Morocco is not Africa

I had a feeling this would be true. The country has been more of an inspiration than anticipated. Beautiful faces under scarves. Never have I been in a place I knew so little about. Speaking Arabic or French would greatly enable experiences here.

Moroccans love Americans. As Muslims, they think we Americans now fear them and their country based on their religion, and perhaps they're right. Surrounded by European and Asian tourists in Tanger, I got the feeling a famous past of Americans visiting and living in Morocco has died. To indicate their understanding of Americans, I kept hearing the phrase, "genuine people, corrupt politics," though they might understand this better than we do.

Yes, I've got Moroccan friends, how many have you? In Tanger I make two or three, which is more than I can afford. Often a Moroccan's friendliness is driven by money. Ahmed, who tells some good stories from the 60's in perfect English and shows me around for a day says he needs 400 Durham for lung X-rays. Sherrif expects me to pay for his beer and good times when we meet up in a bar. Sure, their need feeds their eagerness to please foreigners, but why wouldn't it?

Moroccans may be generally poor compared to Europeans or Americans, but they do not seem desperate. Perhaps the beautiful, bountiful natural landscape of the country affords the lack of individual hardship. I never felt threatened, and experienced absolutely no aggression anywhere in Morocco. I did witness two rather intense fights, one between two old men trying to throw the harder punch, and one between three teenage girls with some violent hair grabbing and a knocked over scooter. Regardless, it seems spats are short and internal.

Tanger won the bid for an Expo in 2012 (http://www.tanger2012.ma/), evident by the celebratory posters and construction. Unrelated to the event is the rumored connection between the city and Tarifa in Spain. More information and ideas about this unprecedented future connection between Africa and Europe can be found at:
http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/nationworld/2003544736_gibraltar28.ht ml
http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/3317149.stm
http://www.tdrinc.com/gibraltar.htm
Whatever is built will surely be better than the uneventful ferry ride between Tarifa and Tanger, on which they won't even let you sit outside like on a British Columbian ferry. My time in Tanger was a day and a half of rough culture shock, giving me fuller appreciation of the places I visited later in Morocco.

On a bus to Chefchaouen I meet Spencer, a fellow American backpacker from Port Angeles, WA (incidentally where Gretchen and I took a ferry into BC almost two years ago). He is traveling around the world with an amazing scholarship from the University of Washington that basically pays one's traveling and living expenses, unchecked and with no expectations, for a minimum of eight months. No lie.
Check out his extraordinary blog (which inspires me to write in complete sentences) at:
http://www.spencerscomet.blogspot.com/
And even better pictures (of which I am also slightly jealous) at:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/spencerscomet/

Chefchaouen is a picturesque little mountain town, known as the hashish capital of Morocco. Plaster of sky and baby blues, indigos, and violets softly coat the narrow streets and nooks of the town's Medina. Smooth, fluid, coolness feeling as though in a labyrinth of water slides. Time here was spent getting to know Spencer while exploring the surreal Medina, making short hikes to various vantage points, and relaxing on a roof terrace as the stars spun around.

We have dinner with the owner of the restaurant les Raisins and his French musician friends. The food was delicious, the hookah was huge, and the conversation engaging, though a little sketchy at the end. Before Spencer and I leave, I reenact a scene from a Ben Stiller movie where he has an explosively upset stomach in a bathroom with no toilet paper, though my version only lasts 20 minutes.

I leave the Rif mountains on a bus to Kenitra, where I meet an unbelievably nice trio of women and one husband at the train station. They represent a strong exception to my previous experiences of financial friendships as they help me get on the right train to Marrakesh and share their yogurt drink and muffins in the most welcoming and gracious manner. Thank you Asmaa, Zenib, and Fatima!

Marrakesh won me over. On the same train as the lovely ladies traveling from Kenitra, I meet Lahouasli, who helps me find a cheap hotel in the Marrakesh's Medina and shows me around for the night and following morning. Lahousali is a Henna artist living in the Sahara who has the appearance and demeanor of a male model. Through an online service he recently married a German girl, whom he has yet to meet, and will be moving to live with her in less than a month. We dine in Jemaa l-Fna on parts of lamb head- namely tongue, cheek chunks, and brain. This is complemented nicely with bread soaked in lamb head juice, and the traditional hot, sweet, mint tea ("Moroccan Whiskey"). Day and night one can get delicious glasses of fresh-squeezed orange juice for three Durham (about 30cents). Am concerned for my teeth. The following day I explore the enormous souk (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Souk), and that evening I sit for hours on a roof terrace watching dusk pass over this heart of Marrakesh.

Jemaa l-Fna (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Djemaa_el_Fna) is an indescribable urban space full of smells, sights, and sounds foreign to me. The continuous haggling to buy something or give money here is not foreign, and I often felt rude when I did not. Perhaps it is, given the stark contrast in wealth and opportunity, and that I am in effect using their home as my vacation destination.

The burnt oranges, rusty reds, and dirty pinks of Marrakesh's buildings contrast greatly the spaces of Chefchaouen, their colors reflecting the difference in climate and landscape. Chefchaouen, a small town set high in a mountain valley, and Marrakesh, a hot bustling city on the edge of the Sahara, represent two distinct contrasts in my experiences in Morocco.

A marathon day of traveling brings me back to Europe: long walk at dawn to the Marrakesh train station, train to Casablanca, train from "Casa" to the airport, flight to Madrid, metros across Madrid where one hostel is full, walk back across Madrid to find one open bed in another.

I will return to this melting pot of people, religion, and landscape (good one, eh?). Lots of quality time exploring the Rif mountains (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rif_Mountains) on motorcycle or in van, and a stint in the sand dunes and deserts of south are in order.

Am currently in Barcelona, but more on that later.