Took the ferry from Tarifa to Tangier (where I was completely and shockingly waved through the passport control for leaving the Shengen region/EU...the guy was inspecting EVERYONE's passport in great detail and I was you know whatting in my pants since I had been there about a month and a half too long but he just looked at my picture page and then tossed the passport back at me. Maybe because it had only been issued in December. Happy day anyway.) and immediately got scammed on the taxi ride from the port to the train station (40 dirham, I hear it should only be about 10, oh well. 40 dirham is about 6 dollars). Caught the next train for Fes and spent the next 2 hours in airconditioned comfort. Then we had to change trains and got one that had a broken AC. It was about 43 degrees C outside and I had hardly any water. Also wearing jeans which was a bad idea. Tara later said I looked like I was going to die. Felt like it too. Some helpful gentlemen on the train offered to help us find guides and hotels in Fes...thanks but we're sorted.
Fes was a bit strange...we always felt like we were missing something. Like there was some really cool city waiting to be discovered but it was always around the next corner. I think part of the problem is that we were staying in the Nouvelle Ville (the new city/the part built by the French). There were very few Western tourists and we were very conspicuous. I realised that my wardrobe was waaay too tarty (lots of short sleeves and exposed shoulders and knee length skirts) which is pretty funny. I never though I would fall on that end of the spectrum.
We took an official guided tour of the souk which was cool although we did somehow manage to end up in about six different shops - carpet shop, wood shop, leather shop, spice shop, etc etc. We bought nothing and our guide was getting exasperated. But we saw the tanneries and a lot of other cool stuff (including a fresh camel head, minus body).
The rest of Fes is kind of a blur, we found a couple of spots we liked eating at - one breakfast place that had thick crepes drizzled with honey, and another juice place that made this crazy fruit salad with avocado juice.
After three nights we were done and got on the train for the 8 hour trip to Marrakech - AC working this time thank god.
When we arrived here we instantly fell in love with the city. Our hotel is just off the main square (Djemaa El-Fna) which is absolutely huge and filled with orange juice carts and henna ladies and snake charmers during the day is supplemented with with open air ("we have air conditioning!") food stands, storytellers, drummers, monkey pimps, and magicians and fortune tellers at night.
And tourists. Always always tonnes and tonnes of tourists - mostly French it seems like. Many of the tourists dress in the most shocking manner...it's like - don't you know where you are? That this is a fairly conservative place and it is probably not a great idea for you to wear your miniskirt? Or short shorts (on men even, horrible)? Or tank tops that you are spilling out of? Have some f'ing respect.
Anyway, the square is absolutely crazy and really fun to wander around but watch out for the henna ladies (or as we sometimes call them, "The Henna Bitches from Hell"). Mostly they are cool and will take no for an answer. But one night while Tara was drinking an orange juice I was approached by this girl "hey! you want henna?"
"no thanks"
"okay, my name is Mona, you remember, okay?"
"okay sure"
"here I make you present"
"no really I don't want it, but thank you anyway"
"no no! I make you nice present, is good luck!"
And she grabs my hand and whips out this absolutely MASSIVE SYRINGE. It takes me a second to register that it's not a needle but a hollow tube for squirting out the henna, but even so. There is no way I want that thing anywhere near the back of my hand.
"NO! Thanks! NO!"
and I try to grab my hand away but she has a stronger grip than I do and has already started applying the design to my hand. Sigh. She does a big flower design on the back of my hand which pisses me off because I am really not into henna in the first place - I think it looks f'ing stupid on tourists. sorry. - and now I'm going to have to walk around with my hand in my pocket for the next week. Great.
So she finally finishes, "there...is good luck for you."
"Thanks. Bye."
"Now you make me present. Is good luck."
"No, I didn't want it. Sorry."
"NO NO! You make me present! You give me money now! Good luck! Good luck!"
"No! I said no and you put it on my anyway. Goodbye."
And we start to walk away. This is where the fun starts as this girl chases me all over the square, starts getting in my face, calls her friends over and they start getting in my face...I wipe it off with about half of our toilet paper, Tara is looking very alarmed and I am getting REALLY pissed off as this amounts to extortion and I am not giving this f'ing chick one single dirham. Finally we escape into the souk.
A few days later I am walking around with Stephanie from Quebec and she is approached by the same girl with the same line...I try to hide so she can't see my face (although she probably doesn't remember me anymore) and Stephanie is quicker and more forceful than I am and manages not to get squirted.
Marrakech - what else. The OJ is divine, I didn't eat for a few days because everything just went through me like a freight train if you know what I mean, we are staying in the dorm of a big hotel with cats and kittens wandering in and out as they like, I don't like being stared at and greeted constantly or having to lie about my husband back at the hotel but in general the harrassment is not unbearable (except the guys who cop feels or rub their crotches against your backside in the crowded square, but that only happened a couple of times), bought some great shoes, learning how to haggle, tiring of tagine already but so far the Harira (soup) is great, the weather has been fairly cool lately (it's raining like a mofo right now), we went out to some huge waterfalls today and saw monkeys, watched groups of urchins right out of Oliver Twist flog macaroons (cookies) in the square...and learned not to eat the cookies because when they kids stop working for more than a couple minutes their pimp or runner or father or whatever comes running out to get them going again and scatters them and their cookies in the ground. And those cookies get picked right back up again and placed carefully back on the tray to be offered to more unsuspecting tourists.
There is a lot of poverty and a lot of people begging which is sad. People circle the touristy restaurants with plastic bags for leftovers. One guy with a mad gleam in his eye walked straight up to our table and picked up a crust of pizza and stuffed it in his mouth. He stood there chewing and staring at us and then took another piece and stuffed it in his mouth and continued to stand there. It was pretty confrontational and we were a liiiittle uncomfortable...I mean he was more than welcome to the food as we were finished eating anyway. But. I guess I don't like to be confronted so aggressively about my privileged position. Oh well. I should get used to it.
Whooo, huge thunder...I should sign off before the power goes out.
Morocco photos are here: Flickr
No comments:
Post a Comment