I spent the first day of 2011 all up in the air - literally. After about four hours sleep I dragged myself out of bed and was walked dutifully to the airport bus by my two Socttish tour guide mates. At Edinburgh airport I randomly saw an enormous billboard with the Sydney Harbour bridge on it - our taxes hard at work! From Edinburgh I flew to London and faced my first challenge at negotiating Heathrow airport and its multiple and sprawling terminals. I'd like to point out that I CAN read maps, I DIDN'T get lost or lose any luggage and I made my flight on time! From London I flew first to Casablanca (of film fame) and then finally to Marrakech - although oddly we didn't get off the plane at Casablanca, we just landed, let some people off, picked up some more and took off again. Notably there were HEAPS of Italians on the flight there - perhaps a popular Italian holiday destination? Mum and dad met me at the airport and boy was I glad to see them waiting there. Apparently they had a horror time getting there (manic traffic and people everywhere for New Year's Day). We taxied to the hotel Mum had booked and then had to walk down this crazy winding dark alley on foot – mum and dad apparently knew where they were going and looking back on it now it makes sense but at the time I was thinking where the hell am i?! All of a sudden we stopped and knocked on this big dark door with a proper knocker and a nice young Moroccan man answered the door with a “hellooo” and a smile like mum and dad are long lost friends! The hotel, or ryad as they’re known, was as I’d hoped – built up around a central courtyard (as traditional ryads are) with mosaic tiled floors, coloured walls, wrought iron furniture but with pillows and lounges, a little pool (not for swimming just for looks) and a fountain, and curtains draped everywhere. There were orange trees growing up through the courtyard with big fat oranges hanging on them. We were on the third floor, 3 single beds in one room – yay! The room was a bit cold because of the cement walls and huge gaps between the door and the walls! but nothing like Maastricht or London cold! The bathroom had a red clay kind of alcove shower and "moroccan rose" soap :) After such a long day travelling and a shower in what felt a bit like a cave (in a cool way) I was ready to crash in my single bed - earplugs at the ready (sorry Dad Xx)
Our ryad courtyard
our room on the top floor
Mum and Dad on the top balcony of our ryad
Day 168 (Sun) Introduction to chaos
After the cutest breakfast at the ryad (with this delicious fig (or was it quince?) jam, fresh bread and moroccan mint tea) we ventured out into the sunshine (yes, SUNSHINE) towards the "big square" as the locals call it when directing tourists. Luckily it was a straight walk pretty much and then all of a sudden the fairly narrow "street" (more like a pedestrian way with the odd bicycle, scooter or donkey led cart crashing through and nearly taking someone down) we emerged into the large open square (where we would come to spend quite a bit of time). The square was teeming with snake charmers, guys with monkeys on leashes, dudes dressed in crazy red hats banging cymbals, fresh orange juice stalls, women painting henna tattoos and people shopping and eating. Within a few minutes of being there I had the second-scariest experience of the Morocco trip - a woman came out of nowhere, grabbed my right hand and was about to stick what looked, at first sight, like an enormous syringe filled with brown stuff into my skin!!!! Turns out she was a henna painter and the "Syringe" had not needle but was just an easy way to apply it. Unfortunately, she was also my first introduction into the persistence and aggression of Moroccan touts and hawkers. She would NOT let go of my hand, while spinning this tale (in English of course) about how if the henna went dark I would have "very good marriage". I tried to explain I hadn't asked for anything but it was futile. The woman wouldn't release her pincer grip and it would have looked dumb if she'd stopped halfway through anyway (given it lasts for days). After going to the lengths of sprinkling some glitter on the finished design she then demanded the equivalent of about 5 pounds from memory. Having just arrived, I had absolutely no Moroccan money on me so mum had to give her some change (not as much as she asked for but enough to get her moving anyway). So, my first lesson learned - don't let yourself be accosted! From then on, I kept a keen eye on who was approaching us.
