Tag Archives: Morocco

Couscous Friday

24 Monday Jun 2013

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Friday in Morocco means one thing: couscous.

The national dish is made in households across Morocco every week and is greatly anticipated. Fridays are traditionally considered a holy day in Morocco and many businesses are closed for the day or afternoon – – or at the very least, a long, long break in the middle of the day for mosque (for the men). Life takes on a slower pace on Fridays. And at the same time there’s a sense of urgency about everything: “We better get to the bank before mosque. It’s Friday!” “We have to hurry to the tire store to get new tires this morning. It’s Friday!” “I couldn’t mail the package to you. It’s Friday.”

Couscous is the best part of Friday. It’s made in restaurants and at home and it seems everyone looks forward to it this week just as much as they did the last week. Moroccans seem to love their couscous even more than the ubiquitous tajine.

When eating couscous with my friend’s family last month, the family commented how long they’d had their couscous serving dish: 12 years. The 15-year old daughter commented that ‘it’s like my little sister!’

The process for couscous is not a small or quick task. Vegetables need to be cut and sliced to the correct sizes, meat (usually lamb) needs to cook until tender, and the couscous itself (semolina: tiny granules of durum wheat) requires a tender process of cooking and stirring – – almost kneading – – until it reaches its perfection. This requires pouring hot water over the grain and “stirring” it with your hands and then putting it back in the pot and repeating the process 15-20 minutes later, 5 or 6 times. It’s a hot, steamy business, this couscous-making.

Finally, the ingredients are all added together in specific order (meat in the middle of the dish itself, couscous all around, then vegetables added on top) and it’s brought to the table where everyone forms golf-ball sized clumps of the hot grain in the right hand and it’s popped into the mouth! Yum!

And the other thing about couscous: it uses a special pot called a ‘couscousery’ which I always say to the tune of “Chim Chiminey” from Mary Poppins. It makes me happy to say it. It’s a special pot system that resembles a steamer and a large pasta pot in my world. I’ve been taught to make this treat but it seems best when I make it in Morocco, with people filling the kitchen with noise and laughter; people I’m growing to love.

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Why Morocco? Here’s why!

14 Friday Jun 2013

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People ask all the time what it is about Morocco that keeps me going back. The first time I visited I just wanted to see it. Just the sound of the names of the major cities intrigued me: Casablanca. Marrakech. Fes. All cities I had heard of and in the same breath as other faraway and romantic-seeming cities like Timbuktu, Constantinople (Istanbul), and Bombay. I wanted to see the Sahara, ride a camel, and photograph the colors.

But once there I realized Morocco is all of that: faraway, romantic, colorful. And it’s a lot more. It’s vast! It’s landscape goes on forever. Only a bit smaller geographically than California, Morocco has everything: mountains, desert, seaside, rich rural culture, and vibrant cities. And more. There’s a grandeur about it on one hand and a plainness on the other. A quietness and a calmness countered with a buzz of excitement and energy.

So what is it about the place that keeps me going back? The people, the food, and the Muslim culture!

I feel safe in Morocco, like I understand the people. I can hold my own there. I can walk through the medina and souk and manage to mostly thwart their efforts to flirt, sell, or cajole. It’s all a part of the experience. People are helpful and will go out of their way for you when they can. I’ve seen it over and over. They seem authentically happy to have a conversation with you and seem genuine when they say they just want to talk to you. And most everyone speaks a variety of languages. For sure French, Arabic, and most speak some English. So it’s easy to communicate for the most part, at least in the cities.

The food! It is among my favorite taste palettes of any place I’ve visited (Vietnam is right up there, too!). Tajine, brochette, dates and oranges, couscous, grilled lamb! And all with rich spices to add incredible flavor to the simplest of meals.

The Muslim culture. The call to prayer 5x each day is beautiful and calming. But it seems less stringent religiously than other countries seem to be. Now I can’t say that for sure but it seems more relaxed and easygoing than some of its Arab counterparts. I think that’s what makes it easy to travel there: it’s relaxed and easygoing. While it’s important to dress modestly in these Muslim countries out of respect for the culture, Moroccans are more easygoing about it in the cities.

I visit Morocco for all of these reasons. But there’s so much more. So much more that I cannot describe or photograph; there’s a feeling about the place. A calmness; a slowness. A tranquility. But mostly that’s off the beaten track.

If you visit, see all the hotspots in Marrakech and Casablanca, but then spend your time off the beaten track, discovering the hillsides, the riversides, the souks in small towns. Eat at roadside barbecue restaurants. Stay under the stars in the Sahara. Get away from it all and experience the tranquility of Morocco!

