Life in the desert

"Fam-i-ly," cried Ali. And as the apricot he threw hit his unsuspecting target Mohammed smack in the middle of the forehead, an all out food fight began. Amid flying apricots and couscous, it felt nice knowing that family meals in Morocco are the chaotic, everyone for themselves because there might not be enough (for a family of 6), manners be damned (were you born in a barn?), free-for-all that I know and love : )

And despite the fact that few people there were actually related--it was myself, three other travelers, Mohammed and Ali (who are unofficial family members) and Besmad (who I think is related, but not sure how) eating at the house of our guide Hussein's brother--in the Sahara, everyone is family.

So, for everyone wondering why I haven't posted in awhile, I am alive, and haven't been traded for camels or eaten by dogs (although I had a close call). I've been in the desert.

My desert adventure began in Marrakech (a good 8 hours away from the desert) over breakfast when I overheard Brett from Australia talking about wanting to go on a camel safari into the Sahara. My ears instantly perked up and I said I was also interested. Brett had the name of a guy (Hussein) and the hotel (Hotel Afriquia) where we were supposed to be able to find him scrawled on a napkin from a New Zealand couple he had previously met. After finding the hotel and asking for Hussein, the receptionist told us that he was currently in the desert, but would be calling in an hour and we shoud come back then. An hour later we go back, Hussein calls, Brett talks to him for approximately 30 seconds, but we manage to ascertain that he will be back at the hotel tomorrow night and we can set something up for the day after.

We're a little worried that this might not be legit, or that it might fall through or be outrageously expensive, but we return the next night at 8pm and meet Hussein who offers us a 3 day, 2 night expedition at a price we couldn't refuse. Basically he and his extended family run small tours into the desert, where he drives us down from Marrakech, with stops along the way to see stuff and we spend two nights in the desert at his family's camps, ride camels and see the tallest dunes in the Sahara. This is all falling into place except that the other two girls who had said they wanted to go were nowhere to be found and we were supposed to leave the next morning at 8am. Around 11pm, we decide we can't wait any longer and ask an Australian couple, Peter and Storm, who are staying at the hotel if they want to come. They agree almost immediately and we head out the next morning.

So a bit about our guide Hussein--he was born in the desert and has lived there his whole life. He loves the desert. He is the youngest in his family with 4 brothers and 4 sisters. His parents, who used to be nomadic and are still semi-nomadic despite being in their 80's, now live in Algeria, with his mom's family. We think he was around 28 years old. Very soon in our journey we learned that he knows pretty much everyone. He must do the drive from Marrakech to M'Hamid quite often because everywhere we stopped he knew someone. He also knew quite a few of the other drivers on the road, all of whom seemed to be family. Hussein also had a habit of disappearing on us for pretty lengthy periods of time. We came up with theories that these desert tours were really just covers for his drug dealing business. In actuality, time in the desert takes on a whole new concept, and you're pretty much a slave to the weather. It doesn't really make sense to leave a shaded cafe in the middle of the afternoon, or the protection of an oasis during a windstorm. Thus 20 minute stops often turned into hours.

The desert itself was amazing. As we approached Erg Chiggaga, it looked like we were coming up on mountains, but it was all sand, and it stretched for what looked like forever. And with only a few tents in the small camp, the only sound was that of the wind and the camels. The tents we stayed in were not what you would imagine of tents. They're more like small huts, except the floors are made of rugs, the walls are a mud/clay mixture and the roofs are palm fronds. The door to the tent is another rug. There's one main tent for dinner/hanging out with a couple of tables and stools, all of which are very low to the ground. Cushions surround the edges of the wall for sitting. There's also a building that is the "kitchen." It's very tiny, but has a gas stove and is dimly lit by a gas lamp that if in the U.S. would most likely be breaking every fire code in the book.

The first night we had a huge dinner of tagine followed by a few of the guys playing the drums and singing songs. Our favorite was a catchy tune that was part in Spanish, part in French and part in Arabic. The chorus in Spanish went something like this - Vamos a la playa, Aqui a la playa, Solo la reina (let's go to the beach, here there is no beach, only sand).