'traditional' water sellers in the main square
my enforced henna design, i quite liked it though
Still, it was a lovely day, and we took a walk in the ... you guessed it ... sunshine! to the Koutoubia Mosque (one of the oldest in Marrakech from memory and probably the most well known) and then to the public gardens behind it. It was inexplicably wonderful to wander around in one layer of clothing (and a shawl of course), with a clear blue sky, a slight breeze and warmth from the sun :D We stopped at a place in the square to have lunch and Dad introduced me to the lemon chicken tagines he'd been eating for the 3 days before I got there! delicious. and continuing my suspicions about the Italians, it seems many of the restaurants serve really good pizzas too.
koutoubia mosque and BLUE SKIES!
Next we took a ride in a horse buggy, I suppose you'd call it (they're everywhere in the main square) out to the Jardin Majorelle - a mainly cactus garden, artfully laid out and encompassing a house which used to be owed by Yves Saint Laurent. Inside that house, now a museum, was a beautiful collection of his designs inspired by Morocco, which Mum and I visited. The designes stretched from the 1960s to quite recently and it was interesting to see Mum recognise so many designs and fabrics. The colours were just beautiful and you could definitely see how these designs came from the women we could see around us outside.
Unfortunately, we didn't take the hourse carriage back and got completely lost trying to walk back to the main square for dinner. The souks - the market streets - are an absolute rabbit warren and you can't see any sort of landmark by looking up and all the hawkers are telling you to go in different directions. The streets don't last for very long before they come to an intersection of split off in another direction. It was a miracle we eventually made it back out into the open! Once in the square again I busted out some of my high school French (NOT as good as I'd hope it would be after 5 years!) and we had coffee and croissants :) Later we had dinner at a balcony restaurant with a lovely night time veiw of the flat rooftops, the moon in the sky ... oh and satellite tv dishes everywhere! As for the food, all of it was very tasty, they serve these great semi-flat bread rolls with every meal and there was a pot of cumin on the table which I smelt and was instantly reminded of Houmus (although, sadly, this was as close as I got to houmus there, apparently its more a turkish thing). Only downside is the prices have skyrocketed since Mum and Dad both visited separately in the 70s.
koutoubia mosque and BLUE SKIES!
Next we took a ride in a horse buggy, I suppose you'd call it (they're everywhere in the main square) out to the Jardin Majorelle - a mainly cactus garden, artfully laid out and encompassing a house which used to be owed by Yves Saint Laurent. Inside that house, now a museum, was a beautiful collection of his designs inspired by Morocco, which Mum and I visited. The designes stretched from the 1960s to quite recently and it was interesting to see Mum recognise so many designs and fabrics. The colours were just beautiful and you could definitely see how these designs came from the women we could see around us outside.
Jardin Majorelle
rooftop dinner
Day 169 (Mon) BIRTHDAY!!
Left ryad at midday (after viewing some truly fabulous birthday msgs/videos on FB) to then have the most awful experience I've had on a birthday (yes, even worse than having to spend 17 hours in a car driving back from Sydney one year). We were heading to a tannery off the beaten track and a guy latched on to us wanting to take us there for "no money, no money" which of course meant $$. We said no, he said no worries, we said no again, he wouldn't leave us alone - eventually mum had to bust out the "we'll call the tourist police" threat and then he just snapped, yelling at us in a mixture of languages, his eyes bugging out of his head and literally frothing at the mouth. Ugh, talk about unsettling birthday vibes. After that, I threw the 24-year-old equivalent of a hissy fit and announced that I wanted to get out of there pronto and go somewhere birthday worthy (preferable inside!).
And so we did - the Marrakech museum, much better with a cool courtyard out the front where I got a fresh birthday orange juice and even had a coffee (yes, look at me go) before venturing inside to see amazing mosaic celings and floors, cool jewellery (including necklace talismans with, I quote, "prohylactic" qualities! as in for safety protection though, not baby protection), pottery and ornate wooden carvings. It was very cool inside the thick walls and obviously no one hassling you like out on the streets. Next stop was an outdoor relic type building (best part of that was walking around int he sun having a look) and finally a theological college which featured the most inexplicably intricate moulded stucco ceilings and door archways, more mosaics, a calm pool in the middle of a courtyard etc.
