It’s taken me a while to get around to this blog about our recent trip to Morocco. I had to spend some time back in familiar surroundings to get my bearings and to process all that we experienced in our two and a half weeks in the North African nation. This holiday was always going to be bit different for us as we opted for an organised tour, our first. It was a small group, low-budget affair but a tour all the same. For some reason we imagined our fellow travellers would be like us, middle-aged couples. In fact our companions turned out to be, for the most part young, female solo travellers and one extraordinary Australian adventurer aged in his early eighties! They were an excellent group of friendly and kind individuals from Australia, UK, Canada, US, South Africa and Switzerland and we are very pleased to say that we all got on very well. One member chose to be less involved than the rest of us but that in the end was her choice. Our local guide, Mohamed was lovely also, helpful, friendly and knowledgeable.
Our Moroccan adventure began with a hectic, hair-raising taxi ride through the peak hours (it’s definitely more than one hour long) traffic of Casablanca. The use of lanes, indicators and road rules is absolutely discretionary and for the most part, totally ignored. The use of the vehicle’s horn, however is heartily endorsed by all. Shouting and “what are you doing?” hand gestures are also popular. Cars combine with buses, trams, trucks, carts drawn by horse, mule, donkey or human, taxis – petit and grand, pedestrians and all manner of two-wheeled vehicles to create traffic pandemonium. How we didn’t see several road fatalities during our time in the larger cities in Morocco is surely down to pure luck. Even our taxi driver was bewildered to see several motor scooters weaving through the three, four or five lanes of traffic (it was anybody’s guess what the line markings indicated) travelling on the wrong side of the road towards us at high speed. I was in the front seat and he shot me a look of “well, that was surprising”. We arrived without mishap at our lovely hotel which was ornate with mosaic decoration and in typical riad style, had a light-filled atrium. The standard of our hotels throughout the whole trip exceeded our expectations although the beds were universally ‘firm’ to say the least. No sagging mattresses, that’s for sure and our backs never troubled us so maybe the Moroccans are onto something.
We arrived a few days before the tour started so we spent the time investigating the sight, sounds, tastes and smells of Casablanca. The most visited site is the Hassan II Mosque, the largest Mosque in Africa and either the third or fifth largest in the world depending on your source. Completed in 1993, it has a capacity of 25,000 people. 20,000 men on the main floor and 5000 women in the women-only galleries. All the materials used to construct the mosque are sourced from Morocco except for the giant chandeliers and several of the massive columns which are Italian. It is an imposing building and the tour is very informative.
A walk through the old medina took us through tiny twisting alleys lined with stalls selling all manner of things. The fruit and vegetables looked fresh and inviting and the herbs and spices sent amazing wafts of aroma into the streets. The butchers and fishmongers are a little confronting as most of their produce is hanging from hooks or stacked in plastic tubs. None of your polystyrene trays and acres of plastic wrap here which is laudable from an environmental viewpoint.
We were subjected to a ‘scam’ while wandering through the busy streets on our way to investigate the Sacré Cœur Cathedral. It goes like this, (and while harmless, it is probably worth noting if you intend visiting Morocco as we came upon it five minutes after the first time and then again in Marrakech) – A man approached us with a big smile and a toddler on his shoulders and said “I remember you from the hotel. I work there and I saw you there. Today in town is a very special exhibition of beautiful Berber handcrafts. They have come all the way from the mountains and they go home tomorrow. Come I will show you so you can see the amazing exhibition before it closes.” He took us to a large shop basement, filled indeed with beautiful Berber carpets. We drank mint tea with the “exhibiter”, admired the lovely workmanship and took our leave.
Not five minutes later, a fellow sidles up to Ian, “Hello, I remember you from the hotel. That is where I work.” We looked at each other and laughed out loud. Poor guy, probably thought we were crazy. We didn’t feel unsafe and the carpets and other crafts were beautiful so no harm done. When we finally found the Cathedral (technically not a cathedral, but big and impressive nonetheless) it was behind hoarding and appeared a bit derelict. A fellow opened the gate and said we could look inside for 100 dirham (just over 20 quid or AUD40). We declined.
