Morocco Trip Day 1: March 22

Greetings from Morocco! It's been only a few hours into the trip, and it's already been an amazing adventure. Smith and I took the early bus out to Luton and we hung out a bit before taking the 6:30a flight to Fes. My luck with flying partners never seems to fail. You might recall the woman sitting next to me on my initial flight to London who managed to start vomiting before we had taken off. But I digress. The woman sitting next to my right was terrified of flying. Her friend sat across the aisle tightly holding her hand as she desperately tried not to sob openly. I was afraid she would be sick or have some sort of violent episode, but the worst it got was some frantic questioning of things going on in the plane and, later, leaning her head and crying into my shoulder.

As we walked out to the plane in London, it was snowing a bit, which made the contrast in weather all the more apparent. Morocco was bright and sunny. The airport was surrounded by palms and the orange trees in the parking lot were fruiting. The airport was like any in Europe, but we eventually started noticing differences. On the bus trip into town, as we passed little cafes, we also passed shepherds ushering their flocks alongside the road. The animals didn't end when we got into the city.

The middle of Fes is a district called the medina, and it is essentially an enormous market--there are thousands of streets and it's incredibly easy to get lost. There are not mapsfor the tiny alleys that make up the district. Fortunately, there are children everywhere that know the place intimately and will take you anywhere for a few coins. However, one has to look out for hustling grownups, who eagerly offer to act as guides, but in reality take commissions from the shops to which they divert unsuspecting tourists!

The market really defies description. Storekeepers shout at every tourist. Guides lead groups of Westerners through the narrow streets, squeezing past heavily laden donkeys and avoiding the stray cats that run about everywhere, lapping at puddles and nibbling the merchandise. The voices are a chaotic mixture of French, Arabic, Spanish, and I was greeted in Japanese more than a few times. Smith and I were really wanting an authentically Moroccan lunch, so we wandered for hours, getting let to overpriced tourist traps. Finally, we ran into a friendly local who took us to his own favorite lunch place. They served us spicy stews with their ubiquitous loaves of chewy bread shaped in puffy brown circles. We're now kicking it in our luxurious hotel room, listening to the bustling sounds of the medina floating up through the metalwork of our window.

One of the highlights of the medina was the tannery. The smell was absolutely horrific. Trying to listen to the explanation of the process while not choking and gagging was a feat of concentration and poise. I made the mistake of expressing interest in a camel skin attache and it took 15 minutes to express that I couldn't afford it.

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Smith and I just got back from a nocturnal jaunt around the medina. We got cornered by the world's most persistent guide, a young fellow by the name of Hamad. For a mere 40 dirham--say $5--he took us to the ruins of a castle, high on a hill and overlooking the city. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. It as perfectly clear and there was a huge, bright crescent moon. There was an old graveyard with scattered white stones--"Moroccan alabaster," said Hamad--up the hill behind us.

Hamad told me my skin was light "like cheese" and that I could pass for a Berber. Accordingly, he offered to sell me a Berber "aphrodisiac rug," which would guarantee me "many mistresses." smith and I declined as politely as we could. We wandered for an hour or so, sipping from enormous glass 1 liter Coca Colas and gnawing on more chewy, round bread. The entrepreneurial spirit here is the healthiest I've ever experienced. In a short walk tonight we were offered hashish, heroin, cocaine, and prostitutes both Moroccan and American. On the one hand, I've never felt so harassed. But on the other hand, it's tremendous fun to chat with the locals. I've traveled to a lot of Western European countries and the contact with the people who live there is practically nonexistent. In our little walk with Hamad, we covered all sorts of politics, theology, and he even gave me a little lesson in Japanese.

Tomorrow, we are off to see the big pottery factory. They are supposed to have amazing coloring through the use of cobalt and silver. Afterwards, we are planning to take the train to Rabat, the capital.