Explorers: Nothing stops us!

This weekend I went for a trip with the Explorers which is the hiking club here at school.  We went to a town up in the north called Chefchaouen.  Some of my groovier readers may know it better as the hash capital of Africa :)  No need to worry about me though, I was on a school trip and don't fancy spending six years in a Moroccan prison, that would really mess up alot of my plans.  Anyways, our trip started out at 1:30 in the morning on Saturday.  We gathered at the bus shelter on campus and were picked up by two buses.  I was looking forward to a nice sleep on the bus since we had about six hours until we reached Chefchaouen.  Unfortunately, the bus driver must have had appointment because the bus ride was crazy!  The only way I can describe the feeling of the bus drive is turbulence.  Moroccan rodes are necessarily the smoothest things and even less so when taken at high speeds.  There were several times when we would suddenly barrel into a construction zone and the driver would merely swerve to avoid the barricade and take the gravel detour with no change in speed.  These areas were generally marked with a giant thump and violent pitching of the bus as we barreled over the lip of the road, effectively obliterating any progress that anyone had made towards making their way to sleep.  We stopped once during the night at a very very odd place.  It looked as though it was from the set of "The Pianist" if anyone has seen that movie.  There was a huge crater in front of the cafe that we stopped at.  There were a couple of pallets set out in the bottom of the crater, presumably to aide in the crossing.  The tile in the front of the cafe ended abruptly and dropped about four feet into the crater.  Since I didn't have my contacts in, everyone was speaking in Dereje, and it was about three in the morning, I felt incredibly disoriented. 
Once we had made it to Chefchaouen, we set off to find some food.  We had a delicious breakfast of fresh crepes with goat cheese and apricot jam with tea (of course).

Chefchaouen used to be a Jewish settlement and they painted their houses blue.  Before it was occupied by the Spanish, Christians were not allowed to enter on pain of death.  The name Chefchaouen allegedly means "Look at the Peaks" although based on some of the smirks I saw, I think it may have an alternate meaning along the lines of the Tetons.  It was a really cool town, much more relaxed than the usual Moroccan towns where it seems like there is a frantic scramble to get every last penny out of the tourists while they're there.

                                             
 After breakfast, we got back on the buses and drove out to the trail head which was about 35 km away through some gravel pits, goat pastures, villages, and most of all beautiful valleys.

The hike was very fun, and relaxed.  It was only about 6km round trip but it was a really big deal to me since I just got my cast off five days previous.  Apart from a little bit of instability due to lack of strength in it, my ankle worked like a charm!  I was so happy, I couldn't stop smiling the entire way.  I finally got to be outside again!  We hiked up to a spring where they get water for a brand of bottled water and went swimming.  I just put my leg in the water because it was rather swollen and I didn't have a swimming suit. Swimming in your underwear isn't quite as kosher here as it is in Montana.

We continued up the trail for a little ways and found a waterfall and a fairly large camp complete with a Moroccan flag!  I don't know why I found this so funny, it was just so complete, almost like a base camp for a large expedition.
                                         
                                             
There was also this guy who was standing at the top of the waterfall who I thought was just joking around when he dove off.  You can't really see in the picture, but there was a very small area that he had to shoot for because most of the bottom was rocks.  Luckily, we didn't have to have a dramatic rescue operation.  We continued on and came across another camp complete with tea pot and Moroccan tea glasses.  There was also a pot of Tajine simmering on the campfire.  My very favorite part was the picture of the his majesty the king in a frame up on a tree.  This is where we stopped for lunch!

After lunch, we returned to the buses and made our way back to Chefchaouen for showers and dinner.  My roommate for the trip, Sarah, and I went out into the square in search of one of the delicious melons that I had seen all over the streets as we came into town.  Apparently the Chefchaouen region is where most of them are grown.  I had had one when I was in Azrou with Amal and was keen to try another.  We tracked one down for only 1$!  Then we got a knife at a drug store for about 42 cents and settled down in the square to eat in it's juicy wonder.  They're called But-ich (as in the German "I").

