Morocco: Our Attempt to Leave

It is our last day in Morocco before flying out and we head to the Casablanca airport from Azzemour. We arrive 3 hours ahead of departure and line up for our Air Maroc check in time. Nigel immediately says, "something is wrong". "What do you mean something is wrong? What's wrong?" "Look at our two check in counters. No one is moving in either line. There are passengers gathering around and there are 5 people hovering behind each desk staring at the computers. I don't think we are leaving today". "Hmmmm", I say as I notice he is right. News filters back through the line that the flight is already booked up. In fact, yesterdays flight was also overbooked and most of those people have been bumped to our flight today leaving us unable to get on (despite our confirmed bookings). We finally make it to the front of the queue to try our best to coerce the woman into letting us on. No such luck. There are absolutely no seats left. We are given a free voucher for the local airport hotel nearby and vouchers for meals. It looks as though we are not leaving Morocco yet. Those around us say this is normal for the airline, but having had zero trouble getting on our Air Maroc flight at 3am in Liberia, we have no idea. We are bussed to the Atlas Hotel nearby where Nigel's no-nonsense personality emerges. Somebody tries to take his bag to load it on the bus and he protests saying he has just put his own bags on and will not under any circumstances be paying out more money to someone who has done nothing. This was a common attempt in our travels. Someone would walk with you, open a drink for you, or point out a few landmarks and then charge you for all sorts of things that you would normally think you should be asked first about. Besides we thought we were leaving and have no Moroccan currency left. We figure Air Maroc owns the hotel just to deal with its scheduling problems. All the vouchers we receive in the hotel have Air Maroc stamped across them and came in large pads of papers. Hmmm. One might even think, hey, free meal, free hotel, fun times. But we are in the middle of nowhere (we know this because we wander around the area), and the meals are simple buffets that are pretty dismal if you don't get there fast enough. The seating is random and most of the tables have others food and dishes left all over them. Canteen style at its most disorganized. But it does have a large lovely pool outside and I sit by it reading and people watching. It is fascinating to see the variety of cultures milling about. There are West Africans, women in their bright, body-hugging African dresses with children on their backs. There are dessert nomads in their long flowing robes with heads and faces wrapped in turbans. There are young Slavic women posing like models, dressed in western fashion and flirting with an older Middle Eastern man. There are Muslim Moroccan families in their long flowing robes. There are Westerners in their tourist shorts and burned faces. There are French tourists in their skimpy bikinis and poised demeanour. It is all an amazing spectacle. The next day we were up early heading to the airport hours ahead of our departure time. If we beat the rush we may actually get on the flight today. Despite being given a boarding card the day before, I am not convinced we are on the flight until we are actually sitting on the plane. Tempers are high and tensions lay thickly between passengers as some barge to the front and demand to be checked in since they were already bumped from the day before. Someone shouts that we are all here from the day before and why not get in line like everyone else. But the line is in chaos. A table is set up behind us and everyone shifts to it, nervous, waiting. Then someone emerges behind the desk and the crowd runs back to the original check in desks. A Muslim woman behind me in fully covered body and head robes with 3 little kids looks at me and says, "are you going to push to the front of the line? Because if you are not I am going to." It does seem the only way that anything is going to get done. With her behind me I push to the front waving our passports and boarding cards demanding to get on the flight because I was here the day before. We shove our bags onto the weight machine and are told that we must have them searched first at the table in the back. No way! If we move we lose our place and possibly our plane. The man next to me nudges me and knowingly says, "yes, they have already searched your bags". I pick up on his queue and repeat the same thing. It doesn't seem to work. I reassess my tactic as Nigel refuses to move our bags to let the next person through. In Malawi we learned that not all cultures work in ordered lines where everyone allows whoever is first to go first. If you act like an ordered culture you will never get served in other countries. In Malawi we watch in amazement as our Malawian friend pushes to the front of a crowd and waves our passports in front of the immigration officer when we need our visas renewed. No one is upset that she has shoved past, they are all in turn just trying to get the attention of the officer. One Malawian said she was shocked that people queued so pleasantly when she visited a European country. Back to the Moroccan airport. I think fast and eye the security guard who is standing by us directing people to other queue to have bags searched. I also look at my tightly wrapped and taped bags full of art and art supplies. There is no way they will open. "Please, sir" I say "could you check our bags here so that we don't have to go to the other queue. We will take our hand luggage to be checked". He hesitates, squeezes a few of our bags, asks about content then waves at the woman at the desk to let us through. I am thrilled. We head to the other line with just our handbags. I see the Moroccan woman who had nudged me to budge in and am gleeful to see she has no bags either. I make eye contact and jump gleefully saying " we did it" to her. She laughs and shakes my hand. I congratulate her on navigating the chaos with 3 small children. We are now booked to fly on the plane. We see that the passengers arriving for the first time that day are all being bumped. I want to stay and watch the human drama unfold, but Nigel thinks it wiser to get as close to the plane as possible and head through security. People are still panicky on the other side of security and are lining up at the departure gate despite having boarding cards that say the plane doesn't even leave for another hour. After all of that, we finally board and leave on the flight. We are excited to return to the UK, but mutually agree we both love Morocco. A HUGE thank you to Keith who drove all the way down to London from Manchester to pick us up from airport, but got stuck there because we didn't arrive on our original flight.