We also visited the Quartier Habbous, home to the Royal Palace, another medina, several pretty squares, a few mosques and a book shop lined road where many of the books are leather bound, gilt embossed tomes whose titles eluded us as we don’t read Arabic, they looked marvellous though.
It was time to leave Casablanca and head north in our trusty minibus through undulating farmland and banana plantations, strawberry fields and groves of apricot trees to the port city of Tangier. After a walk on the beach we did a guided walking tour of the old medina and Kasbah where we looked out over the sparkling Strait of Gibraltar to Spain just a half hour ferry trip away.
Our journey continued in the afternoon to ‘The Blue City’ of Chefchaouen. What a sight for sore eyes. Blue, blue, blue in every vivid shade and hue. We wandered the streets and climbed the track to the Spanish Mosque to see the view back towards the town and it was something to behold.
We had a whole day to explore the town in all its blue glory and then on again for an informative tour of the ancient Roman city of Volubilis with its impressive triumphal arch and remarkably intact mosaic floors scattered through the various ruins. Then on to Fes.
Fes (aka Fez) was another revelation. The Fes medina is mind-blowing in its scale with over 9000 “streets” (actually little more than narrow twisting alleyways), it lies within 365 hectares. A visit to the famous tannery is a must as is the bouquet of fresh mint to hold under your nose while you’re there. If you want to buy leather goods, prepare to haggle.
The heart of the medina is the great Karaouine Mosque where non-muslims may not enter but we did see the University within the medina and the dormitory quarters of the students was interesting. But the star of the show is the medina itself. It surely would not be hard to become hopelessly lost in the labyrinth of alleys. Men with donkeys or mules wind their way through the tiny streets with cries of “Attention!” or “Balak!” which essentially means “Get out the way!” The occasional motorbike or even car squeezes through the crowds too which seems utterly crazy. The vast array of goods available is head-turning, bread and pastries are baking, metal work is hammered, tagines are stewing, there are hammams and Koranic schools, mosques and pottery kilns, weavers and cafes and everything from televisions to teapots, sheepsheads to shelled peas for sale and rising over all the chaos and activity five times a day the wail of the muezzins calling the faithful to prayer.
This is a universal feature of Morocco and of course other Muslim countries, the loud-speakered call to prayer and sometimes passages from the Koran that fill the air of every community five times every day. It is a calming rhythmic sound that cannot be ignored but soon becomes part of the fabric of the country and your visit. I understand no Arabic but I found the sound melodious and soothing. The population of Morocco is essentially Arab but some consider themselves Berber and have their own language, spoken and written. 99% of the population are Muslim.
Our hotel in Fes was in the new town where Ian and I enjoyed a pizza on our last night. This is not particularly notable, although the pizza was delicious but the manner of our waiter had us giggling for days. He strode up to our table channelling his inner Basil Fawlty and in a deep, loud voice, asked us “Yes, what do you want?” As we were leaving he gave a small dip of his head and said “Thank you for you.” It was efficient and courteous just a little literal.
After a short stop in the forest to become better acquainted with an extended Barbary Ape family we drove on to what was definitely one of the highlights of the trip despite some changes to our original itinerary
We travelled to the edge of the Sahara desert to stay in an auberge for a couple of nights. Originally we were travelling further into the desert on camels to stay in a tented camp however there are moves afoot, put in place by the Moroccan government, to dismantle these desert camps and our planned destination was one of the first to go. Apparently before long they will all be gone. The official reason given is one of detrimental environmental impact which on its own is an understandable concern as the desert is a delicate ecosystem, however the desert region is very close to the border with Algiers which has ongoing ‘issues’ with Morocco over the disputed Western Sahara region which both countries claim. Not long before our visit two young Scandinavian women travelling alone were murdered by terrorists and this incident has raised concerns among tour groups and the Moroccan government as the country relies heavily on the tourist dollar and can ill afford such disasters to taint their image of safety. While the murders took place in an area close to a later stop on our trip, the relative seclusion of the desert camps has perhaps had a hand in their closure.
