Morocco Trip Report: Part Three
Taxis
On the subject of taxis, we learn that Grandes Taxis are for journeys outside the city and petite taxis are within. Even if a taxi contains passengers, it’s fine to hail it and ask whether going in the same direction. If no, he’ll (no women taxi drivers) drive off without saying anything. If he is, then you just hop in. If there is a woman in the back, she will get out and hop into the front seat. It’s easier to get taxis this way, and for a foreigner this avoids having to go through negotiation about the fare, since locals are always be on meter. If there is no one in the taxi, then it’s best to hop in and just state your destination; the driver will sense that you are familiar with Morocco and flip the meter on. Sometimes this strategy doesn’t work, especially around prayer time when taxis are rare, and negotiations will then ensue. In Marrakesh we paid 7 dirhams on the meter between the nouvelle town and the medina, whereas negotiations resulted in paying about 20 dirhams.
Train to Meknes and Casablanca
From Fez, we took the train from the old station to Meknes and stayed at the Hotel Majestic nearby, as recommended by Lonely Planet. I tried using my Apple iTouch to read the map from the Lonely Planet PDF guide, but it just wasn’t easy to read and navigate using the tiny screen – next time I will just photocopy or print the map.
Our intention was to visit the Meknes medina (a UNESCO world heritage site [UWHS]), stay a night and then visit Moulay Idriss and Volubilis (another UWHS) nearby. We were late for the train and there was a huge queue for tickets, so we raced past the entrance to board the train with the intention of purchasing our tickets on the train from the conductor -- who unfortunately did not appear.
We arrived in Meknes after a one hour journey and after checking in to our hotel, took two Petite taxis to the Medina. The Meknes city is listed as a UWHS also; there is a large square in front of the medina, just like Marrakesh, though largely empty. In front of the square is a huge city wall and gateway called Bab-el-Mansour leading to the Moulay Ismail’s imperial city.
We took the Lonely Planet recommended walking route through the medina. After the Fez medina, it didn’t seem so unusual and toward the end of the route quite run down, some of it under construction. After an interesting visit to the mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, the boys enjoyed running around the square (Place el-hedim) outside, racing back and forth.
There were a few entertainers on the ‘Place El-Hedim’, but since we were unable to speak the Berber language used by the storytellers, we took turns trying to hook a coke bottle with a string and hook on the end of a fishing pole. It was evening by this time and the boys were still not tired, so we walked halfway back to the Nouvelle city and ran up and down an amphitheatre until they finally started to flag. The McDonald’s across the street (with a Pizza Hut next to it) appeared to have a play structure, so we headed over for a couple of kids meals and a few cheeseburgers. Luckily they also had Wifi and I was able to speak to a couple of people back in the US using Skype, not to mention catch up with NY Times.
To Casablanca (without wellies)
The next morning it was raining, so we decided to head for Casablanca early. Since the train originated in Fez, there were already a lot of people on the train, but we somehow managed to find an empty compartment where the kids wouldn’t disturb anyone and settled down for the three hour journey. Second class compartments are a little run down, but in some carriages, the AC works quite well and there are shades on both sides of the train you can pull down to shield the sun – necessary for midday journeys, even in winter. A man with a trolley came by to provide coffee and sandwiches although we had brought our own food: yoghurt, cupcakes (‘magdalenas’) and biscuits to provide all the nutrition for our growing boys. Of course, our greatest fear on the train was not the food but the bathrooms which invariably stank to high heaven and provide good reason to sit three or four compartments down. We brought toilet paper with us in case the unthinkable happened with one of the boys (it did, once on the way back and luckily the bathroom wasn’t too bad: we didn’t need our wellies).
It turns out there are two train stations in Casablanca, and it’s necessary to change one stop before “Casa Voyageurs” to get to the other one. We learned this from a taxi driver as we exited the wrong train station. After consulting the guide book and map, we reluctantly agreed to his price for taking us to the Mamoussa Hotel. Luckily, the hotel provided us with a very comfortable room on the top floor and we didn’t have to scout further.
Hassan II Mosque
We spent a couple of nights in Casablanca and the highlight was the tour of Hassan II mosque. We walked around some of the colonial buildings in the morning, past the French embassy, and then took two taxis (sequentially) to the mosque. Because the square in front of the mosque is so vast, we each got dropped off in separate locations and weren’t able to find each other for half an hour. The mosque was designed by a French architect called Michael Pinseau and is one of the more impressive monuments I’ve seen (right up there with Faisal Masjid in Islamabad and La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona) -- a colossus of a building perched on the edge of the Atlantic ocean. The 210m high minaret boasts a laser that shines towards Mecca for about 30 miles, although we couldn’t see it during the day. As usual, the boys took advantage of the open space and ran around the huge square in front.
Just before we left Casablanca, we took a brief stop at the Quartier Habous and visited the famous patisserie there, where we bought some traditional Moroccan treats including ‘gazelle horns’. Although they were good, the best gazelle horns are to be had at the Sofitel, which we happened upon while roaming Casablanca on foot.