The next morning after seeing the sun rise (at 5am) and eating breakfast we had a 3 hour camel ride into M'Hamid. How our guides could find their way, I have no clue. There weren't any trails or anything distinguishing, just sand as far as you could see with the occasional shrub here and there.

M'Hamid is an interesting town. It was weird to see a town where everything was sand. There was one main road that was paved, but other than that, only sand. We immediately went to the café, which seemed to be THE meeting place in town. Reminded me of a Western movie, where everyone meets up at the Old Saloon. During our three days in the desert we spent a pretty significant chunk of time at this café, as did most people in town. Also it seemed that Hussein's car was more of a communal car, rather than his. Many times we couldn't leave the café because either our car was gone, Hussein was gone, or both.

The next several days involved a lot of hanging out, climbing sand dunes, stargazing, eating huge home cooked meals and talking to people as best as we could--some knew English, and I became our french translator, which was pretty funny. The most entertaining person though had to be Besmad. He was an older man who spoke no English, but was fluent in both Arabic and French. Possibly the happiest person I've ever met, he was constantly laughing, smiling and pretty much non stop talking while he was awake. He would begin by talking in Arabic, and when we said we didn't understand, he would laugh at us, and continue talking in Arabic only slower, louder and with violent hand gestures. Mohammed was another interesting character. He would get very excited whenever he would see us, yelling out "Family."

Despite the fact that life in the desert can't be easy, everyone we met appeared extremely happy. Constantly joking around and laughing, everyone was really friendly and outgoing, and there was a totally different mentality, where everything is, communal, everyone is family and the only real rules are dictated by the desert. One afternoon in the café, Peter was trying to buy a coke and was looking for the person to pay (it was always unclear who owned the café and who was just there), so he asks who he should give his money to, who was the boss, and Hussein replied, "here, everyone's the boss, the desert's the boss." And after three days of getting to know desert life, and still waking up with sand in my bed, I have to agree.

Ok, I have a few photos...I tried to get more, but this computer won't let me put more for some reason

Our first morning in the desert, pre-camel ride breakfast

The camp we stayed at the second night

Hanging out on the dunes, it was a bit windy

A land of contradictions

After about two weeks in Morocco, I have to say it is both one of the most amazing places I've been and also one of the most difficult places I've been. I now understand the extreme reactions I got from people when I told them I was going to Morocco. Just when you think you have the place figured out, something happens that totally contradicts everything you thought about it.

Some of my observations in no particular order...

1. Gender separation - There is a huge gender separation here. Rarely do you see groups of mixed gender hanging out. It is either a group of women or a group of men. The interesting thing about this is that I think it makes people more affectionate with each other. Women almost always walk arm in arm, which isn't too surprising, but you will also see men be just as affectionate with each other. Never have I seen men hugging each other more than here, it's also common for them to walk hand in hand or to sit with an arm around another's shoulder, and the standard greeting is a handshake, hug, and a kiss on each cheek. But, in order to prove their manliness and heterosexuality they make an extra point of cat-calling every single woman who walks by.

2. The Cafés - This kind of goes along with the gender separation, but the cafés seem to be male territory. Makes getting a cup of coffee in the morning rather difficult and sometimes intimidating. But the cafés here are huge, always packed, and only with men. Some of them seem to be more like sports bars minus the alcohol. They'll have tvs on the inside showing football (soccer) and the place will be packed with men drinking mint tea or coffee and watching the game. There's usually also an outside terrace as well, which is slightly less intimidating and good for people watching.

3. Neccesity vs. Luxury - Satellite TV = necessity. Modern plumbing, including flush toilets and hot water = luxury. Seriously, EVERYONE has a satellite dish on their roof.

