Categories
Photographs Travel

Marrakech: Day 2

It was a pretty mellow day. We went to “the palace” museum. There are 2 palaces, we went to the ruins of the Badi Palace. That is where I got the photos of the storks starting here.

From there, we walked through the old part of the city back to the Djemaa Fna, which is where I took most of the photos starting here.

We then found a comfy place to sit on a restaurant terrace above the main square and people watched.

We watched the food vendors wheel in there stands and food.

We watched the crowds start to arrive.

In general we just kinda hung out.

The next morning we left of Cairo.

Some general observations:

  • Morocco is MUCH cleaner than Cairo. Having wind off the ocean and rain probably has a lot to do with that
  • There are many more headscarves, but fewer niqabs. Almost all non-western women in Morocco had on headscarves.
  • I don’t know what the Per Capita income difference between Egypt and Morocco is, but it seemed like Moroccons were better off. I saw far fewer beggars, there were FAR fewer ratty old cars on the streets. Of course, I think Morocco has far fewer people than Egypt. That probably helps
Categories
Cultural Differences Travel WTF

no kingly hand loving for you!

I am going to try to do this justice, but it was a surreal visual thing, so I am not optmistic. But here goes.

At the end of the first day in Marrakech, we retired to our hotel. There was a TeeVee in the room. As i almost always do in hotel rooms, I turn on the TeeVee to see what is on.

There were about half a dozen channels. Some in French, some in Arabic, one in German and one in English.

On what appeared to be an all-news arabic channel was a scene that I shall not soon forget.

In the center of the scene, in a fairly tight shot, a man was standing in a white, hooded robe, referred to as a gallabeya in these parts. He looked vaguely familiar. Turns out he is the King of Morocco and I had seen his photo everywhere.

Off to the side of him where several gentlemen wearing military uniforms and a few men in standard western suits.

From off camera-left came men. They were mostly middle aged and older. They all wore a white gallabeyas, with a fez and the hood pulled over the fez.

They approached the King. The king held out his hand. The man would take his hand and kiss it.

Or rather, attempt to kiss it.

Here is where it got weird.

The king, however, decided how much kingly hand loving they got. He would, rather abruptly, pull away his hand which often resulted in the kisser smacking himself in the face with his now empty hand! Doh!

The king allowed 4 levels of kingly hand loving. There must have been some ranking and favoritism to this. The 4 levels, in ascending order of lip-to-hand contact time:

  1. No actual lip contact. The king allowed his hand to be clasped and then would YANK it back before it could be kissed. (Heretofore referred to as the King Yank or K.Y.) Smack!
  2. Kissing the back of the hand followed by K.Y. Smack!
  3. Kissing the back of the hand, then turning it over to kiss the palm followed by K.Y. Smack!
  4. Kissing the back of the hand, turning it over to kiss the palm, then turning it back to kiss the back again. K.Y. Smack!

There were 2 outlyers in this group:

  1. A very small handful (heh) of men got the full multi-sided hand loving and got a few words from the King. They must have been very special individuals
  2. One or two did the whole front-back-front kiss and then proceeded up the King’s arm kissing as they went. This seemed to really annoy the King.

This procession went on for about 15 minutes. There must have been over a 200 people in this line. The entire time a very solemn voice proclaimed, what I assume to be, the names of the kissers.

We were there during a national holiday, a day where the King attends the mausoleum where his ancestors are entombed. I assume that these men were ministers of parliment, or otherwise leaders in the country and this was a ritual profession of loyalty to the king.

Kaddee and I laid in bed watching this with slack jaws. It was like a bad train wreck, you didn’t want to watch it, but you could help yourself.

The entire time I watched it I thought: The Daily Show would get a kick out of this.

I have looked for video of it, but I can find none.

Anyway…

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Marrakesh

Another day, another bus. This time to Marrakesh. About 4 hours in the pouring rain, we slept.

We had a rest stop about half way to Marrakesh for a “quick” bathroom break. They had an bakery there making bread in a stone oven.

The tour agent informed the group that this rest stop sold pottery that can only be found there. “They don’t sell it in Marrakesh, so if you see something you like, you better buy it here.”

Snork. I observed both the bus driver and the tour agent getting a little bahksheesh from the owner/manager of the restaurant/store.