The Moroccan seaside

10 Monday Jun 2013

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Essaouira has been my seaside town of choice. But after taking a trip to a remote town of Imasouan, near Agadir, I have changed my mind. Imasouan is enchanting, peaceful, and natural. No tourism; just Moroccan tourists. It’s all about fishing. And it’s all men. Very few women. Men in threesomes stand and untwist and unknot their nets to make them ready for the next trip out. Whole parking lots are used to spread out larger nets and straighten them. Beautiful blue wooden boats fill the parking lots (apparently the lots are for them) waiting for the next voyage. Fresh fish abounds and it’s not uncommon to see someone walking along the street carrying a huge red crab. Or to see someone sitting in the middle of the walkway chopping the heads off fish. It’s all fascinating and beautiful, and tranquil.

The tranquility of it all is more than I can describe. It swept over me like a wave and I felt my already-relaxed self sink even deeper into it. There is no souq, no medina. Just people living their fishing lives, laughing with each other, cutting up fish to sell, and grilling it to eat. Time stops here. From now on when someone asks me to think about the place I was happiest, or most relaxed, or most joyful, this is where I’ll be thinking about.

Roads less traveled and goats in trees

09 Sunday Jun 2013

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With my friend and co-traveler, Mokhtar, a native-born Moroccan and a tour operator, I am able to see things not every tourist gets to see. “Off-, off-road” we call it. He knows every nook and cranny of this country. And likely knows at least one or two people at every place we visit! Not an exaggeration. We were flagged through by a policeman the other day (I always give a breath of relief because you never know with the police over here) but suddenly an excited Mokhtar veered onto the shoulder where we were met at the car by the very policeman. Mokhtar jumped happily out of the car and the two embraced and kissed the four time-cheek kiss: the kiss indicating the two have not seen each other for a very long time (otherwise, a two time-cheek kiss would suffice). An old friend from his village, the two haven’t seen each other for at least 10 years. Another time we were in the middle of seeming nowhere and there’s Mokhtar sitting with his friend from his village. So we all sat for a fresh-squeezed orange juice. It happens every day. Even in these remote areas. It’s a small world, but it’s even smaller here in Morocco.

But that’s a digression. The point of this post is that we take the less-traveled roads on this trip. We discover areas that are new to both of us and that makes it all the more fun! The other day we took a day trip from Essaouira down the coast a bit so Mokhtar could show me some areas he had lived many years ago. We were on a narrow strip of tarred road barely big enough for one car. It went through some of the most spectacular countryside with the ocean visible at the tops of the trees and hills. Amazing beauty and unspoiled coastline! Miles and miles of it. Breathtaking.

And all of a sudden, we came upon herds of goats milling through the argan trees – – and climbing them! And what noise they make! They practically inhale the argan nut from the tree and are able to climb to the very tops of the trees in order to do so! It’s amazing! The sound was really quite something. And all of sudden, there’s a camel! It seemed more like a giraffe, though, the way it reached up into the tree and compared to the goats at its feet, it was a giant. We squealed to a stop and both grabbed our cameras and took video and photos for the next 30 minutes. Prior to this I’ve only seen the staged-for-tourist goats in trees, not these honest to goodness climbers.

Rarely do tourists see this kind of thing on a run-of-the-mill tour. It takes a special guide and unique circumstances to find yourself in these spots!

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A different Morocco

02 Sunday Jun 2013

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While tourism is Morocco’s main deal, agriculture ranks in there, too, although at only 14% of its total economy. But to look at the country as I have these past days, it seems like agriculture accounts for way more than just 14%. This place is vast! I have been surprised to see it all: olives and consequently olive oil, argan products, wheat, salt and oranges. And I’m probably leaving something out. Oh, fishing! It’s beautiful and often reminds me of midwestern USA.Image

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The value of education

31 Friday May 2013

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It’s cliche to say, but education and our health are two of our most important possessions. Without either we don’t have much. Education is something I know I have taken for granted in my life. For one reason or another I didn’t apply myself when in school. I didn’t realize its value. And I’ve seen it happen to dozens of other people in my life: they choose to have fun more than to choose to learn.

In Morocco, there are thousands or millions of children living in the middle of seemingly nowhere who have no transportation to even get to their schools to learn. They walk or take a taxi or hitchhike each day to and from school. We picked up a girl and took her to school one day. Her walk would have been about 3 miles. We also picked up a young boy carrying a spiral notebook and took him 5 miles or more to his school. When we arrived at his school, there was nothing but boys milling about. That’s because girls are too valuable to have at home for housework and animal-tending to send to school. And also because the value of a boys’ education is greater than that of a girl’s to a family. It’s a fact. That’s how they think – – and I’m not saying that’s right or wrong. The fact that so many people believe it means there must be reasons for it. But it causes a literal ache in my belly to think of it. For one, it’s hard for the boys to get there. But for two, the girls aren’t even given a shot, in most cases. There is no transportation to and from school anywhere in Morocco. There are, though, social services that will provide vans and busses, but they are unreliable and sporadic. 

