Paul, Vanessa, and Gumby's Tour d' Earth
Hi Again. Finally a chance to update our journey. Time is passing quicker and quicker.
Africa, the Dark Continent. It has always held such mystery to a kid from Canada.
Tangiers
We stepped off the ferry at Tangiers, Morocco onto African soil on the morning of Saturday, Oct. 12, and were instantly assaulted by the sights, smells, and noises of a very foreign land. We managed to avoid almost all of the now infamous hustlers who stalk the tourists offering guide services for a fee. Their only real goal is to part you from your money any way possible. One did manage to latch onto us and wouldn't go away until we reached our hotel, the famous Tangiers Inn.
William Burroughs wrote "The Naked Lunch" there, while hanging around with Jack Kerouac, and Allan Ginsberg, the famous beat poet. We lucked out and actually got to stay in room 4, the room Kerouac and Ginsberg shared. Cool daddio! Unfortunately, I don't think they had changed the sheets since they had visited about 40 years ago. It would be polite to say that this place was in its twilight years.
Tangiers is not the most hospitable city. It's a little overwhelming to a newcomer, so we got the hell out of Dodge the next morning, boarding a bus for the 3 hour journey to the mountain town of Chefchaouen. We instantly felt more relaxed. We found peace and tranquility in Chefchaouen. Why? Because this little whitewashed town is the gateway to most of the country's hashish supply, coming out of the nearby Rif Mountains.
Everyone is stoned! Lots of burnouts hanging around with big shiteating grins on their faces. It is a little shocking though to have a little kid of 5 or 6 come up, palm open, offering to sell you a huge chunk of hash. At least we were getting better at blowing off the hustlers.
While there, we befriended a local shopkeeper, Absallem who had us to his house on numerous occasions for tea, lunch, and dinner. We met his family, and learned much about the culture. We mentioned that we were heading to Fez next, and he said he was also heading there for a few days to buy supplies for his jewellery business. He offered to show us around the complicated narrow streets of the medina (the old walled city) in Fez. This Medina has over 9000 alleys and pathways, and over 400,000 people living in an area of a few square kilometres. We gladly accepted his offer, since we would have had to get a professional guide anyway.
Our guards came up the next morning before leaving our hotel when the waiter at breakfast told us about some local hustlers methods of befriending unsuspecting tourists and leading them into dangerous situations. His description of one of them sounded frighteningly close to Absallems. We brushed it off however, and boarded the bus to Fez with Absallem. He pretty much took charge then, and things started to spin out of control. He got us off the bus before reaching the bus station at Fez, got us a cab, took us to a hotel, checked us in, and before we knew it we were in the medina of Fez, as the sun set, meeting his cousin, Sayid.
Now it was decided by them that Sayid, not Absallem would show us around the Medina the next morning. He would to us to the carpet co-op, and maybe we would like to buy a carpet, and then maybe we would like to take a camel trip into the desert with another cousin. No problems. They could arrange everything. They would escort us to the bus for a 9-hour ride into the desert, to be met there by the cousin. We would stay with his Berber family in their tents in the desert. We didn't have to decide now. No problem. Why didn't we come to Sayids house for dinner to talk about it. Please accept his hospitality. It was all very gracious and pleasant.
Fortunately, Vanessa had the common sense to beg off dinner, citing fatigue. We agreed to meet Sayid at 7 am at our hotel to do the tour. No harm there, right? Walking back to the hotel, with alarm bells ringing in our heads, I ran into a street hustler who had seen Vanessa and I earlier with Absallem. He said he knew Absallem, and gave me a chilling wink as we hurried past him. That was about the last straw.
In the safety of our hotel, we tried to figure out what to do. We didn't feel we were in any imminent danger, but we felt that we were being inexorably drawn into something, who knows what, by two very experienced conmen. We couldn't believe though that someone would go to such great lengths to scam us. Feeling cornered, we went to bed unsure of our next move.
Our answer came unexpectedly the next morning when I awoke to find a very sick Vanessa. She had been expelling things from more than one orifice for most of the night, and didn't feel up to going anywhere. I met Sayid downstairs, and told him the bad news. He didn't seem to believe me. I told him I would call his cell early in the afternoon to hook up later. Using this unexpected reprieve, we quickly packed our bags, checked out, and bolted for the train station where we bought tickets to Marrakech on the midnight train.
It didn't feel very good skipping town, but it was probably the prudent thing to do. Unfortunately we still had 10 hours to kill to our departure, so we skulked around the medina, constantly in fear of being spotted by Absallem, Sayid, or their minions, who probably had figured by now that we had wiggled off the hook. We breathed a huge sigh of relief when the train pulled out of the station. Goodbye Fez! We won't miss you.
Marrakech
We didn't sleep much on the train to Marrakech. I kept humming "Marrakech Express" by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Arriving at 5 am, we walked the 1-hour from the station, along wide, clean, tree lined boulevards, to the old walled city. We arrived just in time to watch the sun come up over the huge Koutoubi Mosque. Over the next couple of days it became apparent to us why Marrakech is considered the jewel of Morocco.