We spent a large portion of the evening wandering aimlessly through the medina looking for who knows what.  I did get to have my first street vendor snails.  For those who are concerned about diseases, nothing apart from extremeophiles could have survived in the amount of salt that these little guys were cooked in.  The accepted way to eat them is to get a little bowl of them then grab one of the pins out of a lemon and snag the meat out of the shell with it and try not to pierce your tongue as you eat them off of the pin.
We settled on a resturant that was about five minutes away from the hotel after we did a large circuit of the city.  This didn't impress me too much since my ankle looked a bit like a grapefruit at this time.  It was a beautiful evening and we sat outside facing the old fortress which is called a Kasbah.

As we were eating, one of the omnipresent street cats rubbed against Nabila's leg causing her to shriek in surprise which echoed off of the Kasbah walls and effectively silenced the whole square which is the center of town.  We straggled back to our hotel and fell asleep immediately.

The next morning it was cloudy and misty and we could see a procession of people heading up to the Mosque with their goats.  I don't know if they were taking the goats up there or if the goats just happened to be going in the same direction and decided to be sociable.

After another breakfast of goat cheese and tea, we got back on the buses and headed to the coastal town of Tetouan.  Small side note, I kept noticing resturants that said Cafe The on the front and always thought that was a little backwards for the translation.  I took me a surprising amount of time to see the little accent marker and realize that it was saying that it was a Tea Cafe, I felt a little silly about that.  Apparently Tetouan has a marche (market place) where you can get stuff from Spain for really cheap because it's contraband.  We went there and made a few purchases.  There were so many incredible shops there!  I especially liked the fabric shops where there were so many intricate patterns and jewel-bright colors.

Nabila and I found some fruit that look like cacti that were wonderful and juicy, like a cross between the inside of a grape and the inside of a kiwi.

We went to the pier for lunch where they brought us fish that had just been caught and tossed on the grill.  Very low preparation cost! 
Fishes!  They still even had their teeth!

Shrimp kisses!
The king standing on the bodies of the fallen.
After lunch, we headed to a town called Larache to catch the sunset.

Well worth the stop.

Part of the group

The bus ride home was pretty crazy.  I just know that this kind of behavior would never have been tolerated in the good old Absarokee school system.  We were playing several games where you sing a song and then whoever's name is yelled they have to dance around while we clap.  I didn't really know what I was doing and my friend took the camera to record my awkwardness.  The next game consisted of a very intense vocabulary game in which one person says a word and then we all sing a song and then another person's name is called and they have to say something to do with the word that was said before and if you say something wrong everyone yells and hits you.  I should add that almost the entire weekend was conducted in Arabic and Dereje (the Moroccan dialect) and I was the only exchange student on this trip.  So most of the time I had no idea what was going on.

On our way home, we stopped at a roadside cafe to have Mechouli, which is like ground up and barbecued lamb with onions, tomatoes, and spices intersperced.  There were cuts of meat hanging up around the grill and they still had their tails!  When we got back on the bus from dinner, we found that the bus driver had put a chocolate on everyone's seat to thank us for the tip that we had given him!  It was a very nice surprise.  We got back to the school at about 1:00 am and walked back to our dorms through the early morning fog.



Yea Marrakechi!

This past week has been a vacation for us to celebrate the end of Ramadan.  The holiday is called Eid Al-Fitur and it is usually marked with families traveling to be together.  We had five days off and several of my friends, nine to be exact set off to spend it in Marrakech.  We piled into two grand taxis and drove to the town of Meknes where we caught a train to Marrakech.  The trip took about six hours on the train but we wiled it away by playing alot of cards and sneeking bites of food.  We had to sneak them due to the close proximity of people observing the fast of Ramadan.  Due to the fact that we had very little food and were approaching a commercial place there was alot of happy anticipation for the McDonalds that was presumably waiting for us at the train station.  Before you judge, there is something incredibly comforting about familiar food in unfamiliar places.  I should also note that McDonalds here are quite nice resturants. They even had fancy metal ornaments that said Eid Malbuk (happy holiday) in Arabic.  As we disembarked from the train, we were met by a wave of warm, humid air as well as columns that looked like lily flowers holding up the awning over the platform.  We were delighted to find a McDonalds waiting for us inside the station.