4. Friendliness vs Salesmanship - One of the hardest things to judge is whether or not people are being genuinely friendly to you or whether they're trying to sell you something. Almost everyone says hi and tries to engage you in conversation, but some people are looking to get you to come to their store, while others are actually being genuinely nice. For example, the woman at the hotel I'm currently staying in. Yesterday evening I came in and she was asking me if I had seen the whole medina of Fes. I said, some of it, but not all of it, because it's pretty huge. She said she could show me around a little later if I wanted. Whenever someone offers to show you around, immediately warning bells should go off, because it's usually just someone looking for money. This city is full of "guides." Some are officially registered guides, others aren't. Sometimes the unofficial ones will follow you for a few blocks trying to get you to go in a certain direction, saying they just want to practice their english, etc etc. So when she offered to show me around, my first instinct was to say no. But then I thought about it another second, and decided that she wouldn't try to rip me off because then she would lose a paying customer at her hotel, plus I hadn't gotten the chance to meet a lot of Moroccan women, so I took her up on her offer, which turned out to be sincere. But the whole time I've been here I've felt like I can never really let down my guard, especially when dealing with people.

5. The "Gringo Tax" - As Pete pointed out in another post, the luggage fee that I had to pay for my bus ticket was not in fact an actual luggage fee but a "gringo tax." That's happened several times - I got another last minute luggage fee on the last bus I took, this time 5 dirhams instead of 10. Also prices for things tend to vary, sometimes even within the same store. Sometimes a bottle of water costs 5 dirhams, sometimes 6 dirhams, sometimes 5.50, and all from the same store. Nothing is actually labeled with a price, so who knows what the actual price is, which is frustrating, but hard to justify arguing over 1 dirham, which is something like 12 cents (not sure the actual exchange rate). But I've also noticed that some vendors seem to go out of their way to ensure me that I'm not being overcharged. Yesterday I bought some postcards, stamps, water and a magazine (I got pretty excited about finding a magazine in English) and when he rung me up he went through each item telling me the price.

6. Making change - Another issue here is making change. In general people don't have much cash on them so if you have to pay for something with a large bill (which often happens because the ATMs only give you 100 and 200 bills), then chances are the person won't have change. Surprisingly though, they can be trusted to give you change when they have it (either later that day, or will go down the street and make change with another vendor) or will alternatively trust you to pay them when you have a smaller bill. Despite sometimes being charged a "gringo tax," no one has ever tried to rip me off by not giving me the correct change, even when it is something as small as 2 dirhams.

7. Religious piety vs. Modernity - Some of the funniest sights I've seen include women dressed in their full floor-length robes throwing back a beer or two; women who make fashion statements out of their head scarves and robes by sporting hot pink or all leopard print; a group of older Muslim men in their jellabahs crowded around a computer downloading hip-hop music; cafés that blast techno remixes of modern songs in English; and the old guy who worked at the hostel in Chefchouen who took the time to mute the MTV music videos he was watching for the call to prayer.

Berber hospitality; aka I'll invite you for mint tea and then proceed to try and sell you everything I own

One thing that is pretty prevalent in all Moroccan cities are souks - basically markets which selll everything from fruits, vegetables, meat, souvenirs, clothes, everyday household items and appliances and even underwear. That was one thing I found odd about Chefchouen, the only place to buy anything, including underwear, is from these vendors in the middle of the street. It's pretty strange, being in a Muslim city where just about every woman is wearing a headscarf and long sleeved robes to the ground, to then pass by a vendor selling leopard printed bras. What? So women who can't allow their hair or one inch of their skin to show have no qualms buying bras, underwear and lingerie in public? In Chefchouen, they are almost guaranteed to not only run into tons of people they know, but they likely also know the vendor by first name, since it is such a small town and everyone is so friendly with each other. I know that I, for one, would not like shopping for my underwear and bras like this. I don't even like to buy them in stores that are too crowded. I mean, I know I'm weird, but it's just something I'd rather do in private. Yet these Muslim women shop for their most intimate items of clothing, that once purchased, no one is allowed to see, completely and totally in public.