Morocco: Azzemour

We drive up the coast taking a lesser travelled road along the ocean.

The soil is white and the distant sea is hazy as we view it down below.

The view points we stop at are breathtaking. We notice around this area a lot of new single-unit vacation homes being built. They are luxurious structures for the average Moroccan.

We finally cross a bridge and spot the small town of Azzemour sitting picturesquely on the banks of the Oum er-Rbia River.

It's a sleepy backwater with a languid charm and a sturdy Portuguese medina.

We take our time as we watch this fisherman row his boat in to shore.

We are booked at the Riad Azama, a traditional riad in an incredible old house complete with original carved woodwork and charming rooms surrounding a lovely courtyard (below). We are led into the largest room (pictured above), after being upgraded due to overbooking their smaller double rooms. It is a charming place that has not been too modernized, but maintained to standards that make it old and beautiful, yet very comfortable and homey. The carved painted ceilings here are some of the finest you'll see anywhere in the country.

The rooftop terrace has great views of the medina and the ville nouvelle.

A shot of the ville nouvelle where we wander to try to find Nigel another close shave at a barber shop. As we wander around we realize there is something going on in this small village. Some sort of art movement. We see murals on random walls or randomly painted doors like the one above. The town is completely unadorned for the tourist market and gives an authentic insight into modern Morocco. We don't run into any foreigner and are eyed curiously by some of the older locals. In fact, it is so unlike any of the tourist places we visit that we are shocked when the kids shyly say hi to us as though we are a novelty. In other places they can be hard core money earners and demand money for walking in front of us and apparently "guiding" us. It is a breath of fresh air here. It is a small village with a quiet languid charm, similar to some of the Tuscan villages in Italy I have visited. We walk along the city walls of the village along the river and are mobbed by a group of young boys who are so excited to see a blond foreign woman that one just hugs me and tries to lift me off the ground for fun. For our last days in Morocco we know we have chosen our location well. We find both the medina and the ville nouvelle relaxing as we discover a large flea market right outside city walls (much to my delight). Back at our riad we lounge around in the internal garden. There is a budgie bird cage built into the wall with new babies. Other budgies are not allowed in the cage and just fly about the garden. They stick around because they are fed there. There is a small cozy library that I settle into for hours in the evening. I make a pile of all the art and Morocco books that I want to look at on the shelves and hunker down to immerse myself. I chat with the French man who owns the place and mention I notice all the art filling the riad. When I mention I am an artist he takes us up to his private area to show us the original painted ceilings in his place. They are absolutely stunning. He is looking for a good restorer for one section of it. I like him immediately and watch as he goes to check up on his budgies several times a day. We eat dinner by candlelight in the courtyard, a wonderful tajine with great service, while we watch the fountain splash away. The sun sets and we head to bed ready to drive back to the Casablanca airport the next day.

Morocco: Essaouira

Now we make a bee-line to the coast.

The scenery again is plain. I quite like the photo above with it's black signs marking the landscape like tombstones. We stay at a great little place Nigel has found on the Internet called La Maison du Vent in Essaouira. It is filled with all sorts of art. It is an eclectic and interesting place to stay and we are grateful to be left alone after Marakesh. The painting above is in our room and we both wonder if anyone would notice if we took it with us.

Another piece in one of the hallways.