Despite this change to our plans the desert was beautiful. We explored the dunes at dawn, sunset, during the day and under star strewn night-time sky on foot and for our second sunset we travelled into the surreal landscape on camel-back. What a marvellous experience. Watching the changing light play with the colours of the dunes from yellow to pink to red and brown and the shadows sculpting the forms of the shifting sands setting the ridges in sharp relief and then melding the shapes into pure organic architecture. I’m waxing a little lyrical but it was such a marvellous natural spectacle and my first experience of seemingly endless sand dunes. Riding a camel is quite the experience too. If you’ve done it, you’ll know what I’m talking about. If you haven’t my advice is hold on real tight and especially tight when he’s about to go down to let you off. The front knees buckle and you are pitched forward unceremoniously and without a firm grip you are liable to go ‘over the handlebars’ as it were. Then follows the folding of the back legs and you’re down and level again. I say ‘he’ advisedly by the way. Apparently the lady camels don’t have the temperament for traipsing the dunes with tourist aboard so it’s left to the boys. We parked our camels in the camelot and walked to the top of the nearest dune to watch the sunset which was beautiful. Then back aboard ‘Rocky’ (we were allowed to name our camels. Ian called his ‘Trevor’,) and back to the auberge for a delicious buffet dinner and a sit by a camp fire to stare into the flames and reflect on the fact that you are sitting in the Sahara Desert. The gorgeous starry sky sent me a shooting star to wish on but obviously I can’t tell you what I wished for as it against Shooting Star Wish Rules and Protocols. (SSWRaP).
I came away with a bottled sample of the red Saharan sand plus what lodged in my shoes during our various dune hikes.
And then it was time to turn our back on the desert and travel on to the Todra (aka Todgha) Gorge, a massive fault that runs through the High Atlas Mountains. Actually a series of gorges, canyons or wadis cut through by the Todgha River which form both the steep cliff-sided canyons popular with rock climbers, and the lush green valleys where the locals farm intensively using the diverted streams to irrigate their crops such as wheat, alfalfa, beans, potatoes, almonds, apricots, peach and pomegranate. We walked on raised tracks through the fields to appreciate the scale of the hands-on agriculture taking place in this very fertile valley. Our lovely hotel was nestled in the gorge with steep ochre coloured walls rising beside us and a charming vine-covered riverside terrace on which to eat our dinner. We went to sleep listening to a boisterous frog chorus.
The next day we travelled the “Route of 1000 Kasbahs” through the Ante Atlas to the town of Ouarzazate, the movie making capital of Morocco where we stopped for lunch. Then on to the UNESCO World Heritage site the Ksar of Ait Ben Haddou. This remarkable community is one of the oldest and most intact fortifications in Morocco built of rammed earth and used as a location for many films including ‘Lawrence of Arabia’, ‘Gladiator’ and more recently ‘Game of Thrones’. The old town now houses only four families as most people moved across the river to a later township. Technically the old area is a ksar, a group of earthen buildings surrounded by high defensive walls reinforced by corner towers. Built on the side of a hill and topped with a large flat roof granary, Ait Ben Haddou is a remarkable sight from every angle. The terrace of our hotel gave fabulous views across the river to the old city. We woke the next morning to a brilliant cacophonous chorus of roosters crowing, goats bleating, donkeys braying, birds chirping and the muezzins calling. Yep, we were still in Morocco.
Our next journey took us into the High Atlas Mountains crossing the Tizi n’Tichka pass at 2260metres and into the splendid Toubkal National Park. The winding road provided wonderful views of snow-topped mountains and wildflower filled valleys, although some of the crazy overtaking on blind bends by those sharing the road with us was alarming to say the least.
