London to Marakesh- the first of many

Remember when you were a kid and you read all those fairy tales about flying carpets and magic lanterns that, if rubbed, a genie appeared? I always thought those stories were based on the Middle East. Turns out, it was Morocco.
And the carpets fly because there is so much hashish here, it's crazy.

My time spent in London was excellent; got to see many people I had met in Africa, spent some wonderful time with Phil, who I had spent most of my time in Africa with and who was kind enough to put me up and put up with me, and, sadly, played a whole lot of The Sims. Thank god I don't have a laptop or all I would be doing is playing that bloody game.

Then it was off to the races for Damien and I. D picked me up at Phil's at 3:45 am for our 7 am flight to Malaga, Spain. We assumed as well that the weather would be nice in Spain after freezing in London (Why, oh why can't they heat their homes there?). We arrived in Malaga and stepped out in a torrential rainstorm that actually managed to get worse! By the time we got to the ferry depot in Algeciras, we were soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably, and I had even managed to wipe out when my brand spankin' new pumas slipped on some marble steps. So my ass really hurt. But we remained in good spirits with the thought that we were going to make it to Morocco before nightfall. Tangier is known as Dangiers so we weren't keen on hauling our packs through the port late at night. Unfortunately the weather was so crap that the ferry was 5 hours late and we didn't reach the port until 10 :30 pm, beyond cold (keep in mind both D and I though we were going to warm/hot Africa so we obviously didn't pack for cold) and absolutely starving. The last time we ate had been just before our flight.
All the pedestrians lined up in front of the cars, waiting to disembark and trying to not inhale the fumes of the cars that had already started their engines. So now, we were kinda stoned on fumes, fantastic. No, really.

Anyway, we made it off without a hitch, got money from an atm, and walked to a cheapie hotel with only one person 'hassling' us. Dangiers?! Whatever. But we did end up getting possibly the best and biggest omelette of my life, which turned out to be just the beginning of the wickedly good food here in Morocco.

We spent a night in Tangiers, then hopped on a bus for the Riff Mountains and Chefchaouen (pronounced shef-sha-when; took me 2 weeks after being there to pronounce it). Chaouen is a stunning village high up in the mountains where all the houses are washed in shades of blue and it has a great vibe, very calm. Sadly it was still frikin freezing and constantly raining. We actually went to bed our first night at 7 :30 because it was too cold to stay up!

Because of the perpetual rain D and I ended up spending a fair amount of time in the local cafe, which was filled with men only, all swathed in Djellabas, a thick woolen hooded cloak that seemed very warm, and played movies on the small tv. This was our first experience with locals and we quickly learned that Moroccans are possibly the nicest, kindest, gentlest people we've ever met. So welcome and opening-we actually were sure it was regional until our travels took us further and further away and still, the people rocked.

It was in this cafe that we also discovered the popularity of hash in Morocco. Now, they don't smoke it in the sheeshas (elaborate water pipes) like many people think. Those are strictly for flavoured tobacco. Only Westerners put drugs in sheeshas. Moroccans roll joints. So we sat amongst these men, drinking our fabulous cafes or mint teas to stay warm, while they puffed away on splifs, occasionally offering us a drag. We would refuse ; had no idea what the law was like and had no intention of ended up in a Moroccan jail. One day, two cops wandered into the cafe, saw us there and gestured to the men to hide their joints. Not put them out . Hide them. We've also learned that we, as foreigners can pretty much get away with anything with the law. We are very very protected here. But more on that later.

We spent a few days in Chefchaoun. I went for a hammam, which is a turkish style steam bath where you get all scrubbed and massaged for next to nothing. I went to get warm. It really was that cold. And, of course there was no heating indoors. We would seek out the few places that had fires going and just stand in front of them, pretending to choose from a menu we couldn't afford.

We also ate really well. At first I thought the food and pastries were so good cause everyone was so baked, but turns out it's just Moroccan cuisine. And I'm not just talking couscous, which is actually meant to only be eaten on Fridays, the holy day. There's this dish called Tajine that D and I are madly in love with. It's name actually refers to the name of the dish and lid it's cooked in which is a conical earthenware that's placed atop coals and the dish is cooked slowly. Ususally we get chicken that's cooked with carrots, tomatoes, peas, olives and lemons. There's also crepes to choose from, kebabs, yogurts, and the list goes on. Have to say, Dr. Atkins would have fit here with all the carbs. They put rice and potatoes in sandwiches! And it's delish.
And the sweets: mille feulles abound! Cakes and coissants and pain au chocolate; all for pennies. Keep saying to myself 'Well, West Africa won't have these so'. Whatever.