We climb up to the rooftop and open the locked door at the top of the winding staircase. We understand why it is locked when we step out onto the roof. Being so close to the ocean the strong coastal wind, called the alizee, is fierce and almost impossible to enjoy, but has made it Morocco's best-known wind-surfing centre. We scan the rooftops and notice everything is white. In fact, it is blinding in the bright, hot sun.

I peer out our bedroom window to the scene outside.

We make our way down the winding staircase to explore the small city.

The one thing we notice immediately is all the vacationers. Not foreign tourists, but Moroccans on vacation. It is nice to be somewhere where there is no one pinpointing you as a buyer and trying to get you to buy a carpet or some sort of leather goods.

It has a beautiful 18th century port which we poke around in. Its charm lies in the fact that tourism has not totally taken over the town. The port remains a hive of activity with fishermen and boat builders getting on with daily life much as it has been for centuries.

There is a chilled out artsy atmosphere. It has, in fact, a growing reputation and artists musicians, craftsmen, and film makers have all fallen for its charms. You can buy fish freshly caught from the fishermen in the port and take it to a great little place that will cook it up for you. Now that is a great business idea. Essaouira's wide sandy beaches are filled with people and are great places for walking and people watching. The town enjoyed a brief hippy fling in the late 60's and early 70's after a much talked about visit by Jimi Hendrix. Sure enough we see all sorts of dread-locked youth, both foreign and Moroccan. That evening in the main square (beside the delicious ice-cream parlour) there is a huge stage and an all night concert with mostly reggae music being performed. I actually find a contemporary art gallery and start to get an idea of what the art scene is like in Morocco. We happen to be in the city the weekend of a large cultural event (hence the all night stage) which offers a large exhibition of Moroccan artists that we stumble across by chance on one of our wanders.

Essaouira has the feel of a Mediterranean resort. The mellow atmosphere, narrow winding streets, and white houses with heavy old wooden doors makes it a great place to relax after the rest of our journey.

Essaouira's walled medina has also been added to UNESCO's World Heritage list in 2001. Its well-preserved, late 18th century fortified layout is a prime example of European military architecture in North Africa. Its fortified walls, turrets, and colonnades hide a maze of narrow streets lined with white-washed houses, workshops, art galleries and riads. The thick city walls are a great place to perch your self up on to get an amazing view of the port. The ramparts were famously used in the opening scene of Orson Welles' Othello (1952)for a panoramic shot where Iago is suspended in a cage above the rocks and sea. Other films made here include Ridley Scott's Kingdom of Heaven (2005) and Oliver Stone's Alexander (2004).

Yes, we definitely like Essaouira.

Morocco: Marakesh

(Sorry for the delay in blogs. I am having troubles logging on to Blogger or any blogger sites with my home connection. I've discovered my studio's connection works quite well and I will be blogging from there from now on. Somebody get me connected to Wordpress, PLEASE!) We head to Marrakesh which was founded 1000 years ago and is one of the great cities of the Maghreb. It was founded in 1062 by the Almoravid sultan, Yusuf bin Tachfin, and became one of the Islamic world's most important artistic and cultural centres. It was once the hub of camel caravans from the south. The oasis was the finest city many traders had ever seen.

The journey there is spectacular.

It varies from lush to dry valleys amidst the lunar landscape of the Anti Atlas. The road is particularly harrowing as it is under roadworks. We drive through several miles of sticky tar only to hear our vehicle rattling very worryingly for the rest of our journey. On a series of winding roads the soil turns bright red. I start to understand how paint manufacturers can use soil for burnt sienna pigments. Like before, I notice the dwellings change to match the colour of the soil.

We catch site of oak trees, walnut groves, and oleander bushes.

The riad we arrive at in Marakesh, Les Cinq Soeurs (The Five Sisters), is spectacular. It is newly renovated and completely empty for our entire stay.

We are given the largest room and there is a small pool in the internal garden that is a huge relief after a scorching day in the medina.

We head out on the streets.

The Djemaa el-Fna is the focal point of Marrakesh. It is a huge square in the medina and the backdrop for one of "the world's greatest spectacles" (according to the Lonely Planet Guide Book). There are snake charmers, musicians, women hennaing, holy men, herbalists, magicians, jugglers, trained monkeys, storytellers, and the occassional lunatic and pickpocket. In 2001 UNESCO declared the square a World Heritage site describing it as "a masterpiece of the oral and intangible heritage of humanity". The square comes into its own at dusk when rows of open-air food stalls infuse the immediate area with mouth-watering aromas. But watch out because if you show too much interest you are pounced on by one of the many young men working for the various stalls, coersed into eating "the best food at the best price" (all at their stall, of course). We choose one stall, sit ourselves down and order some vegetarian delights for incredibly cheap prices.