Like all great cities, it has an ambience, a pulse. At the focal point of Marrakech is the Djemaa El-Fna, the "Assembly of the Dead", the main square where Sultans used to behead criminals, and then put their heads on view. By day it is used mainly as a road, but each night thousands of people arrive to sample exotic food and drink, and to see all manner of acrobats, belly dancers, boxers, snake charmers, musicians, storytellers, tattoo artists, witch doctors, and even the occasional dentist.
Close by, you can venture into the myriad of narrow streets of the Medina, vying for space with pedestrians, bicycles, donkeys, scooters, and cars. A cacophony of noise erupts from the shopkeepers in their cramped, claustrophobic stalls, all of them extolling the virtues of their wares. Anything can be had. Come on in! Mine are the best! Good deals! Best prices!
At our hotel, we signed on for a 3-day trip, with 12 others, into the Sahara Desert at the Eastern edge of the country. It took two full days to get there, occasionally stopping to see some spectacular gorges, historical Kasbahs, and oasis towns. But mostly, we saw the bleak, rocky desert. Yet, people do live out here. The Berbers have been here since 4000 BC. Every so often we would spot a figure walking through the desert, miles from nowhere, and wonder where did they come from, and where could they be going?
We arrived at Merzouga after dark. Real roads had stopped existing 50 km ago. We promptly mounted camels and set off for a Berber camp. The moonless night provided little light. I was just able to make out the outline of the dunes. I was a little frightened at first to be aboard these giant, farting, bawling beasts, but I soon settled down. I trusted these sure-footed creatures to negotiate our way safely through the blackness.
It was very quiet, and peaceful, only the sound of many hooves moving against the sand. Everyone was silent, deep into their own thoughts. I imagined myself, hundreds of years in the past, living this nomadic existence. No matter that this was a trip that thousands of dorky tourists took every year. The effect was achieved. It was magical.
We arrived at our camp exhausted. My ass hurt like hell from the camel's hump. Dinner was Tajine, a meat and vegetable dish steamed in large clay containers over an open flame. It is served on large platters and shared by all. We eagerly devoured the feast, using only bread and fingers as utensils. Delicious!
It was late and we were all tired, so everyone went to bed, with the intention of rising early to see the sun come up over the dunes. Most choose to sleep in the tent, but a few of us opted to sleep under the stars, wrapping ourselves in camel blankets. After a few minutes of staring at the vast sky, I fell into a deep, satisfying sleep.
I was awakened just before dawn by the crowing of a rooster, vaguely wondering what the hell a rooster was doing in the middle of the desert. Dressing quickly, and grabbing our cameras, Vanessa and I scrambled up some dunes to get some shots. The source of the rooster became apparent, as we spotted another Berber tent nearby. Unlike ours though, this one was permanently occupied by a family with two little girls, who shyly approached us.
After sunrise, we again mounted our camels for the return trip to the vehicle. In the full light of day, the spectacle of the desert was really revealed. Endless dunes, many reaching heights of more than 350 ft. It is said that this area of the Sahara is regarded as having the best examples of giant dunes in the world.
The 14-hour run back to Marrakech was tedious, made more so by the arrival of the King to one of the towns we were passing through. All traffic was halted for hours, until he had left. Fortunately, I had the events of the previous days to sooth my tired mind and body.
After a couple more days of enjoying the pleasures of Marrakech, we boarded a decrepit bus to take us to the coastal fishing village of Essaouria. Once a home to Portuguese pirates, it later gained notoriety as a hippie enclave, after Jimi Hendrix, and Cat Stevens made it their favourite stomping grounds in the sixties. A peaceful and relaxing spot, it was the perfect place to spend our last few days in Morocco.
We were starting to feel the strains of traveling in a 3rd world, Muslim country. Especially Vanessa. Always having to cover up; enduring the leers of the men; the hissing from the women and children; worrying about getting sick from the food and water; the hustlers; the constant haggling; the inconsistent prices; no beer.
It all came to a head one afternoon at a restaurant in the main square. The waiter tried to charge some ridiculous amount for a vegetable couscous, and Vanessa finally "snapped a crayon". You would have loved to see her rage at the poor waiter, and then the manager, refusing to be ripped off again. She is usually so mild mannered. Everyone in the square was watching. Eventually she stomped off, leaving me to pay. She felt bad after she had calmed down, realizing that she was venting for all the frustrations of the previous weeks. We spent the next day and a half taking the long way around to our hotel to avoid running into that waiter.
That incident was the final tip-off that it was time to get back to our world. As fascinating and beautiful as Morocco is, it's not the place for two soft, white North Americans to spend too long in. So we set out on the quickest trip back to Spain. Seven hours by bus to Casablanca (don't bother going there), followed by an overnight bus to Tangiers, arriving before the sun came up, followed by a 3 hour ferry to Algecires, Spain.
24 hours and we were back on European soil. We picked up our car and promptly drove to the Costa Del Sol, the most overly touristed area of Spain. Nothing but hotels, beaches, and British pubs. We gorged on the decadence. A few days later, satiated, we headed to Barcelona, where we have spent a week.
I'll get into Barcelona in the next update. This city is one of the best cities I have ever been in. We love it here. I can't stop snapping pictures of all the sights. Unfortunately, we have to leave tomorrow. We're meeting our friend, Kate, in Rome in a week, so we have to get moving. Oh well, I guess Rome will be ok too!
Let me know if I'm boring you. Enjoy the new pictures. Keep the e-mails coming. Take care, be well.
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