It makes me want to get a fleet of vans and help a community educate its children. But that would only be a drop in the bucket. 

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How to travel

31 Friday May 2013

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You can be a tourist and get on a bus or van and go where the guide tells you to go, or you can travel and experience the people and the culture of a place. Either way, you make plans, but being a traveler, you let your day unfold as it will. As a traveler, you’re happy with however it happens. You’re willing to get lost.

I have the luxury of being a traveler because I’ve already been to Morocco and have already done the stuff the book recommends. (And because I have a Moroccan travel companion who’s in the business!) But I think it’s important to always add a bit of serendipity to a trip; to let things happen as they will. For example, it’s good to have a day in which you can sleep in, if you choose, or to run typical errands like you might at home. Meet the people with whom tourists never see! Be normal in a place. Talk to the people. Possibly get lost and make yourself have to rely on others to find your way!

I don’t think everyone is cut-out to travel for sure. It takes a lot of work to allow yourself to be free and to not worry: about how you look or how stupid you feel not knowing the language, or worrying about finding your way. But what I’ve learned is that someone will always help you. Always! So I say, get lost sometimes!

When in Chefchaouen, Morocco a few days ago, I became confused on the blue streets and alleyways; all of them looked alike! I have an excellent sense of direction but with all these blue doors and streets, it’s no wonder I couldn’t find the Hotel Parador. Or at least that’s what I thought the name of the hotel was where I was to meet Mokhtar after 2 hours of taking pictures. So after walking for what I knew was too long, I stopped and asked someone. He didn’t know English so I tried some French. It worked. He knew where I was to go. So off I went, following him past all the men waiting to get in to Mosque. He explained to each one he was taking me somewhere to show me my way, as if he needed to explain to these traditional men why he was walking with a woman, even though I tried to maintain a 3-step distance behind him.

He walked like he was in a race and I was exhausted within seconds! My god these people who are accustomed to walking in the desert or in hilly villages can walk! We proceeded into the market, me following trustingly behind. I looked to my right and thought, ‘That’s the way I’m supposed to go!’ but instead I followed, partly for the adventure of it and partly because I wasn’t sure of myself at the moment.

We got inside the market and he passed me off to another shop owner, wishing me good luck as I went on my way, blindly trusting man number 2. We walked, and walked, and walked inside that market, up steep hills like goats. Are you kidding me?! I kept thinking. But now I knew there was nothing more I could do except trust him. So when we got outside the market to another steep hill with a sign, ‘Hotel Parador’ at the top, I was devastated! This was not the hotel I was expecting to see. It looked like a rinky-dink hotel when the one I was looking for was palatial, with a big fancy pool and lots of public parking outside. I sat down on the steps and nearly started to cry. So disappointed and now getting a little scared because I had purposely left my phone, but now I had no way to contact Mokhtar to tell him I was lost. So I was feeling in a real pickle. “Maybe I told you the wrong hotel. Maybe I’m wrong,” I said to him. “Parking public?” I said to him. ‘Piscine et terrasse?’ I added desperately! “Oui, oui!” he emphatically assured, with the most beautiful smile! “C’est Hotel Parador! Oui!” So I sucked it up and took a deep breath and tackled the hill. We got to the top of it and my man, my savior, made a sweeping gesture to the parking lot and I hugged him and he said, “You said Hotel Parador and that’s where I brought you! To Hotel Parador!” I gave him some dirhams, probably a zillion too many, and we hugged and waved and said good-bye over and over and I calmly walked to Mokhtar as though nothing strange had happened. But he knew by my crazy sweaty hair and face that something was up!

It’s a good feeling to be out of control, to be at the mercy of strangers, to trust. To be free! It’s the adventure of travel! I see the good in others and I see the fact that we are all the same in the world. We are all the same. The same. Each and every one of us. It is really profound to me. And out of all the things in life so far, travel is the thing I think I value the very most. It is the singular thing that has taught me the most about others and about myself. If I someday have nothing, I have my memories and my experiences and I know that I have touched the lives of others as much as they have touched mine. It is very good. Tres bien.

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50 Shades of Blue

31 Friday May 2013

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I still don’t know why the city of Chefchaouen is blue. But in the 1930’s, Jewish people painted it such. But why!? No clue. But really, who cares. I was too busy taking photos and gawking and oohing and ahhing to care. At every turn there was more beauty! So much so that after a few hours it almost got tiresome. Take a look. And imagine seeing all of this in person!

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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.

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Tannery

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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.