Our destination in the bus was the village of Imlil where we gave our overnight bags to the mule drivers as we walked up the side of the valley, down to a mountain stream and then on and up to the little hilltop village of Aroumd. This is a popular starting point for climbers wishing to ascend Morocco’s tallest mountain Mt. Toubkal but we were not there for such vigorous pursuits. After a walk through the tiny streets to our simple mountain gite we kicked back and enjoyed the glorious mountain views and a delicious meal. With no cars the air was sweet and the quiet was so peaceful. I went for a wander in the village and was met with many a shy “bon jour” from the locals as I walked the narrow, stony lanes.
After breakfast the next morning we walked another scenic route back to Imlil and re-joined our trusty bus for our drive to the coastal town of Essaouira. With its pine tree lined sandy beach I was reminded of Manly back in Sydney but that is where the similarity ends. Essaouira, or Mogador as it is known in Berber, is a lovely fishing port with palm-lined avenues and an old medina with great shopping. We went down to the port around sunrise to see the fishermen unloading their catch from their bright blue painted boats.
The seagulls and the
cats all know that there is a likely feast on and flock to the area. In fact
seagulls and cats are an unmissable feature of this very pleasant town. Cats
are given free reign throughout Morocco. We saw them in every city, town and
village where they appear to be owned by no one in particular but fed and
encouraged by all. When we asked our guide about this his simple answer was one
of pest control. Where you have cats, you do not have hugely destructive mice
and rats. We didn’t see any fat cats, but then we didn’t see any that were too
skinny either so the symbiosis seems to be working for everyone I would say.
We had a delicious meal on a roof top terrace restaurant with excellent cocktails, Casablanca beer, local Moroccan wine and a funky duet singing the balmy evening away. Essaouira was a perfect, relaxing calm before our final Moroccan destination of Marrakech.
In Marrakech we were met by a May Day march which slowed the traffic to a standstill but we eventually walked the last ten minutes or so past the Koutoubia Minaret and Gardens to join our local guide who took us to the Saadian Tombs, a 16th century royal burial place only recently re-discovered and restored. Then on to the astonishing Bahia Palace. With a fraction of its 150 rooms open to the public those that are, are exquisitely ornate with intricately painted cedar wood ceilings, carved plaster work upper walls and divinely intricate mosaic work on the lower walls and floors. We also visited the Old Jewish Quarter, which was once home to 240,000 Jews but now only about 100-200 remain.
We finished our tour back at the massive Jemaa el-Fnaa square. During the day the square is relatively uncluttered and sedate. Come the evening though and the place “kicks off” with lines of food stalls including barbecued kebabs that you choose the ingredients of and watch constructed and sizzled before your eyes. The numerous barbeque stalls send out succulent meaty smells to ignite the carnivore within.
Less likely to light those gastronomic longings however are the many stalls selling intact, cooked sheep’s heads and others with massive pots piled high with cooked snails. There are stalls bursting with all manner of fruits that you can select to be juiced in any combination while you wait. Traders sell their wares from jewellery and brass lanterns to leather and wood work from blankets laid out on the ground or from small temporary kiosks.
Acrobats and musicians perform but be warned if you photograph them they will see you do it and they will demand money and they will chase you round the square for their payment too. The restaurants, bars and cafes that edge the square are all out for your business and tout relentlessly. There are snake charmers too that set up hooded cobras rearing their heads or large pythons that they will drape around unsuspecting passers-by. Take a photo if you want but again you will be pursued for a substantial payment. I saw things get heated several times between tourists and angry snake charmers. It looks like an unbearable cruelty to keep the snakes in such terrible conditions. What was even worse was the poor Barbary ape I saw dragged along by a rope round its neck to perform for lousy tourists who encouraged this cruel and unnatural behaviour. It broke my heart. The movement to prevent ‘animal tourism’ is yet to reach the market of Marrakech. I feel a bit hypercritical here though as we did take a horse drawn buggy ride to our hotel and there is evidence of mistreatment of those animals too.