But anyways, that was totally off topic...So yesterday morning I set off to the souks of Meknes with three goals: 1. to buy bandaids for the blisters I got from hiking, 2. to do some shopping - christmas presents for my family, and 3. to meet and talk to one of these shop owners, since supposedly the Berber (pronounced Bearbear, as I had to be reminded more than once) people are known for their hospitality and friendliness. Plus, Shaun told me to : )

So I set out into the souks dressed in my oversized gender-ambiguous clothes (to not attract any extra attention) and sunglasses (to prevent eye contact). Walking into the souks is kind of like going into battle - do not go unarmed. If you do, you will find yourself being talked out of every last dirham and walking away with more handmade Berber blankets and carpets than you will ever be able to carry on the plane ride home, much less in your backpack for the next month.

My first stop was a vendor who sold a range of random stuff - water, soap, bread, etc. So I thought, maybe he has bandaids too. I tried to ask for bandaids, but not knowing the french word for bandaids, avez-vous les bandages?, he had no idea what I was asking for and calls over his friend, who supposedly knew English. So I say bandaids, and the guy has no idea what I want and asks me to draw it. Well, as most of you know, my art skills are a bit lacking. But I try to draw a bleeding hand. I even write the word sange (which i think is the word for blood in french) next to the drops of blood and then say "pour arreter le sange." This appears to go somewhere and the guy says, oh pharmacie. Oui. So he's like ok I'll take you there. I immediately get into self-defense mode, because whenever someone offers to show you where something is, it usually involves a fee or stopping by their store first. So I'm like no, that's ok, I think I saw one back there, it's fine. But he insists, and I figure, what the hell, it's not like I have anything else to do today. So we go wandering through the souks and eventually get to the pharmacie, but they don't sell bandaids. The guy offers to take me somewhere else, but I decline. Then he asks if I want to see his store. He shows me his card and it's a jewelry store. I figure, hey, handmade Moroccan jewelry, that could make a good present, so off to his store we go. We're moving pretty slowly, because the guy, whose name I've now found out is Nourddine, has a cane. He says he likes talking to tourists because he gets to practice his English. He's fluent in both Moroccan Arabic and French, but says English is hard for him. So we're talking, I ask him about the Berber culture and his opinion on the new French president, which was all over the news here. He said he liked the new French president, which kind of surprised me because everything that I've read seemed to suggest that he didn't hold the Berber people in very high regard. But Nourddine said he liked him because he was young and new and it would be a good change.

So we make it to the store that his brother runs. I browse, talk to him and his brother. They joke that they will give me a good price for a jewelery set, consisting of earrings, necklace and a bracelet. "Student discount" they say. So I find a couple of things I like and we start negotiating a price. But then I realize that I probably don't have enough money, so I tell them I need to go to the ATM and then come back. No, no, they say. We'll negotiate a price, you pay what you have now and then the rest later. Not totally comfortable with this idea, mostly because it is just so foreign to me, I figure, when in Morocco...

So we negotiate a price, I get a pretty good deal, or at least considerably less than what I was originally quoted at, plus I get a silver pendant thrown in for free. A present, they say. Then Nourddine and I go off so I can stop at an ATM and pay him the rest I owe.

First, we stop at my house for tea, he says, then get change. Ok....since I've already bought stuff, I figure this must be the Berber hospitality I've heard so much about. Well, it turns out his house is also attached to a store, where he sells, you guessed it, carpets (i would put multiple explanation points here, but there are none on this keyboard). So we go in, he has his son make tea, and we sit down in his store and chat. He is sort of trying to get me to buy carpets, but I'm like, all I have is a backpack, carpets are too big to carry. So then he tries to sell me a challabah (the long robe things), and I try it on just to humor the guy, but at this point I really don't feel bad about saying no because I've already bought souvenirs from him, which I remind him. So I try to steer him off "the sale" and ask about his family. He's married with one girl and one boy and has lived in Meknes all his life. He asks about my family, whether or not I am married and we actually have a pleasant conversation for a few minutes. Then he sends me off with his 10 year old son to the ATM to get the rest of the change I owe. The level of trust among the people here is pretty incredible. People are constantly saying, oh just pay me later. And the amazing thing is, people actually do.