We set off in the direction that seemed to be right.  We had arranged to stay in someone's apartment but we had no idea how to contact them so we started towards the main square called the djemma el fnaa.  They used to have public executions in that square which is why it is named the place of the dead.  We ended up going the wrong direction and finally gave up and called a cab since my boot was getting tired.  This picture is compliments of Emily, one of our number.  It is basically the scene we were greeted with as we walked into the square.

Food carts are wheeled out into the middle everynight.  They have picnic tables covered in butcher paper.  They toss rounds of pita bread onto the table in front of you to dip into the bowls of chili and tomato sauce.  We had a delicious meal of chicken tajine (a stew-like dish that is very flavorful and delicious and comes in funny dishes with conical lids). 

We had spent quite a bit of time searching for a suitable hotel that had running water and didn't cost too much.  Unfortunately, we attracted an undue amount of attention trouping through the narrow streets of the medina (the old city, imagine the chase scene at the beginning of Aladin) in the dark dodging cats, mopeds, and little children asking if we needed help.  We finally decided on a hotel quite close to the square that offered us two rooms with four beds each for 50 dirhams each per night (roughly $6).  As we were settling in, a yellow cat strolled in and jumped up onto the bed purring. 

 Since there is such an excess of fairly nice looking cats in the medina that live off the fat of the streets, we weren't sure if this was yet another.  That thought caused a small amount of anxiety over it rubbing itself on our pillows.  We later found out that this cat was in fact named Mina and she was the mistress of the hotel.  Mina has a very charmed life for a Moroccan cat.  She gets the run of the hotel to herself with lots of open windows and ledges from which she may observe her subjects in the street below, open cans of sardines placed in strategic spots throughout the hotel, and lots of young backpackers who are only too happy to rub her incredibly soft belly and tell her about their cats back home.

That same night, we decided to explore the souks, which are huge narrow labyrinthine streets lined with shops that sold everything from scarves to spices to shoes to swords.  They were a riot of color and smells.  There were thousands of people in these alleys which made it difficult to maneuver and especially difficult to stay with your group.  We fractured into smaller groups which facilitated much better maneuverability.  There was a street vendor who had large slabs of various nuts stuck together with honey as well as an incredibly tempting looking slab of lime green which turned out to be coconut.  He gave us samples of each variety and my friends settled on some peanut and coconut blocks. I, having no small change, declined and he gallantly cut a little square of the almond (his best one) and gave it to me with a smile!

 

The next day, we went on a site seeing expedition.  First and foremost however, we went to take advantage of the magnificent freshly squeezed orange juice which only costs 3 dirham (35 cents).  There were communal glasses that were all sticky and of questionable sanitation but it was worth it.  I believe that I drank 10 glasses (roughly 80 oz) of it during our time in Marrakech and found those little carts to be the things I had the hardest time bidding farewell to upon leaving. Our next task was to argue with the Marrakechi taxi drivers who seem to have been created for the sole purpose of robbing white tourists.  We had several vigorous arguments with many of them.  The sneaky buggers would try to give us a flat rate for each person, usually 10-20 dirhams to a certain part of the city.  When we would demand that they turn their meter on, they would insist that it was broken.  At which point we would begin to leave the cab which would usually result in the miraculous recovery of the meter from whatever had ailed it.  The fare would generally be about 10 dirham for the entire car as opposed to one person with the aide of the meter.  Let that be a lesson to anyone who is hoping to visit Marrakech.

Hard core hagglers!

We made it to the other side of the old medina and visited a fantastic monument that used to be a medrasa (Arabic for school), which was basically an Islamic monostary.  Young men would go and live there and study the Qu'ran.  Although the rooms were rather small, the view would have made it worth it!

The entire building was covered in Zellij, which is intricate tile work depicting geometric patterns and plant life.  There was also Epigraphy, which is like calligraphy that is carved into walls, usually Qu'ranic verses (I bet you can tell I'm taking a class on this). 