And so we did - the Marrakech museum, much better with a cool courtyard out the front where I got a fresh birthday orange juice and even had a coffee (yes, look at me go) before venturing inside to see amazing mosaic celings and floors, cool jewellery (including necklace talismans with, I quote, "prohylactic" qualities! as in for safety protection though, not baby protection), pottery and ornate wooden carvings. It was very cool inside the thick walls and obviously no one hassling you like out on the streets. Next stop was an outdoor relic type building (best part of that was walking around int he sun having a look) and finally a theological college which featured the most inexplicably intricate moulded stucco ceilings and door archways, more mosaics, a calm pool in the middle of a courtyard etc.
Marrakech Museum mosaics
theological college couryard
Dinner that night in the square again before grabbing some birthday biscuits from a delicious little bakery on the way home. Back at the ryad we ordered fresh mint tea and sat outside on one of the balcony areas (yes, outside, at night - and we didn't freeze!) and had tea and cookies for substitute birthday cake :)
DAY 170 (Tues) Running for the hills
Due to mum's prodigous planning we were able to seek refuge in the hills today. A driver picked us up in a sedan and we spent the day stopping off along the way, heading into the hills/waterfalls and napping in the car on the way back! I started out speaking my admittedly terrible french to our driver Halid who spoke only some English. It was good at first, I could understand him and get some basic points across, and translate for mum and dad. But I hit a speed bump when mum started asking me to say things that I had no idea how to say in french (although on the upside, I realised how much I could have said in Dutch if the occasion had called for it!). And by the time we were on the way home, I was pretty knackered and didn't have the brain power to speak another language so it was a pretty silent trip home (excpet for the terribly embarassing 90s western music coming from the radio - think a cover of Lady gaga done by a community radio station :P)
During out trip we stopped off at a house of the Berber (village) people for some fresh made flat bread, honey and olive oil (which tasted completely natural) and fresh tea, as well as a look around their house. It all felt like a bit of a set up (they were obviously quite a well off family who got tips from everyone who visited) but it was still pretty cool to see their kitchen (still very rudimentary), where they kept the cows under the house(!) and the TINY alcove for the shower.
After a big day we had a low key dinner - mum and dad brought back an assortment of stuff from a place nearby and we had a sort of picnic out on the balcony again. I LOVE the salads there, they have spices and herbs on them that taste great and the meat generally melts off the bone. And the bread, oh the bread, warm and crusty mmmm. NO HOUMUS tho!!! devo
Mum and I gobbling birthday dessert
DAY 170 (Tues) Running for the hills
Due to mum's prodigous planning we were able to seek refuge in the hills today. A driver picked us up in a sedan and we spent the day stopping off along the way, heading into the hills/waterfalls and napping in the car on the way back! I started out speaking my admittedly terrible french to our driver Halid who spoke only some English. It was good at first, I could understand him and get some basic points across, and translate for mum and dad. But I hit a speed bump when mum started asking me to say things that I had no idea how to say in french (although on the upside, I realised how much I could have said in Dutch if the occasion had called for it!). And by the time we were on the way home, I was pretty knackered and didn't have the brain power to speak another language so it was a pretty silent trip home (excpet for the terribly embarassing 90s western music coming from the radio - think a cover of Lady gaga done by a community radio station :P)
bridge we crossed during our hills trip
During out trip we stopped off at a house of the Berber (village) people for some fresh made flat bread, honey and olive oil (which tasted completely natural) and fresh tea, as well as a look around their house. It all felt like a bit of a set up (they were obviously quite a well off family who got tips from everyone who visited) but it was still pretty cool to see their kitchen (still very rudimentary), where they kept the cows under the house(!) and the TINY alcove for the shower.