So I finally settle my bill, and am about to leave, but still he is trying to get me to buy something else to help his family. I keep saying no, no, I already bought something. Finally he relents, and I think we are going to leave on bad terms, which is slightly disappointing, but then he totally switches gears and invites me to have a couscous dinner with his family. At this point I'm a little confused, so I thank him but decline. We shake hands, and as I am walking away he calls after me, "bienvenue à maroc."

The oh so reliable African bus system

This morning I left Chefchouen by bus at 6 a.m. on what was supposedly a 3 to 4 hour bus ride to Meknes. I was advised my Mandy, a girl I met in Granada, who has spent the last two years doing Peace Corps in Morocco, to only ride the CTM or Supratours buses. Well, not being one for actually taking other people's advice, I bought a bus ticket from a company whose name I don't even know because it was only written in Arabic. I figured it was a relatively short ride, no big deal, plus the ticket was cheaper. Well I get to the bus station about a quarter to 6 and go to put my backpack in the luggage compartment. The guy take it throws it in and then is like that's 5 dirhams. At first I think he just wants money for putting my bag in the luggage compartment, which I think is ridiculous because I could have just done it myself. Then he's like, no there's a luggage fee. Oh, well I paid that when I bought my ticket, I say. Although, it's not that simple bc he doesn't really understand or speak English and I definitely don't understand or speak Arabic. Then some random old guy comes walking down the stairs of the bus and is like 10 dirhams and is holding out his hand. At this point I'm really annoyed and kind of pissed, because I already paid the 10 dirham luggage fee when I bought my ticket, and it's clear that the guy that took my bag knows this. But now it's two versus one and the old guy is blocking my way onto the bus. So I hand him 5 dirhams and lie and say that's all I have and am allowed onto the bus.

The bus is pretty much empty when I get on and I sit in an aisle seat so creepy old guy can't sit next to me. A few more people get on the bus (none of whom paid any luggage fee) and off we go, only a half hour past schedule.

The thing I did not realize about the bus system here is that the bus stops for anyone, anywhere at anytime. And the way they stop is by coming to a rolling stop at the side of the road, the luggage guy opens the back door, people jump on, and the bus often begins pulling away before the luggage guy gets all the way back on the bus. If someone wants off the bus it seems all you have to do is just start yelling at the driver until he pulls over.

So when we hit Ouezzane, a town about one-fourth of the way to Meknes, an hour and a half into our journey, I knew it was going to be a long ride. Another thing I noticed about the busses here is that people, and particularly women tend to crowd towards the front of the bus. Even if there are open spaces in the back, people will fill the front seats first, and have no qualms about sitting next to strangers as long as they are of the same sex. I was sitting in the middle, but near the back and looking around noticed that it was starting to fill up quickly, but only with men. So when we stopped at Ouezzane I moved a few seats forward, and soon had a seatmate of an older woman. Another thing is that everyone, men and women, was wearing long sleeves and long pants. Many of the men were wearing sweaters, and all but one other woman were wearing the head scarf. Meanwhile the temp on the bus is quickly rising to well above 70 degrees.

So we're going along and I'm feeling pretty good about the bus ride, enjoying the mountain farmland scenery and the company of my seatmate, despite the fact that we can't really communicate, when all of a sudden the bus starts making a very loud grinding noise, only to come to a complete stop, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. (At this point I'm reminded of Kenny's photo that I have hanging in my room of the broken down bus in the middle of the desert, only we're in the mountains.) Once people start realizing that this isn't going to be a quick fix, they start getting out of the bus, which is starting to fill up with diesel fumes. So I get out too and find a shady place to sit. I notice a few people have wandered out into the fields, including my seatmate and are picking something - at first I think they're picking wild flowers, but then one kid comes back to his mom and dumps a load of some kind of peas or beans in front of her. They begin shelling and eating them. A little while later we get back onto the bus and head out, although at a much slower speed than before. The woman sitting next to me has gathered a bunch of the beans and shares with me.

Life is good as we start to approach Meknes, until the bus breaks down again. This time I think it was just a matter of running out of gas, because a few mintues later the driver and the luggage guy have constructed some sort of contraption and are pouring fuel into the gas tank and then we actually stop at a gas station and fill all the way up. Meanwhile the bus people (there are three of them - the driver, the luggage guy and the ticket guy) proceed to get into a yelling match with each other and the gas station attendants. I have no idea what about.