The rains parted about the time we made it to Marrakesh. We consulted the guide book and decide to go to a fixed price shop run by a government sponsored arts and crafts association. We figured it was a good way to get a sense of prices before heading into the market.

Then it started raining again. We had wanted to go to the Place Djemaa El Fna.

We sat in a coffee shop on the corner near our hotel and watched the rain while we debated whether or not to go to the square in the pouring rain. As we were debating, a young man came by selling umbrellas. After some haggling and checking the umbrellas (many were discarded because they broke the first time he opened them) we bought one. We decided it was a sign from Allah that we were meant to go.

Into a taxi and off we went.

The rain kept most of the locals home and many of the tourists away. We ate snails and fried fish. in the square under tarps put up by the food vendors. We decided to stay away from sheep’s heads and brains. We had a grand time.

We also did some shopping. The rain made for some good opportunities to haggle, since there weren’t many buyers out. We bought some scarves and slippers.

We got lost and actually paid 10 dirham to a kid to get us back to the main square. Heh!

With our stomachs full, our shopping needs sated and our wallets slightly less full, we decided to head to the hotel.
That was when we witnessed the Kingly Hand Loving on the TeeVee. More on that later.

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Rabat

We awoke the next morning and went downstairs for the breakfast in the hotel dining room.

The food was interesting. Not a lot of protein. They had hard boiled eggs and 2 different kinds of crepes/pancakes. Lots of croissants, butter and jams, tolerable coffee and reconstitued juices.

We chatted with some folks that went for the “Moroccan dinner”. They were taken to an Italian restaurant. . They had some traditional Moroccan items on the menu, or you could order pizza or pasta. $20US. People were starting to grumble.

Today’s adventure was supposed to be a bus trip to Rabat and then Tangiers. A total of about 7 hours on the bus and about 7 hours in the 2 cities. We had decided we were going to take the “free” bus ride to Rabat and bail out there while the rest got back on the bus and drove 3 hours to get to Tangiers to spend 2 hours and turn around and come back. We would take the train back.
Somebody talked sense into someone, and the plan was changed to go to Rabat and spend the day there.

Oh, and the “free” bus ride was going to cost US$10. Again in dollars. hmmm.

We took the bus to Rabat. The bus stopped in the outskirts of Rabat to pick up the tour guide. We got a GREAT (ahem) tour of the new part of Rabat with all the new houses and gated communities and shopping centers while we drove from where the guide lived to where we wanted to go.

Where we wanted to go was the Hassan Tower and the Mausoleum. We spend about an hour there. We were unable to enter the Mausoleum because the king was visiting and pay his respects to his Father. Apparently, the day we went is the traditional day for this to occur.

From there we went to the Casbah, which is the old fort/barracks overlooking the river. It is a walled portion of the city with lots of twisty passages and alleys. Most of them are brightly painted. My pictures of the Casbah start here.

We walked through the Casbah with the guide. He brought us to a tea/coffee shop overlooking the river. Where, mysteriously, people popped out of nowhere to hawk crap. What a coincidence.

Then we strolled to the “gallery of traditional arts and crafts”. Apparently “traditional” arts and crafts are postcards and mass produced posters. Those Rabat-ians are so clever and advanced!

Then it was back to the bus for a trip somewhere to look at something and another “traditional” moroccan meal. At this point, we said khallas! (“Enough” usually said with great force and implying frustration). We told the tour guide and our organizers that we were bailing on the tour bus.

The suddenly became very concerned for my safety and told me to not walk through the medina without a guide because it wasn’t safe and I would never find the train station so I would have to take a taxi etc etc. I informed him that:

  • We were not getting on the bus
  • I have read the train schedule.
  • I can sit in a comfortable train, with a bathroom, for a faster trip back to Casablanca for less money than he was charging me for a cramped bus, with no bathroom.
  • I didn’t want a “traditional” moroccan dinner, paid for in US$ at an Italian restaurant.

He shrugged and said “ok”

It felt like a great weight had been lift. It felt like one of Jack And Kaddee’s grand adventures again, instead of a chore.

We strolled down to the medina, which is the center of the city. We wandered through the alleys. Most of the shops were closed due to the holiday, but we got to wander through unmolested.

Well except for one tweaker who was offering to “guide” us through “all the crowds”. There were maybe a dozen people visible at any one time. I laughed.

