Last Christmas, my mom, grandma and I went to Cancun. I thought it would be a fun, tropical, Mexican place to escape for the holidays. I was right about only one of those things. Although it was tropical, we could not escape the bubble of tourism no matter how hard we tried, which really took the fun out of leaving the country. We went to cultural centers and ruins but were shepherded in a group from bus to site, with quaint tourist restaurant stops along the way. The closest we go to "Mexico" was opting to take a tour with a spanish speaking guide instead of english. I came back dejected by the idea that I had gone through the trouble of pulling out my passport, shelling out hundreds or thousands of dollars to be surrounded by the exact (or worse) people I surround yourself with every day while taking pictures of 'the other people' and their culture.
Erin also prides herself on being able to find her way in foreign places. To the point that, although lost and in 100 degree heat walking around the streets of the Marrekech Medina, I was reprimanded for unwittingly 'hiring' a guide to show us to the hostel, so I surrendered all my cash to her as I was not equipped to deal with the barrage of 'help' that was offered to us any time we paused on the street.
At the Riad (Pension/hotel) we once again blundered into the tourist trap and opted to join two other travelers on a three day tour of the desert. We were in Morocco, shouldn't we go see the desert and take a camel ride? But as soon as Erin gave our money over to the tour manager, her face wrinkled in pain as she realized what we had gotten ourselves into. Three overpriced days of being carted around in a safe bubble, being shown things that white people find interesting, surrounded by other white people.
Resigning ourselves to our fate (mostly) we were somewhat saved by the intimacy of the group (only two other tourists), and our earnest driver, who we defaulted as our guide over the appointed one. His name was al Abdul, which means Believer in God in Arabic, but having lost his faith he renamed himself Ziri which means Moon in Berber (mind you, we were the only ones that called him that. Everyone else still called him Abdul). What we also got was a side of Morocco that we didn't expect. The native people of Morocco are called Berber and while they have been assimilated into the Muslim state (as all the Natives in the Americas were assimilated to Christianity), many still practice Judiasm, Christianity, or, like Ziri, some non-denominational spirituality.
Our trip coincided with the week leading up to Ramadan, The Holy Month, in which no citizen of Morocco, whether they are Muslim or not must fast from 4am until 10pm. If they consume anything, including water, they can be imprisoned for 6 months. Muslim or not. Ziri had gone to prison for drinking water, but was released when he had paid the requisite bribe to the police. Because of this, both of our guides spent their time with us prepping their bodies. At meals they would have two to three spoonfuls of food, and spent the rest of the time chain smoking cigarettes. What must it be like to be forbidden from drinking water for 18 hours in 100 degree temperatures when you don't even believe in the religion?
The highlight of the trip was in fact our excursion into the desert. We arrived at our hotel on the edge of the sand dunes, swam in a surprisingly cold pool, showered and an hour before sunset met our four dromedaries. We rode for an hour in the desert, where the colors of the dunes were brilliantly orange and watched the sun go down. When we arrived at camp, our butts a little chaffed, we dropped our bags off at the tents and hustled up the hill to ride snowboards down the sand dunes in the dying light. We ate what I think is the most delicious meal we had in Morocco, and then danced to the drums of the two hosts (sounds corny but they actually made us dance). After dinner, the host took us up the dune to look at the stars. He showed us many constellations and we waited for about 30 minutes for the clouds to clear over the Scorpion constellation, which ended up never happening. We then dragged our sleeping mats out of our sleeping hut and slept under the stars. That was a pretty amazing moment (before i took off my glasses and saw only smudged light).
The next morning we were awakened at 5am and grudgingly mounted our camels for the hourlong ride back to the hotel, pausing to watch the sun rise. nearby we saw stream of locals the size of ants climbing the highest sand dune for morning prayer.
Day 3 of the tour was supposed to be as simple as being dropped off at a bus station on the way to Marrakech, where we would split with the other travelers and head North to Fez. However, after four bus stops and a taxi stand with no potential options to get to our destination, it became clear that we would be staying with the group all the way back to Marrakech. Eight more hours in a van and one more overpriced tourist restaurant later, and we were back in the our hostel, preparing for another night in the main square of central Marrakech. Along the fifteen minute walk, in an attempt to take a short cut, we took a side street and were immediately approached by a man insisting that the markets are closed, and that we should consider buying things in his shop instead. With him following us around insisting and insisting more that we buy something, that we had to buy something from him, a decision was made clear.