After we had exhausted all of the picture taking possibilites that this magnificent place offered, we moved on to the Musee de Marrakech.  It used to be a palace but was taken over by the British in a nasty trick when they invited the owner to come and get an award in England and moved in while he was gone.  It became the first girls school for awhile but shut down due to difficulties with bathroom facilities which I found perplexing.  It is now a curiosly empty museum with a few displays of Berber jewelry and some pictures.  The tile and the engravings are, however, incredibly intricate and beautiful.  There was a fountain in the middle of the large, main room and several incredibly detailed and lovely light fixtures with the largest suspended above the fountain.

Our last stop on our site seeing extravaganza was to see the oldest monument in Marrakech which, though no one seemed to be particularly certain on the point, was presumably used for ritual cleansing called ablutions. 

By this time, the weather had become so incredibly heavy and hot that we all felt like wet cats in a sauna so we slunk wetly back to our shady rooms and played games like "never have I ever" and sleep.  I now completely understand why there is a special name for naps in the middle of the day in hot countries.  Unfortunately, our hotel had rather sketchy bathroom facilities with a hole in the bottom of a porcelin slab with places for your feet.  This was a little frightening to use in my rather unsteady boot cast.  The shower situation was even more problematic for me since it was not the cleanest looking thing and it was basically a closet that rained.  Since I cannot stand on two feet without my boot and I was unwilling to get my boot wet, I would have had to crawl into the shower.  This was something that I was unwilling to do which resulted in me not showering for five days in the hot stickiness of Marrakech.

Since it was still Ramadan, everything was pretty quiet during the day, but at night, it seemed as though the entire population of Marrakech was out and about.  The last two nights of Ramadan, families generally go out and get new clothes for the celebration.  This means that the narrow streets were filled with shoppers and the square was filled with street performers.  When we went to the square which was recommended by all of our guide books to see the snakes be charmed and the acrobats flip, they were ready for us.  This is because guide books are sold in alot of places and lots of other tourists had read them as well.  Anytime you would stop just to watch something because it was interesting, they would stop doing whatever it was that was interesting and demand money.  We stopped by a particularly large circle of people who seemed to be absorbed in something fabulous.  They all however, seemed to be affiliated with the old, dirty, and shirtless man they were watching. Once they saw us craning our necks curiously, they immediately pushed us forward to the front of the circle. The street man was holding glass of tea and briefly balancing it on his head.  He saw that I had a camera with me and shouted for a picture.  I shook my head and the whole crowd took up the chant.  I finally gave in to avoid the constant yells and looks I was getting.  Unfortunately, the dirty street man didn't have any more tricks so he downed the tea and came over and demanded 10 dirham from me which I did not want to give him.  He seemed to think that I was in possession of a priceless photo of him which I immediately offered to delete so that he would leave me alone.  In the end, due to the pressure of the crowd, I gave him 1 dirham and what I believe may have been 1 pence leftover from England.

Not something I wanted to pay to see.

As we were walking back to the hotel, a lady grabbed my hand and started drawing henna on it.  I told her that I didn't want it and that I wasn't going to pay her because I didn't have any money.  She continued drawing remarking that I spoke very good Arabic.  I tried to pull my hand away and again remarked on the futility of her actions.  She shook her head and told me that it was a Ramadan gift that she was giving me.  The whole process took less than a minute and then she told me that this particular swirl meant blessings for a lucky marriage, this swirl meant luck to find a boy, and these dots meant that my parents would never forget me.  I thought, this lady is a nutter.  Unfortunately, two of her cronies swooped in at this moment and she held out her hand and asked for 250 dirham!  I explained again that I did not want her stupid scribbles and did not have money so she could take a flying leap.  Her cronies said that the drawing was a very expensive one.  I explained that they were full of it because I had heard them offering henna for 10 dirhams last night.  Finally her friend said that she would give me change so I decided (very very foolishly) to take her up on that since we needed smaller bills for the cab fare the next day.  Once she had her claws on my 100 dirham note, she demanded 50 more.  I demanded 90 back and they started yelling at us.  I don't like confrontation so we cut our losses and left.  This is a cautionary tale.  Never trust the people in touristy places because they are foul.  Luckily, it has hardened my heart against any sort of supplications for money.  I went off to drink an orange juice and a sticky little boy stared up at me with bambi eyes trying to get it from me.  I gave him the universal symbol to shove off and he did so, giggling.