After a big day we had a low key dinner - mum and dad brought back an assortment of stuff from a place nearby and we had a sort of picnic out on the balcony again. I LOVE the salads there, they have spices and herbs on them that taste great and the meat generally melts off the bone. And the bread, oh the bread, warm and crusty mmmm. NO HOUMUS tho!!! devo
Day 171 (Wed) Last day
First stop today was a Maison des Glaces (ice cream shop) on the square to satisfy Dad's craving :P Then we took our time wandering around the souk markets at a time of day when they weren't too hectic and it was actually much nicer. We saw stalls with towering piles of olives or fresh mint leaves, pig heads sitting on tagine plates!, leather and wood works, chickens in cages and some guy who yelled out that he could sell dad herbal viagra!!! I bought a shawl (with mums help) - a bright green on, surprise surprise, to liven up my black/grey/brown maastricht wardrobe. Our last dinner was an early one, again on the square (its the place to be) with a great view out over the action. Dinner was a good pizza, another lemon/chicken tagine, some grilled chicken shazlicks and salad, and more fresh OJ (i miss that now). And we were treated to a sound track of drumming from down in the square and even some fire twirlers (while being a safe distance from the monkey handlers trying to impose their tiny beasts on us!) We were also lucky enough to be in town for a Morocco v France soccer match, being held just out of town at Marrakech stadium, which we were able to watch on a portable big screen in the main square. It took us an embarrassingly long time to figure out which team was which but it became obvious after a while (judging by the crowd reaction), although it also became clear it was probably france's B-team. Topped the night off with another ice cream (wanted to make the most of ice cream weather given its freezing in maastricht but I don't have a freezer!) and then back to the ryad.
Day 172 (Thurs) On the road again
Another full day of travel, from Marrakech airport, via Casablanca again, to Heathrow airport, where we stayed at a hotel near the airport grounds so we could all get our flights out the next day. Was a nice opportunity to have one last dinner and drink at the bar with Mum and Dad, look back over the holiday and say a proper goodbye.
Day 173 (Fri) See you in 6 months!
Early morning departure for me so Mum dutifully got up to have breakfast with me (but I don't blame Dad for needing his sleep!) Then it was a hug and a kiss goodbye before I jumped on the arport shuttle bus to make my way to Munich - the last leg of this mammoth break....
First stop today was a Maison des Glaces (ice cream shop) on the square to satisfy Dad's craving :P Then we took our time wandering around the souk markets at a time of day when they weren't too hectic and it was actually much nicer. We saw stalls with towering piles of olives or fresh mint leaves, pig heads sitting on tagine plates!, leather and wood works, chickens in cages and some guy who yelled out that he could sell dad herbal viagra!!! I bought a shawl (with mums help) - a bright green on, surprise surprise, to liven up my black/grey/brown maastricht wardrobe. Our last dinner was an early one, again on the square (its the place to be) with a great view out over the action. Dinner was a good pizza, another lemon/chicken tagine, some grilled chicken shazlicks and salad, and more fresh OJ (i miss that now). And we were treated to a sound track of drumming from down in the square and even some fire twirlers (while being a safe distance from the monkey handlers trying to impose their tiny beasts on us!) We were also lucky enough to be in town for a Morocco v France soccer match, being held just out of town at Marrakech stadium, which we were able to watch on a portable big screen in the main square. It took us an embarrassingly long time to figure out which team was which but it became obvious after a while (judging by the crowd reaction), although it also became clear it was probably france's B-team. Topped the night off with another ice cream (wanted to make the most of ice cream weather given its freezing in maastricht but I don't have a freezer!) and then back to the ryad.
aerial view of the main square
browsing in the markets
Day 172 (Thurs) On the road again
Another full day of travel, from Marrakech airport, via Casablanca again, to Heathrow airport, where we stayed at a hotel near the airport grounds so we could all get our flights out the next day. Was a nice opportunity to have one last dinner and drink at the bar with Mum and Dad, look back over the holiday and say a proper goodbye.
Day 173 (Fri) See you in 6 months!
Early morning departure for me so Mum dutifully got up to have breakfast with me (but I don't blame Dad for needing his sleep!) Then it was a hug and a kiss goodbye before I jumped on the arport shuttle bus to make my way to Munich - the last leg of this mammoth break....
