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LOG ENTRY DATE: July 14, 2003 Tom, Max and I caught the bus on Thursday, October 9, to Algeciras, Spain, which is the large port right next to Gibraltar. It's the point of departure for many of the ferries that travel the short distance between Spain and Morocco. The weather was good as we crossed the straits between Spain and Morocco, and Tom and I got our first close-hand view of Africa. We landed in the bustling city of Tangier. How to describe Morocco. . .?! It's a truly amazing place when you compare it to what we are used to. My first reaction as we walked into the city of Tangier was that it was, simply put, dirty. Not to mention the fact that from the moment we set foot on the dock, there was someone trying to sell us something ("Welcome to Africa!" was Max's comment, who has been to Morocco three times now). Certainly it was a major departure from what we left in Spain, and seemingly light years displaced from the U.S. But initial first impressions don't always tell the whole story, which is certainly the case with Morocco. What I found as we traveled through the country was that the Moroccan people made up for conditions that we might have found challenging. For instance, the incessant hawking of goods and services at first blush seems a real intrusion to people like us who are not used to it. But, when you consider most of Morocco's economy is based on the open-air market—with neighbors selling and bartering with neighbors—it becomes evident that this is how their culture works. . . their products move exclusively through a one-on-one exchange. And, who better to try and sell them to than the rich European tourists? Despite this seemingly continual confrontational situation, however, the Moroccans maintain a sincere and friendly demeanor. . . they are always interested in you, they never stop smiling, and more often than not want you to sit and talk and drink tea with them. All in all, they make you feel welcome in their country, and you can't help but be impressed by their attitude. . . they know that life in Morocco is simple, that they don't require much, and they are happy with that. They embrace a way of life that really isn't too far from what most cruisers enjoy! At any rate, we managed to hit Tangier in the middle of a taxi strike, but were able to "hire" a driver to take us from the city to the train station, back into the city after purchasing tickets for the train, then back later on to the station—all for $3 per trip. While selling things is a continual state of affairs in Morocco, much of what you do buy doesn't cost much! We had dinner that night in the old section of Tangier—the streets filled with vendors selling everything from shoes to spices—and caught the overnight sleeper train for Marrakech. Marrakech is a bustling as Tangier is, but with a little different flavor. The old part of Marrakech has been well preserved, and its focal point remains the central marketplace. This marketplace has become a UNESCO-designated cultural heritage site, as it has continued in the same place for centuries, and still reflects the continuation of what such a market had to offer a society. . . in addition to the ubiquitous booths (of which there are literally miles both outside and inside the market buildings), there are food vendors at night, and "shows" in the open air that feature everything from acrobats to storytellers to people selling herbal "potions" for every imaginable circumstance. It's a scene that's right out of the early part of the first millennium. We hit the marketplace after checking into the Central Palace Hotel (room price: $30, with bathroom, shower, and six beds!), and were immediately overwhelmed by its offerings. We walked for several hours through the back alleys of the bazaar and saw—amidst beggars and motor scooters and animals—the amazing array of things for sale: rugs, jewelry, hand carved wood products, clothing, raw meat, chickens being killed and plucked and displayed, mounds of spices, vegetables. On and on it went. We succumbed ourselves to the temptation of buying things, and did some of our Christmas shopping early. We purchased large cedar salad bowls inlaid with lemon wood for $8, hand carved sets of shishkabob skewers for $4, and handmade wool hats for $3. . . all done in a continual air of negotiation and dickering. In the evening, we returned to the bazaar to have dinner amongst the hundreds of outdoor food stalls that provide everything from Tangine (a lamb and vegetable dish, something like a stew) to couscous to sheep heads and brains. Of course, we really wanted to try the sheep's heads, but always seemed to be not quite so hungry when we passed their booths. . .. not for lack of trying on the vendor's parts, however: they sell their products as vigorously as their other marketplace counterparts! The next morning, Saturday, we rented a car—a very small car. Having guided us expertly so far, Max's next task was to get us to the city of Tenerhir, which is located on the other side of the Atlas Mountains, about 240 miles south and east of Marrakech. Having been there twice before, he and Lynnie had made good friends in the city, including a family that owned a hotel, a camel-driver, and a rug-making family. So, the plan was to head there for several days, see the sites in the area, and buy some rugs. The trip over the Atlas Mountains was spectacular. The mountains run down the middle of the country, like a big spine. They are broken into three ranges: the Low, Middle, and High Atlas. We crossed the mountains between the Middle and High ranges, on a road that curved endlessly up and down through these rugged mountains. We passed trucks on sharp curves, saw mud bricked villages, and dodged people trying to sell (yes, even there in the middle of nowhere) things like jewelry and geodes from the roadside - or, more accurately, from the middle of the road as they often tried to bring your vehicle to a stop to press their wares on you! We also stopped at a famous kasbah (a fortified town, or part of a town that is the central part of many communities) in Ait Benhaddou, which is used as the standard setting for many Arab-locale movies, including Lawrence of Arabia. Like many other places in this arid area, Tenerhir is a small city that lies on an oasis—this one being created by a river that runs down from the mountains. It's been there for centuries, and the Berbers (the indigenous group of Moroccans that are comprised of 4 tribes and make up the majority of Morocco's population) have long ago established how the water is used and distributed in the community. The importance of this is underscored when you see a vista of the town and the oasis. . . the ribbon of green created by the river water creates a vivid