He continued to walk in front of us making weird motions with his hands as is to ward off “the crowds”. I stopped walking and just let him walk on with out us. About 2 blocks further down he realized we weren’t behind him any more and stopped looking very confused.

We came upon him later and he was, with great care and concern, sorting little plastic baggies from his pockets. Mmm. Might explain the tweaker-ness.

Onward. We wondered around, took some photos and enjoyed the breathing room of not being with 30 other people. (4 photos starting here are from the medina).

We then found a little coffee shop that was open just outside the medina walls. The coffee shops sell coffee, tea, water and maybe juice. No food. We needed food. I walked across the street, through one of the gates of the medina where there was a food vendor. He was grilling little sausages. I suspect they were a mixture of beef and mutton, which some paprika and other spices. Served in a “pita” bread with a little sauce. Lunch for 2 for about the equivalent of $2. Brought em back to the coffee shop and we ate and people watched.

People were out in the holiday best. Today is the equivalent of New Years Day: Everybody was out in their finest clothing. Shiney,pointy yellow babouches, their finest gallabayas.

Suitably refreshed, we dove back into the medina that was now starting to wake up. We witnessed the aftermath of what appeared to be a collision of 2 food vendor carts. Most likely a turf war. There were lots of people standing around yelling and the cops were already there. It was an ugly scene. The ground was littered with sausages and bread. Someone lost quite a bit of inventory that day. It was going to hurt.

We finished our tour with a leisurely stroll through the city to the train station. You know, that part of town that wasn’t safe to walk through, according to our guide? We boarded the train and were in Casablanca within an hour. We walked the 5 minutes to our hotel. Dumped off the camera and took a small rest.

It was a good day.

Categories
Photographs Travel

Morocco: Casablanca

So, we arrive at our hotel. We are given a few hours to rest, change money and prepare for our afternoon touristing.

Changing money:

All the students and most of the other adults brought dollars or euros that needed to be exchanged. We found that odd. We just went to an ATM and withdrew money from our American bank accounts in local currency. Our bank, Group Health Credit Union, doesn’t even charge us any fees. I guess most of the students don’t have american bank accounts? And we were the only “adult” Americans, the rest were Egyptian.

Additionally there was a hassle because the hotel ran out of cash.

Kaddee and I decided to get something to eat. This being Eid, the only thing open nearby was a western hotel with a rather expensive restaurant. We ate there anyway. The food was very tasty.

Back to the hotel and on the bus.

We went to the Mosque of Hassan II. It is a truly impressive structure. And there was at least one universal truth that came to mind while visiting: Old men hang out on park/church/mosque benches where ever you go. It was an extremely blustery day, pooh. The clouds rolled through and we had sun and shade and sun and shade.

I brought my small camera with me and got a few pictures.

Bummmer: because of my tired state (red eye from Cairo to Madrid and then Casablanca) I thought I had put my 50mm fixed lens in my pocket. I missed the pocket and bounced the lens off the tile floor of the hotel room. It would no longer focus, either manually or automatically. Well, technically it is focused at the infinite end of the range. Sigh. So I decided to leave the big camera in the hotel room cause I was upset by my $350 oopsie.

It was nice to stand right on the ocean and feel ocean breezes and mist again. The air was clean and smelled of the sea. The crowd was practically non-existent. We wandered around for about an hour. I looked at the colors and the construction details and the people in relative quiet.

Then we were back on the bus. Since everybody was hungry (except us, because we took our own destiny in our hands and actually _thought_ how “hmm, we haven’t eaten, nobody mentioned anything about food for the bus trip this afternoon, maybe we should do something about that”) the tour guide decided to takes us down the Corniche where he _hoped_ to find a restaurant open. (Again it was Eid. Everything was closed).

So we drove the Corniche and they pulled into a McDonalds. Yeah, a McDonalds. We took this time to stroll along the waterfront while folks grabbed a meal at McDonalds.

Then it was back to the hotel and some rest before dinner. The guide had arranged for a traditional “Moroccan” Dinner. At this point we were not thrilled with the guide and the choices made so far. We retired to the hotel room to rest and discuss our options.

