I can’t stop thinking about Morocco – the light, the colours, the chaos and mayhem. And just thinking about Morocco makes us miss having Nana, Nancy and Gwen around. Sniff…
I wanted to add a few more musings about our time in Marrakech and the surrounding areas before too many weeks go by and it is but a distant, dusty memory. Insert nostalgic sigh here.
Landing at the beautiful Menara airport in Marrakech to sunny skies and 26 degree weather, we all knew we weren’t in Kansas anymore. Since leaving Vancouver, this was the first time that travel was…well…different. Challenging. Exotic. Exhausting. Overwhelming. Stunning. The dust, the crowds, the medinas and souks, the touts and animals, the constant mathematical acrobatics of calculating dirhams-euros-dollars, over and over again (math skills 101 – check!), the stomach upsets and dirty menus (poor Nana) and one very dramatic projectile-vomiting-at-the-breakfast-table experience. The kids took most of it in stride, reminding me yet again of the beauty of travel with children – their ability to adapt, accept and carry on.
It was Mike’s second visit, my first and it was definitely the most eye-opening experience for the kids yet. When asked to write in their journals about what they noticed, one answer was “how hard everybody works” and Lucy wrote “people seem poor but happy”. While Arabic is the official language, Berber and French are also widely spoken and the kids were able to communicate really well. As Tom observed, “I spoke more French in Morocco than in France”.
Jemaa El F’naa
Morocco is so rich and diverse and so much more than I was expecting. The country is super-progressive in many ways (leading the charge in climate change, renewable energy projects and solar power) and yet, it often feels as though you’ve stepped back in time, dodging donkey-carts and camels and wandering through muddy markets to see healers and slaughterhouses and 91 yr old leather craftsmen plying their trades.
The highlight of our trip, I think we’d all agree, was a day in the High Atlas mountains. As their name suggests, these are the highest mountains in North Africa. Fun fact: you can ski in Morocco.
We started the day with a visit to a Berber market near Tahnaout. It’s a weekly event where nary a woman was to be seen (except us). Lucy was game for a little trim of her bangs while Mike took advantage of a bargain shave (brave, brave man). We slipped and slid through the muddy maze, taking it all in. We learned that camel pee and milk is a favoured and apparently effective remedy for all manner of ailments and that cancer patients, in particular, are known to seek out it’s healing powers. I tried to get the kids to drink some for their stomach problems, but had no takers. Besides, the guide told me, there were no nursing camels nearby, so no camel pee for me. Hrmph.
We left the market and kept driving, until reaching our camels. Oh sorry….not camels but dromedaries, as Henry keeps pointing out. Dromedaries, like our beasties, have only one hump. It was a bit of a tourist-trap type of affair, but thrilling nonetheless. The camels – ergh- dromedaries – were enormous, beautiful, with paintbrush eyelashes and docile, languid gaits. Lucy and I shared Shakira, while the boys and Nancy each rode their own. My mother decided that this particular experience wasn’t on her bucket list, so she and Gwen drank mint tea while we ambled along.
We next stopped at an Argon oil cooperative in the stunning Asni Valley. The 31 women working at the cooperative are all either widowed or divorced. Their work, producing Argon oil (which we know elsewhere as Moroccan Oil), is a way to support their families while regaining some self-worth in a largely patriarchal, conservative society. In any event, it was amazing to watch and listen and try our hands at the work ourselves.
They sang and chatted and generally got a kick out of us and each other. Here’s a short video of Nana trying her hand at the labour-intensive work of cracking the nuts (not sure if I can get it to upload):
The highlight of the day, for me, was the delicious, homemade tagine lunch in a Berber home with billion-dollar (ok, maybe billion-dirham) views of the High Atlas. We were famished when we arrived and nearly had to roll ourselves home when finished.
Back in Marrekech, we spent the rest of our time exploring and resting in our lovely Riad Ghali. Inexpensive by European standards, our riad (a walled house within the craziness of the medina) was exceptional.
It was hard to believe that such a clean, peaceful oasis could exist so close to the souks and markets and dusty, gritty mazes just beyond the door. The kids were thrilled to have sleepovers in Nana and Auntie Gwen’s rooms and we were all happy linger over breakfast and chat with the lovely cook, Asma. At times, I admit, it was hard for us to leave the calm to venture back into the crowds and touts of Jemaa el Fnaa, pulling at all of us from every direction. Tom kept a tally of how many people touched his hair (lots) and I loved the couscous restaurant hawkers yelling at me, “Come to Stall 7, I take you to heaven” or “Hey pretty lady! Winner winner, chicken dinner!”. Aw, they had me at ‘pretty’.
We made the most of our time, visiting the world’s worst mall and a waterpark that was closed because it was only 24 degrees out. We took a caleche ride around the outside of the medina’s walls and walked around the impressive Koutoubia Mosque (dating back to the 11th century) and we all (sort of) got used to the pre-dawn call to prayer. We spent an afternoon at Yves St. Laurent’s former home – Les Jardins Majorelles, now a beautiful private garden open to the public. It’s dominated by a blue now known as Marjorelle Blue and it’s a perfect backdrop for photos.
All in all, Morocco was a surprise. It was a LOT. It was too much and not enough, all in one glorious, colourful, vibrant visit.