Semi-permanent mark of my shame and gullibility.

I later heard that, in general, parents really don't like it when people give their children handouts because it promotes a society of begging.

There was a very odd moment when a man offered 17 camels in exchange for one of the girls.  Luckily, the boy they were with wisely just told him that she couldn't cook and he immediately lost interest. 

The next day, we went to the palace Al-Bahia which means the place of the storks.  It used to be a fantastic palace in the 15th century but is now in ruins and the storks hold court.

However, it was like a big kids playground with lots of underground tunnels and things to climb on.

The heat was once again too much to be out in so we retired back to our hotel and played a very sweaty game of cards but had to stop once the cards started sticking together.  I had decided at the very beginning that I wanted to spend a night on a mattress on a roof.  There is a very fantastic image that I get in my mind when I say "spent the night on a mattress on a roof in Marrakech."  We found a beautiful hotel called the Hotel Medina which was the same price as ours but had toilets.  There were quite a few German and French student backpackers that were staying there.

Looking down into the hotel from the roof.

I thought that the idea was brilliant to stay on the roof because it would be nice and cool.  Unfortunately, it was that night that chose to be the only cool one while we were in Marrakech.  I was on some cushions with two other girls from our group and we had one blanket.  The night became cold in the middle of the night which means there was nothing I could necessarily do about it.  I therefore decided that it would be a good decision to take the tablecloth off of the nearest table and subsequently got a lovely sleep.

View from our roof.

The morning after the roof, the four of us who had been designated as the hobbits of the trip took a train to Rubat.  Since there were nine of us, we had decided that we were the fellowship of the boot and I was Frodo since I had "the burden."  We got to Rubat and went out to eat and then fell asleep, it had been a couple of crazy days.  The next morning, we got up early after two of our number had been sick in the night due to bad water.  We made our way to the beach 17 km outside of town called Temara Plage.  It was beautiful but, due to the early hour, the only inhabitants were shirtless young Moroccans playing soccer.  This was slightly problematic for Rae(the other girl) and I.  We had been hoping to frolick in the sand, (well, I was going to wallow in the sand since I am not yet able to frolick, doctor's orders) and play in the water but the stares were incredibly unabashed.  It was like one of those movie moments when people are staring and they either run into a pole on their bike or get hit in the side of the head with a soccer ball.  Unfortunately, nothing bad befell them, they just stared.  Alot.  There was even one man who walked by us and continued staring as he walked going so far as to look over his shoulder once he was by us.  Morocco is really not incredibly conservative.  I have seen many girls wearing tanktops and shorts.  I definitely try to dress very conservatively in cities but we were on a beach so we had our swimming suits on.  Finally, some large, pasty white Germans came and sat near us and completely beat us in the inappropiate game and we were able to play without as much scrutiny.  Although, near the end of the day, two little boys ran past us and yelled jameela which means pretty (f) in Arabic.  We looked up and they jumped up and down in the sand looking at us, giggling, and throwing sand at each other.  They gasped and ran away when one of the boys stood up.

Once we had had enough sun, we emptied the sand out of our clothes and caught a train back to Meknes and a grand taxi back to Ifrane.  On our taxi ride back to campus, we went by a hill that said "God is Great" written in white rocks and I was reminded of the "A" hill back in Absarokee.

As we walked back up the road from the main gate of the university, we started talking about how good it was to be home.  I realized I just called this home, decided not to think about it, and crawled into the shower.

