Daily Archives: May 29, 2013

A tour of Fes, Morocco

29 Wednesday May 2013

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It’s always good to hire a tour guide. Two main reasons I can think of now. 1. He can show you details about a place you might’ve otherwise missed, and 2. He keeps people from driving you crazy in the souq. My guide was Aziz. And a very sweet man at that. We picked him up at a cafe and he presented wearing a sports jacket, nice polo shirt, and slacks. Spiffy. I liked him instantly. And he didn’t skip a beat. Immediately upon being sat in the car he began describing to me Fes and how it has the largest medina in the whole of Africa. And how it is more tranquil than Marrakech. But I already knew that part! What a laid-back, calm place this is. So different from the hustle of Marrakech.

Of course there’s the requisite visit to the handicraft center to see the pottery being made from start to finish, and then being sat in front of a book of mosaic examples to choose the perfect piece to be made specifically for you and then shipped home. For $1200 for a table about 15″ diameter. But other than that, it’s a wonderful experience to see Fes with a guide.

Souq - Fes, Morocco

Flour and grains

Head scarves

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Tannery

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Yes, I want no relationship

29 Wednesday May 2013

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Buying things in Morocco is a big commitment. You don’t just buy something, you create a relationship with the shop owner. It’s not easy.

Massive quantities of mint tea are consumed during the process and endless question-answering like where are you from? Or, is this your first trip to Morocco? And lots of comments, like: our insert-product-here are made by women, we offer fair prices, if you don’t buy, that’s ok, just look. Or, “Now we are family. You are my sister. I offer you family price when you return.” It’s actually sweet. They do a good job.

But having bought many, many rugs (or whatever) in my past, I know what I want and I don’t want the bullshit that goes along with it. I don’t care about the relationship. Well, it’s not so much the relationship I don’t want, it’s that I don’t want to invest the time it takes to make a purchase. Sit! Have some tea! Let’s get to know each other! Argh. “No thank you,” I plead. “I’m just here to buy a rug quick.” I ask for a neutral-colored, small rug. “3×5 rug in light color?” he confirms. I nod to the affirmative and he shows me a room-sized red rug. Again I tell him what I want and emphasize it this time with ‘I don’t have time to shop.’ To which he pulls out about 25 more rugs for his man to unfold (and later put away!) for me.

They figure if they show me everything I’ll be more apt to buy one. But that’s not true! If they show me what I want, like he eventually did, I will most likely be torn as to which of these beauties I will purchase and I might buy more than one, like I almost did this time! I had a hard time selecting just one but I stuck to my guns and named my price and sat there until he agreed, bantering back and forth about how I just can’t do more than $X. Thankfully, he considers me his sister and even loves me (or so he says), so I got the deal. And it was a good deal for both of us and we were happy.

This makes me think about selling in my profession: dentistry. It’s a relationship business we always say. Well, yes, it is but only if the customer wants a relationship. But some people just want to buy and we need to make it easy for those people to buy, too! A big lesson for me.

Everyone dies. Period.

29 Wednesday May 2013

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As part of my tour through Fes, Morocco, I visited the tannery. It’s beautiful! But a little stinky. People carry sprigs or bouquets of mint with them and wag them in front of their noses to divert the smell. I wasn’t effected by it. But it wasn’t all that hot on the day I visited.

The thing about the tannery is that it’s all done by hand. The skins are treated and then scraped of their hair. It’s all soaked in lye and then in vats of dyes. Orange from saffron (and probably some chemicals), red from beets (and probably some chemicals), yellow from flowers (and probably some chemicals) and so on. This makes for some excellent picture-taking, for sure. It’s gorgeous. And it’s interesting to see that these workers work so hard. For so long. And under these conditions: beating sun, vats of liquid, lifting heavy skins, and just managing to get from here to there on the edges of vats about 3″ thick. It is amazing. And it made me feel a little bad taking the photos of these hard-working, weary men. Generation after generation of men work here. Year after year. “If they could do something different, they would.” Aziz, my guide, told me later.

The guide who is licensed to walk clients through the tannery, Hamza in my case, walked me through and explained things to me. But not before trying to sell me every purse, shoe, or pouf in the place! “The lamb’s leather is the softest,” he urged. I had to agree. But no. I don’t want a jacket made from it. These purses (“pieces of fashion”) are perfect for you! No. I don’t want a purse. “These are the best quality shoes we have. The red ones look so good with your skin tone,” he prolifically described. BINGO. “Yes they do,” I effused. “I’ll take them along with an orange pair!” I now own two pairs of gorgeous shoes for $50. Bloop. Bloop.(And this after I just wrote I felt a little bad for taking their photo!)

So when I asked if these workers get sick, Hamza said, “Of course! Everyone gets sick. We’re humans.” “No, I know, but do they get sick from standing in these dyes all day? Honestly, Hamza.” No reply. Then I added, “Do they die from it?” Hamza said,”Everyone dies, miss. We all die. We just don’t know when and often why.” Yes, I had to agree. Everyone dies.

