible point at which the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea meet. To put the icing on the cake, we arrived just before sunset, basking in the magnitude of the moment and the accomplishments of the day. We continued on to Tangier, passing some royal palaces of the Moroccan king, as well as the royal getaways of some kings from Saudi Arabia and other Middle Eastern monarchies. While we were unable to capture photographs of these huge residences because of the large walls and gated areas, it was still a sight to see. Finally, we arrived at Tangier, a more urban, cluttered Moroccan city, where we had some free time to explore before dinner and bed. We were greeted off of the bus by some Moroccan salesmen, licking their lips at the opportunity to confront some Americans. Let me simply say that Moroccan salesmen are relentless. During our trip, they followed us around, trying to force watches onto the wrists of witless tourists and haggling continuously to fall upon the appropriate price. I was pretty proud of myself when I bought an Arabic garment: the man asked for twenty euros, but I said, "That's way too high" and walked out. Seconds later, he grabbed me from outside the store, brought me back inside and we settled on a more appropriate price, 13 euros. Yet, my friend Adil was victimized twice for his kindness. On one occasion, he bought some biscuits and sweets from a shop and was jumped by several little kids. They outstretched their hands and Adil opened his box to show them his five pastries. They took four, leaving him but one. Then, as he bit into his final biscuit, a little girl came up to him. He pointed to show her where he had bitten it, but she nabbed it right from his hand and finished it anyways. Later on, he stood idly by as an Arabic saleswoman put a bracelet around his wrist and asked for a euro. He gave it to her since the bracelet was already tied firmly to his wrist. As for the nighttime activities, I would have been more prone to explore the nightlife of the city to some extent, but the girls on our trip were cautioned that women seen out at night are thought to be "prostitutes" and are treated as such. Furthermore, I was feeling under the weather Saturday night, so I stayed in after dinner to watch some of the Barcelona vs. Real Sporting soccer match.
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| The lighthouse that marks the conjunction of the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea. |
DAY THREE
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| Bushels of spices at the Tetuan marketplace. |
Sunday, the final day of the trip started with adventure and ended back in Seville. Our group made its way into Tetuan, a unique city not too far from Tangier. We encountered a new tour guide who took us past the another Royal residence and into the Jewish quarter. Currently, only one Jewish family still resides in the so-called Jewish quarter, with the other Jewish families of Tetuan residing elsewhere. (Morocco is about 98% Muslim, with the other 2% Arab Christians, Spanish Christians, French Christians, and some remaining Jews who were expelled from Spain during the Spanish Inquisition.) Though Morocco is heavily dominated by Muslims, the Moroccan people pride themselves on their acceptance of other religions and the harmony between religious groups. The Jewish quarter retains its name because of its heritage: the balconies of the tightly packed houses are uncharacteristic of Arab architecture because Muslim women in the strict Arab culture of older Tetuan were not allowed to show themselves to the public. Now, Morocco is more liberal and a law was recently passed prohibiting men from polygamy, but our tour guide, who was middle-aged, told us he has three wives and we still saw some women wearing burkas that covered all of their faces except for their eyes. The other reason the Jewish quarter is still called as such is because the stores are still characteristic of the ancient Jewish quarter of 15th and 16th century Tetuan. There are jewelry shops, cobblers, garment shops and the like. On our way, we managed to stop at a spice and natural remedies shop. Once there, the proprietor gave us a presentation of different spices and blends, some used for curing hangovers, others for softening the skin, and others simply for seasoning curry. The walls were all lined with jars of diverse natural concoctions, making the shop an awesome sight to see. After the tour of the main square, the Jewish quarter and the spice shop, we made our way to lunch, our last meal in Morocco. Though the food was not the best, the atmosphere of the last lunch was fantastic. As we ate couscous, vegetables and lamb, we were entertained by Moroccan minstrels, Moroccan drummers and a Moroccan man who balanced candles on a large platter atop his head. The lunch was a great way to end the trip and we headed home towards Seville at 3 o'clock p.m., everyone reflecting positively on our time in Morocco.
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