Marrakesh, Morocco!

After sitting in the pre-port lecture and learning that women should wear looser fitting clothing, pull their hair back or cover it in some way, and not look men in the eyes, I was curious what I was getting myself into. “The culture must just be different there.” But that thought is stronger than the words sound.

As we got ourselves fixed on the busses in the early morning of that first day, it still had not set in that I was in Morocco – in Africa. My feet had officially touched the rough concrete and my nose was tickled with the strong scent of fish and gasoline. This pier looked like a construction zone, with bent and rusted rebar poking out of the ground as well as cranes swinging far above my head. I searched for the comfort of a seatbelt on the automobile, but there was none. Safety is such a requirement in America where the rest of the world sees it as a hassle (although, I do tend to agree with them).

The tour guide whose name was never pronounceable for me or anyone else on the bus was dressed in typical Berber clothing which apparently looks like a dress with a KKK-pointy type hood made out of thick insulated brown canvas. Looking out the windows, it was somewhat barren. The ground was flat with spurts of green grassland that met with dust. Sheep were scattered about, and small boys who must have been shepherds waved towards the tour bus. Before drifting off to sleep, I learned that kus-kus is only served on Fridays or Saturdays as a special occasion ending the week. We however, were going to be lucky enough to have it prepared for us that afternoon. In addition to speaking Arabian, Moroccans speak perfect French. They must go to school and perfect it, and if they make a mistake during their final examination, they must take the language all over again until they get it right.

We stopped at a small café halfway to Marrakesh to stretch our legs, and that is where I got my first taste of the Arabian language. It sounds partly like a backwards song, and partly like they are trying to clear something from the back of their throat without coughing. It is definitely something I have never heard before, and I was wide-eyed when thinking of how I was going to get around in this place without speaking or understanding a lick of it.

For lunch, we stopped at a restaurant that had typical Moroccan food. First we were served a large platter of several small portions. There were lentils, sweet potatoes, spiced cauliflower, some sort of orange kidney bean, sliced potatoes, tomato salsa, and bread. Naturally, everyone was very skeptical of what we were about to eat. I dug in first to start it all off, and to not be rude to our hosts. All the flavors were things that I had tasted before, so it was not too much of a surprise. Then, we were served some sort of eggroll-taquito type food (I’m sure the Moroccans would hate me for comparing their delicacies to Asian food!) They were rolled up vegetables and meat with rice with a crispy buttery breading on the outside, and they were DELICIOUS! Then, for the main course we had beef or lamb still on the bone, with kus-kus and steamed potatoes and carrots. The meat was outrageously tender, as if they had been cooking it slowly all night long! Then for dessert, we were given a heaping plate full of oranges and mint-green tea. The oranges were huge, but super flavorful and juicy with no seeds, and the tea was a murky yellow color, but definitely had a hint of mint in it. It was the perfect way to end the meal.



Next, we stopped at an area of Morocco called Palm Groves to ride camels! Half of my group rode camels while the other half sat down to olives, more of the delicious mint-green tea, and consumed some sort of flatbread with honey while listening to three men play drums and guitar-like instruments while singing together. (Nope dad, no dates.) The floor was covered in cushions and pillows like something you would see straight out of Indiana Jones. After relaxing with the snacks, we had a local tie turbans on our heads (I watched and learned how to do it!) and set off to the camels.



My camel’s name was Victoria. And I’m not sure where people get this idea that camels spit all the time, because I didn’t see a single one spit. If anything, they growl – and like to go on their own paths. Quite independent creatures, really – somewhat like cats. Anyway, getting on the camel was fun because when they stand up, they shoot you forward at a steep angle and if you aren’t holding on, you will fall right off the front. Then they even themselves out, and before you know it, you are six feet up on a one-humped mammal. Luckily, they have a padded seat for you to sit (although my tailbone still didn’t feel all that wonderful the next day).



Our camels were tied together in groups of four or five, and strolled around an area that was very humbling. It was some sort of neighborhood where the locals carried out their daily lives. Men were working, and many women were washing clothing or simply standing in their doorway holding onto a child. Small kids would smile and wave, delighted to get the same in return. It was a dry area, and the homes were made out of red clay, with no front yards. There were palm trees scattered about the area, but they did not seem to fit in. Unfortunately, I was unable to take any photos atop the camel to show you how poor the people that live here must have been.

After leaving Palm Groves, we got to our hotel to settle in. Dinner was served shortly after with the same type of foods that we had for lunch. For dessert, we were served an array of chocolate cream creations which were welcomed since finding chocolate on the ship has proven nearly impossible. We went to bed fairly early that night. Ghost Ship (of all movies) was playing on the TV on the only English-speaking network they provided to our hotel, so a few girls and I watched it and called it a night.

Breakfast was served in sticky bun and pastry form, along with an orange juice substitute. We set out in the rain to an Arabian palace where I got a lot of gorgeous pictures of the intricate architecture and hand carved walls. The tile work in Morocco is magnificent, and you can tell how much they care about how their structures look. A kitty found me in the third wives room in the palace (Arabian kings were allowed up to eight wives, as long as each wife granted him permission to marry another), and soon after that I began noticing cats all around Morocco. Seems to me that cats in Marrakesh are like birds in Spokane. Next we went to the Arabian Kings Tombs and then found ourselves in the medina (city center) where the maze of markets are located, and this (of all places) is where we were allowed free time.

Shops in the medina had everything from tea pots to jewelry, to shoes and steak. And if you let the sellers see your eyes wander onto something in their shop, they will grab you by the arm and literally pull you inside, which was an awakening thing to a blond haired girl like me in a continent full of brunettes. Getting more comfortable with being around aggressive men, I bought a few nice things and was proud of myself. At the end of the day, we were walking out of the medina and into the main square (where they have monkeys that jump onto you and snake charmers that place snakes around your neck with no warning at all), I kept hearing men offer 10 to 1000 camels for girls in our group. Next thing I know, there are Arabian men offering me 10,000 camels, and apparently my new name to them was Shakira! What a day in Marrakesh! Soon it was time to go back, and after one last dinner, I let myself relax and drift off to sleep with my thoughts of Morocco.