The freedom from religion

29 Wednesday May 2013

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A big realization for me whilst traveling through Morocco: here there is no freedom from religion. Or of religion. You’re a Muslim and that’s that. Religion is woven into the fabric of everyday life. It’s everywhere. In the phraseology used regularly, in the decisions for the future, in the dress of the people, and in the daily plan. Prayers blare and bellow from every minaret (tower of a mosque) in every village in every town all over the country at the same time each day. “It’s morning, get up and pray,” the prayer urges sometime around 4 a.m.

I find it beautiful and peaceful. And I look forward to it, even at 4 a.m. But while that’s one sort of endearing thing about Morocco (or any Muslim country), or at least a stable and sure thing, I can’t imagine dealing with this day in and day out with or without being Muslim. But religion keeps a society in check. It controls it when the government or its people cannot. So it is. This is a Muslim country and you’re going to live with it, gosh darn it.

A non-Moroccan woman in Morocco

29 Wednesday May 2013

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1. Men don’t touch women.
2. Men can’t break up the fight of two women by touching them; they can only use words.
3. Women hitchhikers will not get in to the car of a man, unless a woman is present.
4. Never let your daughter get into a car of a man or a Moroccan couple. But if there’s a tourist woman in the car, it’s ok.

I have learned these things firsthand. But the first one is iffy. In the medina I am often approached and touched by men but always in an affectionate, slap-on-the-arm kind of way when we are joking. But I’m not Muslim or Moroccan. And it’s obvious. So that must make it OK for them. It’s never in an offensive way. Not at all. And I quite enjoy the interactions. I’ve had comments like, “Where did you get your dress?” or “Look at your curly hair!” or “Do you think the reason you travelled so far to Morocco and then met me means we are meant to be together?” (to which I answer with a blank stare). I highly doubt a Moroccan woman would be asked these intimate questions. But I’m a tourist. I’m here to interact. And interact I do!

Whilst watching two women physically fighting about their sons, Mokhtar was helpless except with his words. He couldn’t step in and stop them physically since they are women. He could only stand on the sidelines with the other men and shout for them to stop. Had I been there, I could have stepped in and helped. Glad I wasn’t there.

Two women hitchhikers we picked up the other day would not have gotten in the car had I not been there. The presence of a woman, a tourist, helped increase their confidence that they would be safe.

Two women on the side of the road where we parked to take photos smiled shyly as I stood near them taking photos. After a few minutes, the older one approached Mokhtar and asked if we could take her granddaughter to school since she needed to be there in 20 minutes and no taxi was coming by. Of course! So grandma shook my hand and hugged and thanked profusely and granddaughter got in the car and off we went. The family dog happily joined grandma and she walked two miles or so back to her village assured of the safety of her granddaughter. All because of the female tourist in the car.

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A green-eyed, blonde-haired tourist

29 Wednesday May 2013

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Tourism is king here in Morocco. Or queen. Either way, seems I’m the get out of jail free card when passing through police security checkpoints. But I’m also the flag that sometimes gets us stopped. For instance, when stopped for a requisite hash check in the Rif Mountains, we were waved through. (Presumably I can transport hash, no problem?) But when driving to Chefchouan in the Rif Mountains, we were stopped to confirm that the car is actually authorized as a tourism car. I’m the flag that alerted them to check for that. The green-eyed, blonde-haired tourist. The obvious non-Muslim. So if Mokhtar is walking with me through a village, he is stopped and asked if he has a tour guide license to take me.* It’s often discretely and I don’t even know about it, but it happens. We are always being watched. He doesn’t have a tour guide license so it can sometimes be a problem. “Can’t you just tell them we’re friends traveling together?” I ask naively. “No. We’re not married. Only married men and women travel together. Not friends,” is the answer he gives. Wow. This is amazing to me! So while we can walk together sometimes, especially in a larger city, it still poses a problem because I’m obviously non-Muslim. The tourist. Always trying to find a solution, I suggest I wear a hijab. But I’m told it won’t work. They’ll still know. That’s exactly what I was told in Turkey when I suggested I wear a birka through the markets. “It won’t do any good,” they told me, “We still know.”

*Tour guides are a protected resource in Morocco. The licenses protect their livelihoods and the tourists from scammers posing as guides. So it’s really a good thing it’s followed so closely. But frustrating when you’re just two friends trying to explore Morocco together, especially when one is actually Moroccan!

Age is in the eye of the beholder

29 Wednesday May 2013

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Returning to Fes from Volubilis we passed two women hitchhiking. “Do you mind?’ Mokhtar asked. Of course not so we stopped to pick them up. “She’s an old lady,” he added. I agreed. They both looked like old ladies though of different gradients of old. In they hopped after many smiles and handshakes, hugs and ‘chukrans.’ Beautiful women with bright faces. Their story? Mother and daughter. Mother is on her way to Fes (50km away) to have neck surgery – – or hopes to. She was a maid for some people in Dades Valley and when her neck gave her so many troubles, the family let her go. Daughter came to get her and was so surprised how bad she really is. So now she is taking care of her old mom. Mother is 49. The “old lady” is 49.