We met downstairs at the appointed time and were discussing whether or not we would board the bus. The guide was saying that “it is really hard to get traditional moroccan food in Casablanca because it is a ‘modern’ city”. The dinner they had planned was going to cost $20US. I wondered why it was in US$. They wanted US money only. We bailed out and consulted our trusty Lonely Planet guide. The bus departed.

We wandered around. We were unable to find much open because of the holiday.

Note: Difference between Cairo and Casablanca: Cairo is a late night town. We usually eat out around 8pm. We are part of the “early bird” diners at that time..

What we did find open was starting to close around 9:30. We finally found a traditional Moroccan restaurant about 2 blocks from the hotel. Low seats and tables, lots of tile and tin ceilings. We had tagine and couscous, of course. It was great food and a lovely setting. Our meal, total, for both of us, was less than the equivalent of $20US.

We returned to the hotel with happy stomachs. We drank a couple of nips of scotch we had brought along and slept the sleep of exhausted travelers.

Categories
Travel

Morocco: Getting there

It seems that flights in and out of Cairo are at rather inconvenient times. Our flight to Morocco left at 00:35 on Monday morning. Apparently, this is quite normal.

We were on a bus tour run by the Student Housing department and run by 2 of the RA’s from the dorms. They did a pretty good job of working with what they had.

Unfortunately, the Student Housing office used a tour guide that, imho, should not be used again. I shall call him Mr SlimeySalesman. More about that later.

Anyway, a bus was waiting for us at around 9:30 in front of the hostel. We were the only “adults” on the bus, though there were 5 or 6 other adults on the trip, but they met the tour at the airport.

Looking around, I asked one of the organizers if we could get a discount as chaperones.

We climbed on the bus and were on our way.

The flight was less than optimal:

we flew a red-eye from Cairo->Barcelona->Madrid.

While in Barcelona, we had a very long delay. It seems that there had been a screw up with the plane tickets (see comment about tour guide.) There was one ticket that had the passenger get off the plane in Barcelona, instead of Madrid.

The tour guide “fixed” this problem by switching tickets with a few people. So now an american college student was travelling as “Mohammed somebodyorother”, one other male student was traveling with a woman’s ticket (“The spanish airline won’t be able to tell that the arabic name is female”) and the tour guide took the ticket that had Barcelona as its destination.

Mr SlimeySalesman got off the plane in Barcelona, along with his wife. His luggage stayed on the plane. His wife wasn’t supposed to get off the plane. Her ticket went through to Madrid (and then casablanca).

Think about that for a moment:

Here we are, on the ground in Barcelona. Coming from Egypt. An Arab decides to get off the plane at an unplanned stop and leave his luggage on the plane. Hmm.

This triggered a full security search of the plane. They went through all the overhead compartments and pulled out each piece of luggage and asked who it belonged to.

One poor woman was asleep in the back row of the plane. When they pulled her bag out, no one claimed it. (The stewardess and/or security people really should have wakened everybody..) They took it off the plane. It had her money, camera, all her clothes etc. She awoke in Madrid with no luggage. She is a well traveled person and never checks luggage “cause they loose checked luggage.” sigh.

The stewardesses also verified each passenger against the list. Or tried to. This was hampered by the fact that the minute people got on the plane in Cairo, just about everybody switched seats for one reason or another.

They didn’t ask for ID or anything, but they went down the aisles trying to match names with the list. This caused a rather long delay. It was compounded by the fact that the woman didn’t use a pen to mark off who she already verified. She spent 30 minutes going back and forth in the last 10 rows or so of the plane. Idiota!

Finally another stewardess, who, in the time the first stewardess had been trying to resolve 10 rows, had verified all the way from the front back to us (row 25) gave her a pen and told her what to do. A (rather dim) lightbulb went off and she finished the verification.

We left Barcelona about 1.5 hours late.

“Luckily” we had a nice long layover in Madrid.

We used that time to buy some Jamon Bocadillo’s (serrano ham and manchego cheese sandwhiches on a crusty baguette. One of our favorite simple foods from our trip to Spain several years ago.) and a mini bottle of red wine. mmm, spanish red wine.

The flight from Madrid to Casablanca was relatively uneventful, but rather bumpy. We were in Morocco. Time to collect the luggage and get on the bus.

We waited awhile for the woman who “lost” her carryon to file a claim with the airport and for the travel agent to arrive on his flight (about 20minutes) and we were off for our hotel.

Oof.