streak in the dry, red-rocked desert valley. Much of this we learned from Abdul, Max's friend whose main occupation was selling camel rides (both hourly trips and caravans into the Sahara Desert) to tourists. We met up with him the first evening, and shared dinner with him and his restaurant-owner friends. Despite alcohol being banned by strict Muslims, these guys were happy to let us eat and drink at their restaurant, though they did give us an upstairs room—out of the view of the public—and even imbibed a little themselves! Abdul is a special character: he looks and acts like a Berber Eddie Murphy, and is always on the move to do something. . . but, like so many of the people we met in Tenerhir, he was genuinely delighted to see us and to spend time with us. His continual smile and laughter made us feel welcome even in such foreign place and culture. The following three nights were spent at the Auberge Traditional, a new hotel that was essentially a bed and breakfast in a local house. It featured 10 rooms that were clean and attractive—a fairly rare commodity for the Moroccan countryside. Although the owner of the hotel was traveling, his extended family (in Morocco, all family members generally live within the same house, or in rooms attached) worked hard to make us comfortable—including the required mint tea upon arriving, and a drumming session just before leaving. Sunday morning was spent visiting Abdul, first eating breakfast at his house, and then riding his camels—Jimmie Hendrix and Jacques Brel—through the oasis. We got a first-hand glimpse of how the oasis worked both logistically (i.e. irrigation, etc.) and socially. More importantly, I was pleased to find that I am a natural-born camel rider, and that I could pass—should I feel the need—for a nomadic Bedouin Berber with my ease of camel-handling and my traditional Arab dress. The afternoon was spent purchasing rugs—one of the main reasons we had come to Tenerhir. In his last visit there, Max had established contact with a family that made and sold rugs, and had purchased one of them. Since we all wanted several good rugs, and since they are relatively inexpensive when bought at the source (i.e. $80 for a 4' x 6' woven or knotted rug), we went in search of Mohammed Ezzian. This was not as easy as it sounds, as all along the way we were diverted by other people trying to sell us rugs. One family even got us into their house by claiming that Mohammed would soon be there and that they remembered Max from last year—even though Max didn't recognize them or their house! We beat a hasty retreat. One of the boys at the hotel, though, solved the problem for us and walked us to the right place, and then sat while we talked with the family for more than an hour before even approaching the subject of carpet buying. Mint tea and dates. And, a visit to the loom room where the matriarch of the family was working on a knotted rug, and showed us how to create the yarn from raw wool. (As an aside, we checked Max's pictures of the same room from last year, and found that the same rug was in the loom—with only about two inches of progress being made in one year! They obviously use the loom, carpet, and "mom" as sales props!) Finally, we got to the business at hand, and picked from a large assortment 7 rugs—3 for Max and 2 for both Tom and me. In the end, ever the good negotiator (and compulsive consumer), Max got them to throw in another two rugs at bargain prices. We finished the session with some drumming (a Moroccan leisure activity) and some pictures, and were invited to come back that evening for more tea and drumming. The 9 rugs challenged the tiny trunk of our Fiat Uno, but we managed to jamb them in, and to take the car the next day to Merzouga, which is the northern edge of the Sahara Desert, about 3 hours south of Tenerhir. Like Gibraltar, you can't really appreciate the desert and its sand dunes until you actually step foot on it. We parked our car at a hotel, and set about climbing the largest sand dune in the area, which was perhaps 200 feet high. No easy task, once you find out that you sink backwards 2.5 feet for every 3 you move forward. But, we managed to make it to the top and gaze down into the depths of the Sahara, and Algiers. The following day, we made our way back to Marrakech, but not before driving up through the amazing Todra Gorge, and beyond it for about an hour. The gorge is at the northern end of town, and was formed by the river that waters the oasis. It also provides sustenance far upstream and forms a spectacular valley far into the Atlas Mountains. We all agreed that it would be a prime place to take a bike trip someday, as the road rolls through the relatively flat valley, while being surrounded on both sides by steep mountains. On the way back Max, who apparently had formed an addiction to purchasing rugs (or perhaps to negotiating large-ticket transactions?), forced us to stop while he bought yet two more. This necessitated, upon arrival back in Marrakech, a visit to the bazaar so we could find the proper luggage to carry all those rugs. Sure enough, we found a luggage vendor, and bought a huge duffel bag from him, having talked him down from his asking price of $35 to $11.50. We were thus able to disguise our near tractor-trailer load of goods when we came through Spanish customs the next day, after once again taking the sleeper train and then the ferry back to Algeciras. Our final mode of transportation was to be the bus from Algeciras to Cadiz, and then from Cadiz to Rota. However, my feelings about bus travel were cemented when an old man sitting one seat in front of Tom developed a case of acute motion sickness—accompanied abundantly by all the symptoms one might normally imagine. Enduring the scene and it's attendant smells to Cadiz, we opted for a $40 cab ride back to Rota. Case closed on bus travel. The main assignment for today will be to eat early and get to bed by 2100 so we can arise at 0200 and see the 7th game of the Boston-New York game on the Armed Forces Network, which comes from the Naval base here at Rota. Having invested this much time in beer-drinking and pool while watching them through the pennant playoffs, we feel obligated to make this final sacrifice. We'll soon close the chapter on sailing in Europe. . . on Sunday, October 19th, our expected crew of Jack McBride (ex of the Atlantic crossing to the Azores on Chase) and Lincoln Fuller will be arriving, and it is our hope to have the boat ready to shove off for Madeira and the Canaries the following day. Very much looking forward to the trip, as it the start of the leg homeward, because it will bring more friends on board, and because we will be traveling in the company of Max and Lynnie on Juanona. |
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