Needless to say, I arrived in Meknes, found a hostel and am feeling settled in. Maybe next time I will take a CTM bus, but then again, maybe not : )

"Sometimes the book can lead you astray"

This was the response of a Moroccan shop owner we passed yesterday morning while trying to navigate our way through Chefchouen's windy streets to get to the trail head to climb Jebel al-Kelaa, the mountain overlooking Chefchouen. He asked if we needed help finding anything and not wanting any hassle about coming to his store, buying hash, or eating at his restaurant, we quickly shrugged him off, saying no, we didn't need any help because we had a map and book. At the time, I didn't think much about it, because we were just looking at a map and had no interest in paying someone to point us in the right direction or get into a conversation that would inevitably lead to either an attempt at a durg sale or an invitation to come to their store "just for a chat," when what they really want is to sell you a rug or carpet or chalabah (the long wool hoody things that the men here wear). But, later on, as we're trekking up the mountain, his comment got me thinking about how we as tourists do affect their economy in a very real way. Particularly since Chefchouen is not as touristy as some of the bigger cities here and people still live very traditional lives; on both of our hikes we ran into more goat and sheep herders than other hikers. So each single tourist's impact is felt more. And it got me wondering how we affect not only the restaurants and shops we patronize, but the ones that we don't. If we just eat at the restaurants recommended by the book, it's very true that we might be missing out on someplace really good, but also if all the tourists only eat at the restaurants in the book, it's easy to see how this will only perpetuate the unequal distribution of wealth that already plagues Morocco.

The good, the bad and the ugly

Chefchouen is an interesting place and we've had some interesting encounters with the people here, ranging from genuinely friendly, people just looking to make a buck, and downright threatening.

When Adam, Jack and I first arrived to Chefchouen (Adam and Jack are cousins from Oregon who I met in the port of Tangier and we ended up splitting a cab to Chefchouen) our first encounter was with a guy wanting to first be our guide to our hostel and when we declined that offer, wanted to sell us hash. He pretty much descended on us as soon as we stepped out of the car. We said no, we don't need a guide, we know where we're going and have a map and a reservation. So we start walking, and he begins asking Jack if he smokes and wants to buy some hash. Adam says no, he doesn't smoke and doesn't want to buy anything. After a bit more fruitless pestering, he moves on to Adam. Adam gives him the same spiel, no I don't smoke, none of us smoke and we don't want to buy anything. But by this time the guy was getting desperate and would not leave us alone, saying we were bad people and if he caught us smoking hash we had bought from someone else he would make our time here miserable.

Well we manage to make it to our hostel without buying anything or giving him money, but unfortunately that wasn't the end of him. Later that night we're having dinner, and he must have spotted us (we were sitting outside), because as soon as we leave the restaurant he immediately latches onto Adam again, only this time more persistent, asking for more money and threatening violence if we he didn't buy. The situation had us all a bit rattled so over the next several days we devised alternate routes to avoid the plaza in the evening and Adam started wearing a scarf on his head to hide his blond hair.