Marrakesh
From Casablanca, it’s a four and a half an hour journey to Marrakesh and the train was blazing hot as the ac didn’t seem to work. At one point a Moroccan lady joined us. She was wearing a full habib and because she was late, proceeded to perform a mini version of the prayer toward Mecca, seated. Afterward, she told us in broken English that she had worked as a stewardess on Morrocan Air between Morocco and Algeirs. She was very understanding of the kids’ behavior and tolerated them well, despite being dressed heavily from head to toe in a closed 90 degree compartment with no ac.
Finally we arrived in the clean and modern Marrakesh train station, which is. It was immediately evident that Marrakesh has received the most government investment for tourism, and all the creature comforts of Western civilization can be found in close proximity to each other. A couple of other things were striking about Marrakesh: one is the number of tourists – it’s like Spain in August, with Westerners everywhere and yet it’s November, not even the beginning of high season surely, and not even the weekend either. Despite the number of tourists, Marrakesh seems to retain its wild exotic charm and chaos. Having read so much about it, I was very excited when we finally stepped onto the Djmaa El Fnaa after trekking down a long narrow lane with our bags. We immediately located a rooftop café to watch the activity on the square heat up while the sun began to set, supposedly the best time to watch the action.
Djmaa El Fnaa, Marrakesh ('Place of Execution')
The first thing about the the Djmaa El Fnaa is the music –there is an incessant noise of snake charmer music and drums (if you have ever been to a Muay Thai kickboxing match in Thailand, it’s the same kind of music). The second thing is the realm of activities: during the day, you get the snake charmers, water sellers, and the Gnaoua musicians/dancers who swing their heads so that the tassels on their Fez hats spin for every tourist that walks by. The ritual is always the same: make eye contact, place hat on your head, take a picture, ask for money, say it’s not enough (‘inferior!’) and then ask for more money. At night, the snake charmers leave and the story tellers, Berber musicians, acrobats take their place. I soon found that when Westerners start to listen to the musicians, a hat appears quickly and you are asked to make a donation – not so for the fellow Moroccans. I learned to say I had come by earlier and already made a donation (usually accepted, because we all look alike I suppose). It’s not that I didn’t donate, but it was apparent that tourists are seen as the cash cows for the shows, and not giving enough resulted in negotiations and possible arguments.
We frequented several places on the square each day. The first was the orange juice stand, of which there must be about thirty or forty in the whole square. On the first day, I chose one randomly and it seemed to be watered down, contained ice, but was sweet and went down easily. When there didn’t seem to be any adverse consequences, we all went back the next day and the stall owner provided it freshly squeezed. The second place we frequented in the square was the spicy tea stall, of which there are about five. By the end of the trip, I had tried four of the five and realized there were enough differences between them to warrant going back to one in particular. The tea contains cinnamon, ginger, pepper, ginseng, cardamom and a few spices I hadn’t heard off, and served very sweet with a plate of ground spice cake. On one evening, I think I visited the tea stand on four occasions. While Carmen and I drank our teas, the boys would run around the square, back and forth (reminiscent of ‘Hideous Kinky’ by Esther Freud, I like to think since they are the same age as Bee and Esther). Once finished we would ‘run the gauntlet’.
Running the gauntlet -- Marrakesh food stalls
Around 6 p.m., the food stalls are setup on the Jmaa El Fnaa, of which there must be about fifty in all. Judging by the people sitting there and the snazziness of the stalls, they look like they are to accommodate the tourists, but apparently the food stalls have been there from the beginning. They have just been sanitized and modernized. Most of the stalls sell the same thing: kebabs, chicken, fries, vegetables and fish. A few serve specialized items such as sheep heads, while others serve vegetarian soup (probably for those who looked at the sheep head stalls). So: there are fifty stalls, which to choose? Don’t worry because the food stall waiters will make it easy for you! As soon as you set foot in the food stall section, they are busy cajoling, selling and joking, begging, nay—pleading that you come to their stall. Having plucked yourself from the grasp of one set of waiters, you are immediately accosted by the next, until finally you reach the end of one row (out of five), exhausted and confused. It doesn’t help that the food looks the same and is also priced the same.
The LP guide book states that you shouldn't use the cutlery or plates since the servers use the same washing up water all night, but we didn't have any stomach problems the four nights we ate there. The food is quite good and the kids enjoyed it -- it's also a great place to watch people go by and be hassled by the waiters. Better also to get
an inside seat as being on the edge puts you in line for children coming by to sell various items. On the last night we ate in the stalls, I had ordered some vegetables and they had served it cold -- where they usually heat it up. When I turned round to look where they had come from, I saw a chicken thawing on top. After telling the server, they were very defensive and started calling me 'the doctor'. Luckily there were no ill effects on any of us, despite my having got very sick from a thawing turkey once before (maybe some immunity there?).
In Arabian Nights
One book I realize we should have read before we came to Marrakesh is called “In Arabian Nights”, in which Tahir Shah talks about the story-telling and culture of Morocco. It is all the more engaging as he tells it from the perspective of an outsider settling in Casablanca, who has to deal with the extremely superstitious nature of his home help. He also explains why so many men are sitting around in the cafes of Morocco most evenings: it is because the women rule the roost and manage the finances. They give their husbands a few dirhams, tell them 'I want some time to myself now', and turn them out on the streets. With just a few dirhams, all they can do is sit and nurse a coffee all night, commiserating on their home situation with other men. It also talks about the Oriental culture of selflessness, an alien concept to the 'me first' culture of the West.
