“They’re going to try to buy you for camels”

Morocco. Maroc. Exotic. Exciting. Terrifying. Before heading across seas, I omitted Morocco when telling most people of my plans to travel. I didn’t want to hear peoples’ concerns about me boldly wandering into Africa, with Kristin (also blonde) minus a guide and minus a plan. The idea itself freaked me out. Below is a brief review of peoples’ thoughts on Morocco pre-our travels there.

Kristin: We’re going! It’s someplace I’ve always wanted to go. My professor says that it’s really safe- even for two blonde girls our age. My mom’s friend loved it. It’s going to be amazing.
Me: I just don’t know. I’m worried about getting hassled, I’m worried about people bothering us on the street. I’m worried about not knowing the language. I’m worried about traveling in Africa.
My dad: If you go, you should definitely get a guide.
My mom: Don’t go. I can’t control it, but I don’t think you should go. The guidebook doesn’t say good things about it. Maybe your friends in Madrid (Spaniards) can give you advice.
Friends in Madrid (Spaniards):
Why are you going to Morocco? It’s a dirty, dirty place.
You two? With your hair? They are going to try to buy you for camels. They offered my friend’s father 30 camels for her hand in marriage.
Be careful. Don’t drink in Morocco, and don’t trust any of the men.
I worked in Morocco for a while. You have to be careful of the guides, because they get a big commission and just want you to buy stuff everywhere you go.
Be careful. You’ll be fine.
Guidebook: Morocco is a place full of cultural and natural beauty. It’s also full of headaches for travelers.

Naturally, we took into account everyone’s opinion and booked a flight from Madrid to Marrakech. J Kristin made me read the guidebooks in the hostel and on the plane with the hopes that I would feel less concerned- and it did help! The books described how personal security is not a problem- one does have to worry about faux guides and people giving you the wrong directions, and the occasional catcall. Such incidences are apparently similar to dealing with 13 year olds- with a big mouth but unlikely to back it up! The flight to Marrakech was beautiful and calm with several attractive, international male flight attendants. When we arrived at the airport and climbed down the stairs to the runway, I felt a great sense of calm as well. It was warm, the airport was beautiful and almost empty. I got the sense that the oasis of calm would not persist, and I was right! We got a taxi to take us to our riad (hotel), passed beautiful orange trees and an old city wall, nearly hit three separate motobikes, and turned onto a narrow, bustling street. Bustling is not the word, but words fail to describe the amount of activity and sensory stimulation that we encountered on our trip to our riad. Two young boys directed the taxi to turn around, and the driver somehow managed to do a u-turn on the narrow street without running into the open construction pit, carts and donkeys, various motobikes, and many pedestrians. When we arrived at the drop off point, the boys grabbed our luggage and took us to our riad. Helpful, because we never ever would have found it without them. The taxi driver “didn’t have change” for the 150 dirham (approx 20 dollar) trip, and I let Kristin deal with negotiations. When the boys dropped us off at a beautiful and imposing blue door, they requested 100 dirham for their service, which Kristin gave them. They then clarified- 100 a piece! 100 a piece! Although they lingered for a long time begging and pleading for more, they never turned hostile when the answer remained “no.” They stuck their heads in the door on the way out: “Merci! Merci!”

Left on our own, Kristin and I faced Riad Ghallia, for which I will now do a short publicity stint. It was a haven of calm. Kristin and I shared the blue room, with a thick royal blue velvety curtain separating the giant bed from the rest of the room. The bed was equipped with many blankets (no heat in Morocco!), our favorite of which was a reversible tiger-lion print felt deal. We had an amazing shower and our own space and quite a different atmosphere than the hostels in Madrid! The amazing owners, Thierry and Thierry (both gay and French and wonderful- think crepe-providing travel guides with precious accents) were great, as were the other members of their staff. Our favorite was the live-in butler/servant man, who let us in each night when we felt like we were breaking some type of curfew (although we entered around 10 pm- also a different atmosphere than Madrid!). Although we shared no language in common with him, we maintained a special bond- even when Kristin and I lost the riad’s laptop in our room temporarily and almost ended up in jail (I’m sure). In summary, tell me if you ever travel to Marrakech and I will personally draw you a map to the hostel. It was wonderful!!

This is how I found Morocco: a site of contradictions. In the airport, and within our hostel, behind thick doors with immense deadbolts and on the rooftop terrace, I have never felt more serene or secure. We slept better than ever in our lives, and when we didn’t want to get up, we slept a little more. The complete lack of light and sound in our room at night was marvelous. As soon as we exited the doors of the riad, we found ourselves in the fray: many children playing drums, small fires on the street, people selling leather purses and plates on blankets just outside of the pharmacy, one man who sat with a small table and the leg of a cow (maybe cow?), hoof still attached, everyday, (hoping to sell it I think). Some women covered all except their eyes, and some women looked as though they had stepped out of an Express catalogue. Women acted as though they didn’t see us. Most men were indifferent, but some offered help or a friendly (?) cry of “Fish and Chips!” (the connotation of which we are still trying to figure out). J As we navigated the streets we were confronted with lots of helpful children, offering directions and advice in the hopes of a “gift” in exchange. But we were never in serious danger, no matter how many times we walked one way, then turned around and retraced our steps through windy, unmarked alleyways. We took our hand-drawn map from the riad and looked for landmarks along the way: taxi stop, mosque, aluminum covered passageway, man selling cow leg. When we successfully made our way to “the big square” for the first time, we couldn’t believe how beautiful or bustling it was. We felt proud and relieved and unsure of how to get home (our hand drawn map showed a different way for night!)

One negative about Morocco is that you can’t ever pause to look at your map. Being immobile and every so slightly less than 100% confident will make you an easy target for young boys, who assure you that they know the way, not to worry, etc. You will inevitably get distracted by them, be unable to locate yourself on any sort of map, follow them a bit on unmarked streets, and be more lost than every in your life. And so our first night, we found ourselves in Marrakech after dark, completely reliant on complete strangers. At this point one can’t help but stop and wonder what would happen if the boys decided that they didn’t like you or that they didn’t particularly care if you returned to your riad. Fortunately, we never found out. We arrived home our first night in Morocco tired, a bit upset, and out a few more dirhams. But we arrived. Such was our trip in Morocco. Whenever a tricky situation appeared and my heart started to pound, somebody helpful would show us the way and compassionately look after us. Older people often shooed the boys away and took the time to make sure we were on the right track. People informed us of the old custom of trading camels for daughters, but never once were we presented with a serious offer. And once we returned to our beautiful and tranquil riad, we could rest and rejuvenate, watch French TV, play boggle, chat with the chatty English couple, and sleep. To our heart’s content.

Kristin and I took advantage of Morocco to eat delicious and cheap food, do lots of shopping in the souks and at the big square, ride camels, and take a rigorous hike to a waterfall. We took in sights, sounds, and smells completely foreign to us, and we loved almost every minute of it. Post-Morocco reactions of the individuals listed above will be documented later! :)