Dancing Merengue Dog

This has nothing to do with Morocco except maybe, as Luke said, we don't have this here.  Luke sent it to me and as it was such a wonderful part of my day, I thought I would share it!  Unfortunately, I'm not technically savy enough to embed it, so here is the link.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nc9xq-TVyHI

Music and F'tour

Moroccan music is some of the best worship music I've heard.  It is probably on par with gospel music for the energy it instills in the listener.  The other night, we were treated to a performance in the auditorium.  I don't know where this group was from but they were all dressed in flowing white robes and were wearing the traditional pointy Moroccan slippers.  The band, which consisted basically of an 8 person strong rhythm section, two people playing snake charming horns (yes, they exist), and someone on an electric keyboard that looked hilariously out of place, wore yellow slippers.  The lead singer who sat in the very front and was in charge of getting the crowd into it wore white slippers.  The crowd however, needed very little convincing and a spontaneous dancing section quickly formed in the very front.  The songs would generally last for about 15 minutes starting with a slow section that, to my untrained ear, sounds alot like the call to prayer.  However, the long glissandos and arpeggios would soon be accompanied with a little bit of rhythm or a counter melody played on the horns.  This would eventually build into a frenzied almost cajun rhythm with alot of call and response.   I was trying to find a file that sounded like what we were listening to but nothing really did it justice.  I'll see what I can find from some of my friends.  Most of the people my age like the music but it's not something they would put on their ipods.

This is our auditorium, I didn't take the picture, but I was there!  I'm not much of a photographer, I borrowed this from on of the other exchange students.

This is the ceiling in our auditorium

Two nights ago I was fortunate enough to be invited by my roommate's family to their house in Azrou, which is about half and hour away, for the meal called f'tour.  F'tour is the meal that is eaten to break the fast of the day during Ramadan.  It starts at sundown and the fast is usually broken with dates and water. 

Looking down on the town of Azrou

Amal and I caught the shuttle bus from the campus into Ifrane and then walked about ten minutes to the "Grand Taxi" station.  Basically the grand taxi station is full of 1960 cadillacs that normally comfortably seat five people including the driver.  The drivers walk around yelling the names of the towns they're about to leave for and you just walk over and get in the car.  Once you pay the requisite 10 dirhams, about $1.15, the driver takes off.  Amal and I sat in the front seat while four men and a little boy sat in the back.  The drive to Azrou was beautiful, the change in elevation is much like that when you go over the pass between Bozeman and Cardwell.  However, this was a lush valley with many of the stucco houses of the region below the road.  After we got out at the taxi station, we descended a large concrete stairway down to the neighborhood below.

We passed through a large open area with a garbage can and a plethora of cats.  The Moroccans seem to like their street cats.  I included this picture I took for fun.  How many cats can you find?!  Bear in mind though, there are many that are outside the field of view of the camera!  They were all different colors and breeds and all very pretty (in my mind).

This next picture is of the tiny kittens that hide between the bars over the windows so they don't get attacked by anything.  Adorable.  There are two curled up with each other on the window sill.

When we got to Amal's house, we went to sit in a room that had cushioned benches all along the walls.  I talked to her father about the juvenile diabetes association he is secretary for in Azrou.  We were brainstorming ideas for how I could build a capstone project off of their group.  Once the sun began to set and the call to prayer came ringing out from the mosque just above their house on the hill, Amal's mother brought in a seemingly endless procession of delicous food.  Even if I hadn't been fasting all day the food was undoubtably the best I've had in Morocco thus far.  We had delicious drinks drinks made from blended apples and milk, carrot, zucchini, onion and cabbage stuffed freshly baked pita bread that was wonderfully spiced, potatoes roasted in cumin, and a dish of spiced turkey that we ate with some more fresh bread.  It was wonderful!  After dinner, we looked at scrap books that Amal had put together as a little girl and her dad read a really beautiful french poem about a poet.  I sang an Irish folk song called Carrickfergus to thank them for the meal.  Both her mother and father walked us back up the steps to the taxi station and told me to consider their home my home in Morocco.  The quote of the household was by Lao Tzu which was pinned up next to the door;  Go to the people, live with them, learn from what they know, and love them.