As the sun sets we continue to wander around...

...until we discover a great stall that has all their glasses stuffed with tea leaves and giant sugar chunks waiting to be poured. We sit ourselves down and drink the sickly sweet concoction paired with a Moroccan sticky sweet pastry. Somehow in the midst of taking this picture I lose my wallet. I am never sure if I have been pick-pocketed or have just dropped it and it was grabbed. (Yes, this also happened to me in Liberia. Thankfully, when I travel I carry a "simple" wallet that contains just enough for that day and absolutely no ID or cards. Although it is painful to lose, we are only set back for that day.) We hear the Muslim call to prayer and head down towards the large Oessabin Mosque to get a feel for the place. The following morning we are served an amazing breakfast at our riad on the rooftop overlooking an older section of the city. Freshly squeezed orange juice with home made "pancakes" (which are closer to crumpets) coupled with some sort of pancake with rice noodles baked inside. For the next two days we wander around Marakesh and get a feel for the city that is so famous. We stick our heads down alleyways, getting lost, and wander through the dusty streets. I can't for the life of me remember the name of this Bab (city gate), but I do remember the harrowing experience of running across two lanes of traffic to get to it. It took awhile to get a shot with no traffic. Our walking includes all the modern art museums and galleries and I am sorely disappointed that every single one of them is closed in the summer months. Instead, we visit some sites that are open during this low (and very hot) season. Long hidden away from intrusive eyes, the Saadian Tombs, alongside the Kasbah Mosque (pictured one above), were originally the privileged burial place of the sherif, the descendants of the Prophet Mohammed. The photo above shows the entrance of the main koubba which is a Prayer Hall supported by 4 pillars, where mainly the children are buried. The ornate tombs that can be seen today is the resting place of Saadian princes. The tombs had been sealed up and were only rediscovered in the early 20th century. As a result they still convey some of the opulence and artistry that must have been lavished on the palace. The tombs were rediscovered in 1917 when General Lyautey's curiosity was awakened by an aerial survey of the area. He ordered a passageway to be made to the tombs and they have since been restored. Nearby is the Palais el-Badi ("The Incomparable Palace"), the most famous of the city's palaces and now in ruins. It was built between 1578 and 1602 and reputed to be one of the most beautiful palaces in the world. The walls have been taken over by stork nests which you can see clinging to the tower in the picture above. The palace has a 130 metre long central courtyard with a 90 metre long pool and sunken orange groves and flower gardens. One large structure used to be the reception hall used on state occasions. Pictured above is the confusing maze of underground corridors, storerooms and dungeons. One great stop and a bit hard to find is the Jardin Majorelle (& Museum of Islamic Art). It really is a bit of a haven away from the chaos and business of Marakesh. This garden was designed by French painter, Jacques Majorelle, who lived here from 1922 to 1962. Marakesh has more gardens than any other Moroccan city and great escapes from the hubbub of the city. In among the cooling water features, the cacti, bamboo, palm trees is an eclectic blue villa which contains the museum. East of the main medina is the mellah (the Jewish quarter) which is still home to some of Marakesh's 238 remaining Jews. Saadian Sultan Abdullah el-Ghalib moved the Jews into this secure quarter beside the royal palace, surrounded by walls and entered by just two gates, in 1558. The royal family appreciated the talents of the Jewish community of jewellers, bankers and traders who spoke many languages. Its local cemetery, the miaara, is an eerie site (pictured above) with brilliant white tombs that stretch into the distance. We are given a tour of the oldest synagogue (not open to the public) by a local man we meet. Marakesh is probably the most visited tourist destination in Morocco. We read rave reviews about the mystical, ancient, and bohemian city before arriving. Strangely, we don't take to the city. It is harried and frenzied, too hot and quite frazzled in many areas. During our stay the main square comes across as more tacky touristy than magical. We are glad to leave after two days and are exhausted from the traffic (motorbikes careening up the small pedestrian alleyways). Fes is still our favourite city so far.