D and I finally had enough of the cold and decided to continue on to Fes. We really liked Fes. We got very lost in the medina (means 'city'- the original arab part of any city. Ville nouvelle is the french addition) but managed to find our way out after a mere 7 and a half hours.

Went to our first bar in Fes. These are few and far between in this muslim country, but it certainly wasn't empty! Not cheap either but get this: they give you food with your beer! Plates of olives and bread, chicken, potatoes, all until you say no more. So here we thought we were gonna have to go without dinner and Poof! We eat! As you can imagine, there were no women in this bar but no one was creepy. Everyone treated me with respect. The waiters even opened a separate toilet for me and stood guard while I was inside. Very cool.
Spent about a week in Fes, just getting used to things, trying out my french. Moroccans have a keen ear for languages and thend to speak many. But they are very patient with me and my little amount of french. They keep it simple for me, and slow. So it makes me feel as though I can actually speak the damn language. The frustrating thing is I can sorta understand but I can't reply. Very hard when you're tryin to converse!

Made some nice friends in Fes as well. All the guys who ran the hotel were fabulous, and gave us lessons in french, as well as Moroccan Arabic. I had learned a little classic arabic in Egypt years ago and they retrained me in thier dialect. We also met a gentleman by the name of Ali. He told us about all kinds of lovely places to see in Moroc. One being Cascades D'Ouzoud. Best tip ever!

From Fes, we went to Rabat for a few days, then Casblanca to get our Mauritanian visa. Rabat is a very nice city on the coast, with a pretty enthusiastic surf culture. Very chill, especially for a capital city. Met a guy who had a sheep named Dolly (ha ha) for a pet. As you could imagine, the ladies loved it ! Good food there too...
Casa, well, it's not like the movies. There seemed to be a lot of crackheads there; really the first time we didn't feel safe in Moroc was in Casa. But then, we always are because we're constantly being watched.

I almost forgot our protection. Seems years ago (like years), the King announced that anyone who came to see Moroc had to be treated the same as royalty, or pay the price. This stands true today, except to nightmarish degrees. We're not sure who is allowed to speak to us and who are not, but apparently a local can go to jail for merely speaking to a foreigner.
One night in Fes, D and I were walking home from the medina. We were unsure of the way and were consulting our map, something we both hate doing in public. A young man stopped and asked us if he could help. He found we spoke english and was happy to try his out. We were just chatting about directions when 2 undercovers approached us. They chased away the boy then told us to get in a petit taxi to get home. It was dangerous. Total crap, so not dangerous, and we told them so. They slowly agreed to let(!) us walk back to the ville nouvelle, but only if we kept to certain streets. On route we came across this boy who apologized profusely while he walked ahead of us by 5 metres. We couldn't understand what the hell was going on. Then, again a cop came along, out of nowhere, and he had a bit of a discussion in aravic with him. Then, as the cop came up to our poor confused selves, he said to us quickly how sorry he was but he had to go or face prison time. Honestly, my radar is pretty good for bad people, especially at night. This dude was nothing more than a fashion teen who wanted to test his english. Especially with a canadian since almost everyone here has a relative in Quebec some way or another (studying, or marriage). However, we faced no problems hanging out with Ali. My only guess is Ali works in the tourist industy (he has a shop selling curios. Not once did he try to sell us anything either).

Right, so Casa kinda sucked. Big city etc etc. By this time D and I were very ready to get to a small village and chill. My knee was all swollen from walking up and down the sometimes steep souk (marketplace) sloops, and I wanted to not sightsee for a while. That's when we remembered Ali telling us about Cascades D'Ouzoud and that he would be there around this time.

We left Casa as soon as we got our visa and made it to Azilal, the town closest to Cascades. Spent the night in this tiny town watching Speed 2 with some locals in the cafe below our room . Then we headed down for Cascades. It was a stunning drive, as was the drive from Casa, through sloops of Olive and Almond trees (didn't know they grew on trees, but they do!) to the small village. Met our first 'beach boys /guides/carvers' upon arrival. (For more info, see the previous trip blog entitled The Art Of Fishing). We did our best to not take their advice but ended up going right back to the first dude, Rachid, who turned out to be sorta the Godfather there. His family seems to own the entire land. We stayed at this aunties hotel for 2 weeks. We had only meant to be there for a bit but we met some Austians who absolutely rocked and lost all track of time.

To help you picture this place : Cascades D'Ouzoud is a series of waterfalls that originate just at the village, with various sizes of cataracts plunging water over the edges. It's also located in the Atlas mountains so quite high up, and there are spectacular walks all around, of varying degrees of difficulty. After we dumped our bags (each had our own room for like 5CAD) D and I went out to explore the tiny village. Instead we were met by Jalaal and Aziz, local guides who were heading up to the mexican village -so called because it looks mexican, and there once was a mexican who lived there- and asked if we wanted to come, for free, no charge. Coolio. Turned out to be this crazy hilly hike past mountain goats. It rocked! So stunning this scenery. Very happy to be out of the cities. And bloody Jalaal-this guy managed to walk over anything, just like a mountian goat, maybe more sure footed.