The next day Ian and I set off for a wander to the souks of the medina that surround the square and on the way we were ‘scammed’ again. We knew we were being scammed with the familiar tale of being shown something so amazing that we couldn’t miss it. We were led into the old walled city of Marrakech with not another tourist in sight. It was intriguing to wander the narrow streets and shopping squares with only locals for company. We were shown an ancient mosque in the process of renovation and got to see the plaster workers etching the intricate designs directly into the unset plaster. Eventually we ended at the obligatory “Artisanal” to be shown more wares. You are expected to pay for their hospitality and we were happy to make a ‘small gift’ to our impromptu, but cheerful and informative guide.
What happened next demonstrated the infamy of the “informal guides” of Marrakech (and other Moroccan cities). One offered to show us the tannery and stupidly I followed and left Ian little option but to follow me. Don’t bother with the Marrakech tanneries. They are filthy shit holes, (literally as they soak the hides in pigeon guano) and we got passed off to someone else who of course took us to an “Artisanal”. When I objected telling him I didn’t have any money for any purchases, he demanded payment for his “services”. We emptied our pockets and came up with 12 dirham (just under a pound) which sent him into a foul mouthed rant. We exited hastily leaving him to spew forth his angry diatribe which left us in no doubt as to what he really thought of tourist, they are cash cows to be milked at every opportunity, with intimidation if necessary. Tourism is a mainstay of the Moroccan economy, second only to agriculture so there are going to be issues between locals and tourist. We wound our way back to Jemaa de Fnaa with the help of a French couple who had just come from that direction and were still familiar with some of the landmarks to help navigate the jumble of alleys.
Our advice if you find yourself in Morocco, and Marrakech in particular is don’t engage with anyone who targets you on the street to show you something. It doesn’t matter how amazing or interesting it sounds they will lead you to a shop where you will be harassed to purchase and then they will demand money from you for taking you there. I should have known better and Ian of course did, but in the end we stood firm, walked away and suffered nothing more than an earful of abuse.
On our last day in Morocco we visited the Jardin Majorelle, a two and a half acre botanical garden which for the first half hour or so that we were there, provided a lush, peaceful escape from the busy city beyond its walls. Paths wind through the trees, shrubs and large numbers of diverse cactuses and the Berber Museum set in the gardens is painted a brilliant cobalt blue. The artist Jacque Majorelle who originally planted the lovely gardens in the 1930s actually patented the shade of blue which now carries his name. Imagine having an actual colour named for you! The serenity was intruded upon eventually by the hordes of instagrammers that descended as they had done at every notable site we visited throughout Morocco. Don’t get me started on the weirdness of people standing in 15 or 20 slightly different poses in front of something beautiful and then rushing to check each photo before the process is repeated by swapping the photographer and the photographed. All I know is that if I want a photo of the beautiful thing I have to time it between ‘grammers and that is getting increasingly difficult and exasperating. Strange times.
So, how can I sum up Morocco? The biggest surprise was the amazing diversity of landscapes; the ochre coloured flat-roofed cubist buildings of the towns and cities, the sandy red desert dunes, undulating fields in geometric patterns of various crops, lush green stripes of vegetation winding through arid rocky terrain, snow-capped mountains rising out of wildflower filled valleys, the bustling port cities of Tangier and Essaouira, ancient crowded medinas, rammed earth kasbahs and even a ski resort where the buildings resemble the sloping roofed houses of alpine Switzerland. Date palms, olive groves, hills covered for miles and miles with low clumps of wild thyme, vast orchards of oranges or apples, forests of cork oaks or cedar trees. Towns famous for roses, fossils, Beat poets, cherries, surfing, rock climbing, an enormous mosque built partly over water, mountaineering, movie making and the best dates (the edible kind not the Tinder kind). Morocco was fascinating and full of amazing surprises. The people by and large do not like to be photographed, which is fair enough. They can be very pushy when it comes to sales but there were also many vendors who were happy to let us look without harassment. My favourite souvenirs are my little bottle of Sahara, a silver bracelet with Berber designs etched into it and a tiny row boat carved from the local thuya wood plus of course the many, many photos that we both took. Ian looks totally dapper in his very fine goat leather coat from Fes.
Morocco is an astounding destination with an incredible variety of experiences.