On the other end of the spectrum, there have been people who are genuinely friendly to us. After returning from one of our hikes, we're walking back to our hostel and pass some school kids walking with their teachers. On seeing us, they immediately turn, start waving furiously and yelling out "hola, como esta," and laughing and smiling the whole time particularly when we wave and say hola back. Then the other night at dinner we walk into this restaurant that is for the most part empty. There is one kid eating in the back, who appeared to be the son of the owner. We walk in, sit down and immediately the owner and a waiter come over, lean forward with their elbows on our table and start going into an in depth explanation of the menu switching from spanish, french, english and arabic, talking about a mile a minute, simultaneously and gesturing and pointing like mad. When they are done with their explanation (somehow we manage to get the gist of what they said), they stay exactly where they are, arms firmly planted on the table, leaning into us so they are directly in our faces and staring expectantly. After a few moments of awkward silence we manage to convey to them that we need a couple of minutes to decide. They jump up in flourish, the owner runs off into the kitchen and the waiter just sort of stands back a few feet. A couple of minute later we place our order. The whole time we're waiting for our food, the waitor (who can't be more than 15 or 16) keeps looking over at us, sometimes just laughing, other times trying to make conversation. Then we hear some sort of commotion going on outside and suddenly the owner comes running in full speed, runs over to our table and makes like he is hiding behind us. The whole time, the waitor is just cracking up. After that, which startles us to say the least, the owner apologizes profusely, shakes all of our hands and does the whole double-cheek kiss thing. It was very bizarre, and we never did figure out what was going on. Finally our food comes. The waitor sets it down in front of us, steps back maybe about 6 inches and proceeds to stare at us while we eat, until the owner yells at him to leave us alone. Then as we are leaving, we pay our bill, and the owner starts asking me in French how long we're staying, etc. He says hold on bc he wants to give us his card. He goes running back behind the cash register (if you haven't figured it out yet, everything here was done at full speed) and is scrounging around for a business card. The waitor is still laughing his head off at the whole thing. He can't find one and motions for us to come over. So we do and the guy starts scribbling down his info on a napkin. Then he starts asking us questions, and it took us awhile to figure it out, but he wanted our names and phone numbers. Very confused at this point, we give him our names only and head out. The whole thing was very bizarre and definitely the most hilarious dining experience I've had in awhile.

Morocco

Well I made it to Chefchouen without getting traded for any camels. Met two other travelers at the port in Tanger while trying to negotiate a cab fare to the bus station. We ended up all just splitting a cab to chefchouen; probably got ripped off, but hey, sometimes you pay for convenience. Anyways, this is going to be short because the keyboards here are French keyboards so all the letters are in different places, which makes typing a bit more difficult.

But just wanted to let everyone know that I am in Africa and alive and well. Spent the day hiking in the rif mountains where we ran across numerous goats and a few goat herders. So that was cool and I promise one of these days I will post photos.

"In Morocco, I trade you for 200 camels"

Excuse me?

In Granada while out on a tapas tour with other people from the hostel, we were all talking about our travel plans and I mentioned I was going to Morocco. A guy sitting nearby, who happened to be from Morocco, made this comment when he overheard me saying I was going there.

He looks at me, says if I was traveling with that guy(pointing at another traveler), the two of them could trade me like a business deal. Me for 200 camels. "Camels are very expensive," he said.

I´m pretty sure the guy was joking around, but unfortunately we don´t share the same sense of humor.

Whenever I mention I´m going to Morocco, the reaction I get is always very extreme. People either love it or hate it. I´m either going to have a great time, or get traded for camels. I will either get constantly harassed because I´m a woman, or I will get left alone because I´m a woman. Moroccans are both the friendliest people, and also just looking to scam you. I have to say, all of this makes me a little bit nervous.

Fortunately, from what I gather, the people who have hated Morocco, have only been to Tanger and I´m not planning on spending anytime there, aside from walking from the ferry to the bus station.

I did meet a girl who has spent the last 2 years doing Peace Corps in Morocco and so far she hasn´t been traded for camels, so that´s a good sign. Also, she´s going to be in Morocco when I´m there so we may meet up for at least part of my travels.

Right now I´m in Tarifa, the southern most point of Europe, after spending about four days in Granada. Granada was beautiful. I spent one day biking in the mountains, which reminded me a little bit of biking in Palo Alto except the mountains were much bigger. Also saw the Alhambra, an old Muslim fortress. Granada was interesting, because it was a combination of Muslim architecture and a bit of Moroccan culture, with Spanish culture. Thus everything still kept the weird Spanish hours, that I still haven´t quite gotten used to. But there was also a lot more tea lounges and Moroccan shops. Granada was also the most laid back place I´ve been so far, which is saying a lot because all of Spain has been laid back. Everyone I met had gone to Granada with the intention of staying a couple of days, but a couple of days usually turned into a week or more. Granada was also not on my original plan, but I went there on the recommendation of some other travelers and am very glad I did.