Saturday, February 4, 2012
MOROCCO - Part 1
MOROCCO – Part 1
February 2, 2012
After Ronda we pointed the van toward Algeciras, Spain. The scenery was amazing on a very crooked road in the rugged hills dotted by small white villages clinging to the mountainsides. These places seemed to have little obvious reason to be there in the first place.
Arriving in Algeciras was a bit harsh with the smells of industry and the grubbiness of a port. Here is where we would take the ferry to Morocco. We managed to find the ticket office our friends in France had recommended, behind a grocery store in a light industrial part of town, and bought our return tickets for E180 ($260 Cdn). With tickets in hand we headed to the place we were told was full of other campers staying overnight before the crossing the next day…a MacDonald’s parking lot. By late evening at least fifty motorhomes had gathered. Things were fairly quiet apart from the out-of-sorts young Moroccan asking if we wanted any drugs.
The crossing took about one hour in a very busy maritime channel, the Strait of Gibraltar, connecting the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. The view of Gibraltar was amazing from the water. Much higher and having more bulk than we thought it also falls sharply into Spain. Ceuta on the African continent is part of Spain so we yet had to cross the border into Morocco.
Crossing the border…forms for us, for the vehicle, three check points; hundreds of people on both sides wanting to help you (for a fee), crazy traffic following no road rules…ah yes, Morocco was very near. We drove to Martil, Morocco to a campground where there were many Europeans heading south. Later in the day we took a taxi (this in Moroccan for “crazy driver with broken car”) to a town about eight kilometers away to see the local market. The market can only be described as bedlam complete with sounds, smells, and sights to overwhelm the unprepared (that would be us). Spices to animal carcasses, barbers to carpet shops, vegetables to tin pots, furniture to fish heads…and everything in-between. Wild, crazy but fascinating and amusing. The crush of people didn’t always let you decide where you wanted to go. The round-trip taxi cost us 100 Dirhams ($15 for 4 people) though the price had been agreed beforehand at 60 Dirhams (“Ah, but that was not the price to go into the CENTER of the city.” says the cab driver. Of course it wasn’t!!)
At a small store the next day we went looking for frozen fish for our friends’ dog. We were taken to fresh fish and when we pointed to ice and fish together we were taken to buy ice. Oh well. Buying alcohol in Morocco can also be problematic since this is a Muslim country though not one to be considered extreme. First booze is very expensive; secondly it may be difficult to find and when you do it is in the very back of the store, “hidden”. It is to be taken out in a bag of some sort and not to be openly seen. A bid odd for a country, though Muslim, which has vineyards and produces its own wines.
Being Muslims, the faithful are called to prayer five times a day over loudspeakers sitting atop slim tall towers called minarets. The “call” is actually sung and when well done is pleasing to the ear, though at 5:30 in the morning it takes some getting used to.
Most Moroccans speak French and Spanish as France and Spain were occupiers at one time or another. Most signs are in Arabic and French. People are very helpful and friendly but it still pays to be on your guard.
Late January we headed to Chefchaouen reputed to be one of the most beautiful towns and medinas in the country. Medinas are old parts of Arab cities, usually walled, where people live, work, own shops and where usually no streets exist…only narrow alleys bustling with people, donkeys, sounds, smells, sights…in other words, general craziness. Absolutely not to be missed. The campground high above town has majestic views of the surrounding mountains and of this town of 50,000. The campground was full of French tourists, had no hot water and was a fifteen minute steep downhill walk into town partly through a cemetery. We walked into town and took a taxi back.
The medina in Chefchaouen is as spectacular, as amazing, as awe-inspiring, as unique as anyone can expect. The varying shades of blues, used to ward off bugs, gives the place a soothing touch. The lack of people in the parts we walked through added to the place’s simplicity and honesty. Kids roaring around, donkeys being led somewhere, small workshops humming with sounds of woodworking or fabric weaving. Stairways leading steeply up, around blind corners, sometimes looking like the way to Fred Flintstone’s house. No description, no pictures can get you to grasp what this place is like…you must be here yourself. In one shop Dawn and Willemien each bought a Bedouin style head scarf after much kidding and price haggling with Rashid, the effervescent shopkeeper.
Later…lunch… prepared in the traditional north-African tagine clay pots, was one of the best meals we have ever had anywhere. Simple vegetables and couscous…absolute heaven.
In another part of town, where some of the locals bought supplies at the local outdoor stands, not-so-lucky chickens hung helplessly with aluminum masks over their heads. Why? Didn’t ask. Didn’t want to know.
The next day, just outside the city, were cork trees which seemed unusual and out of place here. Cork squares were piled two meters high like wood to dry in the sun.
This country seems to have lots of school-age kids though few in the country-side attend. They instead help with chores. Partly because these kids are not in school, stopping along the road means hoards of them show up especially if you were handing out pens as we did one day.
One of the common attires the men wear is a full length robe with a peaked hood made of heavy material. It looks like a Harry Potter outfit!
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