Who Moves to Portugal?: May 2014

I think that it's important to start by saying that Morocco is unlike any place I've been before. Now that I've had a week and change to breathe and reflect, my memories of our visit are a collage of exotic smells, sounds, and sights that took us on a trip; from spice markets to snake charmers, from sparse deserts to lush mountain valleys, from dark ominous alleys to warm loud squares, this adventure was so different and overwhelming that it made coming back to a country where I don't speak the language and often fear for my life while driving the roads feel like going home.

Although a pleasantly short hour and a half flight took us from Lisbon to Casablanca, it immediately felt like a world apart. We arrived in the evening, and were quickly overwhelmed by noisy, dirty streets that seemed to be 95% populated by men. We had a delicious dinner at the Hotel Guynemer, and had our first taste of the exotic musicality that accompanied us throughout out travels here. An older man sat down next to us in the restaurant, grabbed a ragged old out of tune small guitar-like instrument, and managed to bend and push the notes to create haunting and beautiful songs.

We headed to Marrakech first thing in the morning, taking the 3 hour train first class (for 5 euros extra). We shared a cabin with a mother and her 3 small children who generously shared figs and dates with us as she apologetically managed and schooled her 3 very respectful and patient children. We emerged from the train station into bright hot open streets in a section of town that felt very newly developed. We even walked past an Irish pub (is there any country where they haven't set up shop?) which was an oddity for a largely muslim country.

Eventually we walked our way into the older part of town, and the real sensory overload began with people shouting, motorbikes roaring through narrow streets, cats fighting at your feet, and everyone trying to find some way to get your money. Note to future travelers: finding addresses is near to impossible in this area, but if you're willing to pay a kid 2 bucks, they are more than happy to lead you to wherever you want to go. They are much less happy if you give them less than this. Nevertheless, we got some help in finding our Riad (an old residence with an open central atrium converted into a bed and breakfast/ hotel) called "Monriad" and were immediately treated to the calming influences of the local drink of choice: Mint teap rerfectly sweet, and just hot enough to get you to sweat yourself cool.

After a brief respite, we made our way back into the madness. In our first evening we took in the sites of the well known central square of Jamaa El Fna, where snake charmers play for black hooded cobra while their compatriots try to get you to pay them to take a picture with a flaccid snake around your neck... where countless restauranteers try to lure you into their food stand (which is set up and torn down daily)... where monkeys with diapers are another intended photo attraction... where people form great circles around storytellers, musicians, acrobats, and comedians. Although aspects of the square felt as though they'd been contrived or at least maintained for wide-eyed tourists like us, some of the traditions seemed to be live time capsules, vestiges of millennia spent gathering here to revel in some of the best and worst that humanity has to offer.

The next few days brought many more little adventures. We took an impromptu tour of a tannery unpredictably (for us) yielded purchases of new satchels and a rug, and gave us our first good bargaining opportunity. We walked away happy, but most likely got taken. We toured the intricately and ornately constructed Bahia palace, which made our next visit to the Saadian Tombs seem quite underwhelming. We wandered the streets and took in the beautiful wares, smelled the spices, and tried not to get run over by the donkeys, bicycles, or motorbikes that wove through the narrow streets.

As captivating as Marrakech was, after a few full days we were excited to escape to the quiet solitude of the High Atlas mountains. After a couple of hours of uncomfortable shared taxis, negotiations, and winding roads we found ourselves in the lush, lightly populated Ouirgane valley, and our little refuge Dar Tassa. We had a very nice stay... we took a guided hike, learned how to make tarjine, and holed up while rain washed over the valley, bringing snow to the peaks above us. After a couple of nights, we hiked down the valley and met an insistent local man who brought us to an old lady's home for lunch, and then led us on a trek to the Tin Mal Mosque, the oldest in Morocco. We spent the night at a Ksar Shama, beautiful yet inexpensive little resort with an interesting pool and a fireplace in our room.

The next day we headed to Marrakech for one final pass at the organized chaos. That night we got good and proper lost in an area that was far dirtier and less traveled by tourists than other areas we had been. Although it felt dangerous, some teenage boys led us through the labyrinth back to our Riad Helen. We hopped back on the train to Casablanca the next day and managed to walk our way to the Hassan II Mosque, the largest in Morroco and one of the largest in the world.

What a trip, what a country. My first brush with Africa and the muslim was enlightening. I was overwhelmed by the culture of bartering. I was impressed by the kindness of many. I was captivated by the many new sounds and sights. What a crazy place. Put it on your list, people.