We stepped off the train in Casablanca, Morocco, to calls of "taxi, taxi!" and looked out at a third world street. Broken concrete edges, dirt, rubbish and pot holes channelled dented cars as they dodged sandalled pedestrians in tatty headscarves and flowing clothes that covered down to the elbows and the knees.
I had covered up in regards to my clothes and agreed with Jahda not to have any public displays of affection - at least until we had a better understanding of the culture we had walked into. We were grateful for the crash course we got over the following days with our hosts.
Our hosts (friends of friends) had lived here for many years and spoke the local arabic and french fluently. They knew you could say 'hum de la' (praise Allah/God) as a completely legitimate response when things ever got confusing (!?) and had friends in the "middle class" housing where whole families squeezed their sleeping and child-minding into a single room that many westerners would consider an 'eat only' area.
We heard that our friend, Tim, is an envied man by some local female friends who come and visit him and his wife. Simple kindnesses for his wife like offering a cup of tea or saying "here, let me do that for you darling" are enough to place him as an incredible find in the minds of these women who usually experience a different kind of relationship with their husbands due to age old customs.
Our first 'taste' of Morocco was a broken-up layered type of pancake dish (yep, no idea what it was!). It was gifted from a generous neighbor who would have spent a long time making the difficult, yet delicious, creation. It seems that for all the lack of what we would call freedoms (thought, speech etc), the sense of community is full.
It really is an interesting place. Here are some things we discovered:
- Nothing negative is said of the king as the king is above reproach by commoners.
- Road markings are only of 'emotional value' (!!) for those people left over from the French colonization period: drive as you will on the multi-option yet one-lane road.
- Insurances (such as car, house etc) are kept in the names of the original buyers as any other option is seriously too complicated(!)
- If you cause a traffic accident, be prepared to hand over an appropriate amount of cash for damages; but don't worry, panel beating is cheap (anyone got a hammer?) and the once-off payment from your wallet is all you'll be charged.
- Swimming in the ocean may bring you up close to... a sacrificed goat carcass.
- The postal service is not trustworthy, so desired overseas items must be brought over personally by friends
- And, during our visit, the tram construction company found that the tracks laid down at the opposite ends of town did not meet in the middle of town... missed by just two-three metres! So work would continue for a while longer. The newspapers heralded the positive news of continued employment!
We made our way by train to the colorful and ancient town of Fez on our friends' recommendation. Small family-run hotels called 'ryads' greet many travelers who come to this town, which could easily have featured in the Disney 'Aladdin' movie. We walked through ancient city walls to our ryad and our eyebrows went up as we gaped at the fine craftsmanship inside. Apparently pictures of people or things are not allowed to be showcased in case they become objects of worship but intricate tile or inlaid wood designs are perfectly acceptable alternatives for artistic displays.
Our host greeted us with piping hot mint tea and exotic shortbread biscuits and beckoned us to sit on finely furnished chairs. He stayed for some time to make conversation, as was culturally appropriate. What a contrast to many western hotels where face-to-face contact is minimised!
We woke to a very loud call to prayer at 5am. Thankful for the ear plugs we always keep next to the bed when travelling, we tried to block out the loud speakers that blared-out prayers for what felt like a very long time.
Breakfast was different-but-good in our little moroccan paradise. There were thick polenta pancakes with fried eggs, fresh orange juice, coffee and cute mini-tagine containers filled with condiments including olives (for breakfast!?), thick honey, and date syrup. Then we walked through the maze of streets to the fancy gate that led into the Medina, the old town area of Fez, to meet our guide for the day.
For those of you who don't know about jalabas, they are an ankle length outer robe with a pointed hood that men and women wear. The closet thing I can think of for describing them are the brown robes worn by those little sand men in Star Wars with the luminescent eyes. For the women, jalabas are often bright and colorful with cute tassels and pretty edging on the pocket holes that allow you to slip your hands into your pockets underneath. I even bought one, as I was won-over by the splashes of colour that were actually women just doing their grocery shopping in their everyday, shine-like-it's-your-birthday, clothes.
We walked through town alleyways, dodging men spitting and donkeys pushing past us as they carried traditional leather skins to market, or carried small crates of the equally-traditional staple item, coca cola filled bottles...
Each new corner really was a surprise. Seeing the traditional tanneries (and being handed fresh mint to hold to our noses!) and being offered yet more mint tea as we listened to hopeful sellers of argan oil, shining bronze plates and carpets ("so will that be two or three carpets today?" ...er...none thanks! "But Australians are very good buyers of carpets"... unfortunately for him we didn't feel 'chosen by a carpet' today - see post "Turkish Delights: Ancient wonders, palaces and belly dancers"). All this combined with the sensory overload from constantly dodging donkeys resulted in us feeling like we were in a whole new world... soon to be joined by a genie, a monkey, and a magic carpet.
There were very few tourists and we felt immersed in the place. Two special moments were
1) when we found ourselves in the middle of a dyed-leather-skins market amongst crowds of men intensely haggling over red, yellow and green leathers before they threw them out to the wind and over their hardy little donkeys' backs; and
2) when Abdullah warmed right up to us and let me touch his massively overgrown, and hard, toe nail which surprisingly hadn't yet scratched its way out of his sandal (see the foot comparison below, though with his other foot). Certainly some moments are treasured for their rarity!
At the end of this incredible day filled with walking and wonder the fun wasn't yet over... ...
The town's main mausoleum was being re-dressed in the annual festival to honor its famed inhabitant. The street was packed as men on horses paraded past, blowing loud out-of-pitch instruments and other men danced spectacularly with old style tambourines. As the sun set we saw the dances and instruments from each local ethic group.
Slightly deaf and treasuring our well-haggled new items, we lost ourselves in the maze back to our quiet moroccan haven.
On returning to Casablanca -- after a long train trip where we passed the time discussing climate change with a British scientist and her friends -- we were taken through a slum near our friends' apartment. They had friends here and wanted to show us the markets and lifestyle situation. It reminded us just how blessed we are back home and to have the opportunity to travel. It also turned out saffron could be bought here for around 20c a 2x2cm packet and it was free of the usual export tax slapped on all saffron that you buy outside the country. We decided to get some for our friends and family - so we stocked up and bought an amount that would have cost well over $100 in Australia.
Now its hard for me to write this... but the rosewater we also bought at market leaked into the packets and a few weeks later we had a large amount of mould-covered saffron...
...and it turns out that rosewater can be bought at the grocer near our house for around $3!
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