Arriving in Morocco

(Two days worth)

Loaded with full camping backpacks and an eager, younger brother, we began our journey. The 23 hours it took to get us to Morocco were filled with excitement and a 7-hour layover in Paris, my favorite city in the world. There was only enough time for one stop, and I insisted it be at the Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise to say hello to an old friend. My hero and idol, Jim Morrison of The Doors, rests in this famous cemetery. After hopping the gates surrounding his grave to take a picture with the Lizard King, we grabbed a quick Parisian lunch and headed to the city's other airport for the last leg of our flight to Morocco. I couldn't imagine a better start to our adventure.

We finally made it to Morocco after 23 hours of traveling! To the sedentary reader, this country is a complete change compared to the fast-paced, western world in which we live. By walking into Djemaa el-Fna, the main square and open air theatre of Marrakech, you are surrounded by the sensation of new smells and sights almost unheard of in the United States. Rass El Hanout, the most popular of Moroccan spices consisting of a strong cumin scent and 34 other herbs, is completely dominating and cooked in with almost every exotic delicacy. Our mother kept us from trying the sheep's head, but there's still tomorrow. However, the boiled snails were quite delicious. Walking by the food tents, vendors called for us to stop at their stand promising better provisions than either of their neighbor chefs, although each had the same menu, price and number of customers.

Adjacent to the dining area was a carnival of monkey-tamers, snake-charmers, cross-dressing belly dancers, and a troupe of South African performers that were truly mystifying. Unfortunately, to take pictures of each of these "carnies" meant we had to tip them or be prepared for a fight. Five times a day, calls to prayer (adhan) come from the top of the minaret at the Koutoubia Mosque, which can be heard throughout the surrounding area. A bar above the square provided a great view of the sunset over all the hustle that took place below. As the sky darkened, lights popped on at every vendor and the party did not end until midnight, although we retired long beforehand.

When we came back to our riad (Arabic for house), a candlelit table had already been set in the middle of the courtyard and a traditional moroccan dinner was prepared for us. A starter course consisted of aubergine (eggplant), baked cauliflower, and green beans with pesto. Tajine chicken with lemon, olives and potatoes (dujaj mqalli bil hamd markd wa zeetoun) came next. Tajine is a Moroccan stew cooked in a conical, terra cotta pot. For dessert, we had sweet melon and the standard Moroccan mint tea.

As we have come to find, tea is very important to this culture. It is served at each private gathering as a sign of respect to visitors. The customary Moroccan tea is any green tea brewed over a low flame then adding a large handful of fresh mint. As our guide Abdula told us, it is prepared in front of guests and served with a large block of sugar that you hammer into pieces. How the tea is poured also holds significance. Starting low, the server lifts the kettle high above the glass to make sure bubbles form on top of the liquid, confirming that it is good tea. Pouring in this manner is also symbolic of the earth, sky and rain. Earth being the glass, sky being the kettle and the tea is the rain giving life.

Today, our second day in Marakech, took us through the labyrinth of small alleyways making up the heart of the medina, or walled-in old town. Riding in the back seat of an old Volkswagon bus, we watch intensely as our the driver comes dangerously close to the taxi in front of us while trying his hardest not to run over pedestrians walking into the streets hardly wide enough for our vehicle. Motorbikes speed by on either side of the two-way roads barely escaping this chaotic traffic. How they manage on the streets, I will never know, but I am awed by the fact that we haven't seen a single traffic accident although the people cross roads like city squirrels (of which Morgan is very afraid).

We made it to two 16^th century palaces have been turned into museums allowing tourists to wonder at the craftsmanship of the ancient buildings. Both palaces, Al Badi Palace and Palace Dar Si Said, were once inhabited by brothers and detailed in similar ways; with colorful mosaic tiles on the floors and walls and hand painted wooden ceilings. The moldings inside doorways were all made of stucco with hand-carved and -painted designs decorating them. Display cases held decorative weapons, jewelry, carpets and clothing; popular items from when the brothers still lived there with their harem.

The Saadian Tombs was our next stop. Because a sultan jealous he could not pray in the former palace’s mosque, the tombs were closed off for hundreds of years. Now, you can walk up to what used to be the mosque and gaze at each tomb that rises from the ground at heights depending on your importance in the family. The sultan’s tomb was obviously the highest. Surrounding this room was a courtyard filled with the tombs of all the family’s servants, also raised depending on favor. All three of these are must see places if you want to get the sightseeing experience of Marrakech. Ali Ben Youssef Medersa, the Islamic university from 1565-1960, has been reopened as a museum and worth a stop as well.

But, the real thrill was being led into a pharmacy of herbs and spices and where specials have an arsenal of containers holding different spices to remedy any ailment, dead rodents for black magic, and dried flowers to be used as perfumes.. The specialist hands you a menu of their stock with the different usages and lets you sample how rose oil helps relieve migraines or black seeds help clear sinuses and hay fever. We loaded up on herbal remedies to bring home.

The rug shop we went to next took us even further into the culture. Tea was served as the proprietor pulled out a plethora of rugs varying in size, color and weaving methods. A detailed explanation gave us insight into history of the Moroccan people. For most of time, their stories were not recorded, but passed down by mouth or symbolized in the different patterns and weaves in their rugs. For instance, tassels are only on one end of the rug, because like life, it will keep going on.

New York has Mulberry Street; Mexico City has the Flea Market; Marrakech has the Souks. The medina alleyways are lined with little shops to buy souvenirs for yourself and trinkets for friends back home. Famous for their work with cedar wood and iron casting, we bought a couple chess boards and boxes and a new teakettle, along with a few gifts. A drunken brawl erupted further into the alleys, and I, like an amateur, had already run out of pictures on my camera. This meant I also missed the 10+ Moroccans crowding around a small TV, furious that the USA soccer team had tied the match with Slovenia.

We kept going on and made it to New Town for dinner. This area, called Gueliz, named for the French church of the area, is almost a different world. Modernization has taken over and the robes and covers that characterize Old Town give way to tight dresses, neon lights and chic stores. This did not stop us from having a very Moroccan meal of Bar-B-Que’d chicken and beef parts, including the heart, which tastes remarkably like spare ribs or unfinished jerky. This place does not cease to amaze me!