It's time to get out of Morocco. No more overpriced white people excursions, no more separate menus for tourists, no more triple and quadruple pricing. We've been told that there is a real Morocco out there, and we're willing to come back to find it. But we'll be avoiding Marrakech at all costs.
in case you do go to Morocco, here are some useful phrases (written phonetically):
Schuckran - Thank you (Arabic)
Azuul - Hello (Berber)
Tan Meert - Thank you (Berber) <- locals will be impressed if you say this
Sah Fey - Enough, no more, done (Berber)
Oh ho - no (Berber)
Oh ho yeh - Never (kind of sounds like "Oh hoy Matey!"
Erin also prides herself on being able to find her way in foreign places. To the point that, although lost and in 100 degree heat walking around the streets of the Marrekech Medina, I was reprimanded for unwittingly 'hiring' a guide to show us to the hostel, so I surrendered all my cash to her as I was not equipped to deal with the barrage of 'help' that was offered to us any time we paused on the street.
At the Riad (Pension/hotel) we once again blundered into the tourist trap and opted to join two other travelers on a three day tour of the desert. We were in Morocco, shouldn't we go see the desert and take a camel ride? But as soon as Erin gave our money over to the tour manager, her face wrinkled in pain as she realized what we had gotten ourselves into. Three overpriced days of being carted around in a safe bubble, being shown things that white people find interesting, surrounded by other white people.
Resigning ourselves to our fate (mostly) we were somewhat saved by the intimacy of the group (only two other tourists), and our earnest driver, who we defaulted as our guide over the appointed one. His name was al Abdul, which means Believer in God in Arabic, but having lost his faith he renamed himself Ziri which means Moon in Berber (mind you, we were the only ones that called him that. Everyone else still called him Abdul). What we also got was a side of Morocco that we didn't expect. The native people of Morocco are called Berber and while they have been assimilated into the Muslim state (as all the Natives in the Americas were assimilated to Christianity), many still practice Judiasm, Christianity, or, like Ziri, some non-denominational spirituality.
Our trip coincided with the week leading up to Ramadan, The Holy Month, in which no citizen of Morocco, whether they are Muslim or not must fast from 4am until 10pm. If they consume anything, including water, they can be imprisoned for 6 months. Muslim or not. Ziri had gone to prison for drinking water, but was released when he had paid the requisite bribe to the police. Because of this, both of our guides spent their time with us prepping their bodies. At meals they would have two to three spoonfuls of food, and spent the rest of the time chain smoking cigarettes. What must it be like to be forbidden from drinking water for 18 hours in 100 degree temperatures when you don't even believe in the religion?
The highlight of the trip was in fact our excursion into the desert. We arrived at our hotel on the edge of the sand dunes, swam in a surprisingly cold pool, showered and an hour before sunset met our four dromedaries. We rode for an hour in the desert, where the colors of the dunes were brilliantly orange and watched the sun go down. When we arrived at camp, our butts a little chaffed, we dropped our bags off at the tents and hustled up the hill to ride snowboards down the sand dunes in the dying light. We ate what I think is the most delicious meal we had in Morocco, and then danced to the drums of the two hosts (sounds corny but they actually made us dance). After dinner, the host took us up the dune to look at the stars. He showed us many constellations and we waited for about 30 minutes for the clouds to clear over the Scorpion constellation, which ended up never happening. We then dragged our sleeping mats out of our sleeping hut and slept under the stars. That was a pretty amazing moment (before i took off my glasses and saw only smudged light).
The next morning we were awakened at 5am and grudgingly mounted our camels for the hourlong ride back to the hotel, pausing to watch the sun rise. nearby we saw stream of locals the size of ants climbing the highest sand dune for morning prayer.
Day 3 of the tour was supposed to be as simple as being dropped off at a bus station on the way to Marrakech, where we would split with the other travelers and head North to Fez. However, after four bus stops and a taxi stand with no potential options to get to our destination, it became clear that we would be staying with the group all the way back to Marrakech. Eight more hours in a van and one more overpriced tourist restaurant later, and we were back in the our hostel, preparing for another night in the main square of central Marrakech. Along the fifteen minute walk, in an attempt to take a short cut, we took a side street and were immediately approached by a man insisting that the markets are closed, and that we should consider buying things in his shop instead. With him following us around insisting and insisting more that we buy something, that we had to buy something from him, a decision was made clear.
It's time to get out of Morocco. No more overpriced white people excursions, no more separate menus for tourists, no more triple and quadruple pricing. We've been told that there is a real Morocco out there, and we're willing to come back to find it. But we'll be avoiding Marrakech at all costs.
in case you do go to Morocco, here are some useful phrases (written phonetically):
Schuckran - Thank you (Arabic)
Azuul - Hello (Berber)
Tan Meert - Thank you (Berber) <- locals will be impressed if you say this
Sah Fey - Enough, no more, done (Berber)
Oh ho - no (Berber)
Oh ho yeh - Never (kind of sounds like "Oh hoy Matey!"
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