A few days later we met Barbara and Conrad, aka The Austrians. It was love at first sight. We quickly became friends and their van became our second home. The first night B made us austrian pancakes that so reminded me of my mom's cooking I didn't think I'd ever leave her. This became a bit of a ritual, cooking together and I think some of the guides got worried about us foreigners banding together. Hard to explain, all I know is it must be hard for these guys who befriend so many, those people inevitably leave with promises of returns, but rarely does that happen.

One dude, Mo Mo helped us get in a donkey trek. It was fun, as fun as having to direct a very stupid animal in arabic is (Irah to go-rolling the rrrrs; Shhh to stop. Seems easy enough.). And D's donkey seemed to be in heat, and the rest of us were on girl donkeys. B and I witnessed a very disturbing site not befit of a children's story.

We had been under the impression this was gratuis, since all the guys did stuff with us just for friendship. Jalaal constantly took us for treks for no money and would never accept gifts, unless they were smokes. And he had pretty much said for friends . But Mo Mo charged us. A lot. I was not happy and told him so. Later that night he found the Austrians and apologized by giving some special tea. A nice gesture. I decided to not hold a grudge, a stupid boring thing to do anyway, so the next night I offered him a smoke, a peace offering if you may. He didn't know what to do. That night he came to the van with a bottle of whiskey he had recieved in payment for a trek (very good since there are no bottle shops for hours). He shared this with us then bought us huge meals for dinner. It was the nicest thing. He apologized. That had been enough, but he went above and beyond. Alcohol is very hard to get in the Cascades, save for Berber Schnapps, made from figs, a fairly vile gasoline flavoured liquor that they get from the berbers in the mountains.
Just another example of the kindness of Moroccans.

We celebrated easter with the Austrians by painting eggs. Even blew 8 of them to hang on a tree, austrian style. And we painted them pretty with watercolours that B had. Then Conrad made chicken snitzel for din. Yumm! Then we manged to get not one but two bottles of wine, and a bottle of vodka, and then...berber shnapps courtesy of Rachid! It was quite the night...
I decided that a dance party should be held in either my room or the roof of the hotel that night. Now this is an old fashioned place. Permission must be asked for anything, and Auntie was not so happy when we showed up a little wobbly, ipod and speakers in hand, somewhat blaring music at 2 am. It wasn't even that though. It was the boys. No good. So a little chase occcured, to my amusement, with Auntie throwing rocks at Rachid and Jalaal, both close relatives, while they tried to hide. Then she shook her finger at me and marched up to my room. It was hysterical, but turns out I did manage to get the boys in some trouble. Me too, since I seemed to have been adopted by the mamas in town. Would take me 20 min to get to the van, a 2 min walk away. I loved it.
The next morning I hung my head in shame for auntie and I think managed to clear things up with her and the boys. Don't know. Don't speak berber. I do know she finally stopped smacking Jalaal in the head and hugged me. And he was allowed to help me pack. Seemed ok...

I loved it in the Cascades. The view from my window was of olive trees on the sides of mountains. I had baby goats in the stable next door, that at first gave me nightmares from their human-like cries. I could hear the roar of the falls. Could see the whole world from the roof. Conrad watched the slaughter of a goat while just metres away, a baby goat was born.

The feeling of being included with the people, the joy of being cared for by absolute strangers. It was so sad leaving. My adoptive mother told Rachid she had just been getting used to seeing her new daughter everyday. Then I leave. Makes you wonder if it's good at all getting so close. It was different there from the other places I have called temporary home. There seems to be an honesty about the people, an openess I've never experienced. I believe them when they say they care.

Not this this would happen, but I had a few marriage offers in this village (as I tend to, carrying a canuck passport). I honestly believe one would have a good life living there. I would have my olive trees (the trees and painted with certain small patterns to show ownership and this became a bit of a joke amongst our group: My olive tree etc), a good family, equality to my husband, and a beautiful home with a berber hammam. You'd be taken care of, just for being wed to a berber.
Not really in my cards though. However, I have Rachid's number and know a bunch of really cute guys if anyone is interested. But they want to stay here in Morocco...

Right, so this was long !

I'm currently in Marakesh, staying just off Djemma el Fna, the main square of the medina that, by day, is filled with snake charmers, juice stands and fortune tellers, as well as henna artists. By night it turns into a variety of numbered food stalls, with meals ranging from goats heads to bean soup.
I'll save Mara for the next one.
Latah,
Love thi