Epilogue: Forgive me now as I'm going to have a huge rant about Marrakech. Let me preface the rant by saying that I was very grateful to be able to visit Marrakech, I learned a lot, gained some life experience, got some sun and some tasty food and was able to spend my birthday somewhere exotic with my parents. However, it was tough to be there...
I was completely overwhelmed with helplessness at the poverty here. Theres this cycle of feeling sorry for someone begging, then annoyance and not wanting to give them anything, mixed with a bit of skepticism, then helplessness and hoplessness because even if I gave them 100 durhims (Moroccan currency) it still wouldn’t do any lasting good, so then this feeling that how can I really help anyone, and then anger at their government, why don’t they have welfare or health care, and realisation of the magnitude of the problem and the lack of future or likely change, how will it change and when and what must be done and will it ever be done, so then I end up feeling completely awful that I don’t give anything and yet I have so much myself and these things are so easy for me… but then I still don’t give anything because it won’t make much difference anyway!!!!Except then I see the little kids and all they want is an ice cream and it would make such a difference to their day … but then the skepticism creeps in again, if I do it for that kid, what about all the others? Its not fair for just one … but isn’t one better than none…. OH I just can’t face it, I ended up being cowardly because I just wanted to be away from it. I resolve to do something about it in my future, to volunteer, to support or start a charity … but of course that’s like saying I’ll diet… ugh the whole thing just make me so depressed … I actually almost cried…
I was completely overwhelmed with helplessness at the poverty here. Theres this cycle of feeling sorry for someone begging, then annoyance and not wanting to give them anything, mixed with a bit of skepticism, then helplessness and hoplessness because even if I gave them 100 durhims (Moroccan currency) it still wouldn’t do any lasting good, so then this feeling that how can I really help anyone, and then anger at their government, why don’t they have welfare or health care, and realisation of the magnitude of the problem and the lack of future or likely change, how will it change and when and what must be done and will it ever be done, so then I end up feeling completely awful that I don’t give anything and yet I have so much myself and these things are so easy for me… but then I still don’t give anything because it won’t make much difference anyway!!!!Except then I see the little kids and all they want is an ice cream and it would make such a difference to their day … but then the skepticism creeps in again, if I do it for that kid, what about all the others? Its not fair for just one … but isn’t one better than none…. OH I just can’t face it, I ended up being cowardly because I just wanted to be away from it. I resolve to do something about it in my future, to volunteer, to support or start a charity … but of course that’s like saying I’ll diet… ugh the whole thing just make me so depressed … I actually almost cried…
Also the whole covering and men thing has really gotten to me … men make funny noises when you walk past, you can FEEL their eyes on you and they shuffle in your direction, one guy came round my back and made odd noises in my ear, others whistle or say “very nice” or some such things in the little English they know, or in French, others still might say nasty things but it all just made me feel so uncomfortable, so exposed, so insecure and self conscious. I looked down all the time, I avoided men’s gazes or try to get out of their way. I’m acutely aware of how close I am to them or where I can move to hide. But the odd thing is I AM covered, so much more so than in western society, but I feel more exposed because of their standards … and bc I’m foreign. I REALLY hope this is not what women in western societies who come from places like this feel like around us...
hrm... anyway... that's all I suppose. just wanted to get that off my chest.
actually, I got that off my chest at the time but its been a month since I got home and I'm only now completing this blog and looking back its already easier to digest - but I thought it was important to include my thoughts at the time when I was actually emotionally so affected by it.
Food for thought perhaps and a recorded reminder of my feelings for future reflection I hope...
hrm... anyway... that's all I suppose. just wanted to get that off my chest.
actually, I got that off my chest at the time but its been a month since I got home and I'm only now completing this blog and looking back its already easier to digest - but I thought it was important to include my thoughts at the time when I was actually emotionally so affected by it.
Food for thought perhaps and a recorded reminder of my feelings for future reflection I hope...
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