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.

Bull versus Man (well 5 men, a horse, some knives, a spear and a sword)

Alright, everyone is requesting that I write about the bullfight, so here we go...

I spent three days in Seville. The first day I was there I was checking email in the common area and met four guys - Ruben from Toronto, David from Houston (who, while working in Fallujah, almost had his hand blown off), Ben (I forget where he´s from), and Aaron from Oregon. The four of them were all traveling solo but had met each other at different points along the way. They were talking about attempting to get tickets to a bull fight later that evening and asked if I wanted to come along. I figured, hey, when in Spain...(which has sort of been my motto so far for this trip). About an hour later, we´re walking to the stadium, arrive right before the match/fight/slaughter (I´m not sure what the technical term is) was about to start and somehow managed to scalp $45 euro tickets for $20. I honestly had no idea what to expect. My only experience with bullfighting was from watching it on TV at the bar in Madrid.

The way it works is the bull comes charging into the ring, un-speared and full of energy. There are between 3-5 guys (we were calling them fluffers, again not sure if this is a technical term or not) with pink capes. They put on a show, waving their capes, having the bull charge at them, either swerving out of the way, or if the bull is coming especially fast, ducking behind a wooden barrier. The fluffers put on a show for a few minutes, then a horn blows and it´s time for the second act -- two guys on horses. The horses are blindfold and coated with some sort of armor. The guys on the horses have long spears. At some point, the bull charges the horse, hits the horse and gets speared by the guy on top. The horse act was my least favorite. The only purpose I could see was to maim the bull. The guy on the horse was not in danger because he was high enough up that the bull couldn´t reach him. I wasn´t so psyched that the horse, who was blindfolded, just had to take these hits from the bull without having any idea what was going on.

The fluffers at least had some skill and impressive footwork. Also there was a clear hierarchy even among the fluffers. It was obvious some were pretty new at this -- they would wave their cape and then immediately run behind the wooden barrier. Others stayed out in the ring, doing almost a dance with the bull, who at this point is charging hard and fast. The most impressive move was when one of the fluffers moved his cape just so and the bull hit the ground, horns first, propelling him upwards and then completely over into a sommersault.

So after the horses, come the knife guys. They have these decorated long knives, with points that I don´t think are too long, sort of like thumb tacks at the end, but longer for decoration and so the guys can hold them. Anyways, these guys provoke the bull to charge at them (they have no cape to swing away at the last minute, it´s just them versus the bull), then they also run at the bull, throw the knives into it´s back/neck area and dodge out of the way at the last minute. This one is also impressive because it seems pretty dangerous. The bull is only slightly maimed and a little tired out from all the running, so it´s still coming at the guy pretty fast.

After two of these guys have a go at the bull, the horn blows again and out struts the matador (seriously, every matador has a strut)....By this time the bull is heaving to catch its breath, bleeding, and has at least two of the knife thingys dangling from its back. Not exactly in top form. But to his credit, the matador gets extremely close to the bull, and to see how the two of them move together is pretty interesting. I have both photos and video, which I swear I will post, sometime soon. The video is interesting because I have video of the bull versus the fluffer and the bull versus the matador and the change in the speed of the bull is glaringly obvious.

So, in total, three matadors "battled" seven bulls and killed six. The bull that sommersaulted from the fluffer was spared (apparently the landing broke something, so it couldn´t do the turns). The first bull was half dead by the time the matador came out. And by half dead I mean that on its first charge at the matador, it collapsed. The fluffer had to instigate it to get it back up. So at this point I´m pretty disgusted by the whole thing. But it seems that there is a ranking even among the bulls because as the match went on, the bulls were more alive by the time the matador came out. The fifth bull was especially fiesty, and the matador was especially daring. His body was brushing the bull´s, as he barely edged out of the way. Then on one charge, the bull hit him. The matador flipped over the bull and landed as the crowd screamed and the fluffers rushed out to shield him from further bull charges. The fluffers are picking him up and start to help him out of the arena, but the matador is resisting and you can tell there is a struggle (I´m sure some of it was dramatized for effect) between the matador wanting to finish and the fluffers who don´t want him to get killed in front of a packed arena. My first thought was, well the bull has to fight to the death, so should the matador.

So the matador finishes the fight and kills the bull.

All in all, it was an extremely intense experience. I´ve never witnessed an animal that large get slaughtered. And I saw it 6 times. I´m glad I went, but I don´t think I will ever go again. My bullfighting companions all said the same thing and we all decided that we wish we had understood a little more about why it was such an important part of the Spanish culture. Although we did determine that bullfighting must be why the Spanish eat dinner so late. Watching six large mammals die slow, gruesome deaths doesn´t exactly pique one´s appetite.