MOROCCO

September 6, 2011

I had in my head that Morocco would be similar to Costa Rica or Mexico, adding a little couscous and subtracting the Spanish language. False. The night before landing, we secured our valuables because of the threats of turbulence and discussed plans as if tomorrow was Christmas. We had been on the ship for a week but the adventure was really starting in just a few short hours. The boat’s environment was completely different- we were nervous and beyond excited, feeling the adventurous cells in our bodies go through the maximum level of stimulated mitosis. I had naïve expectations centering on snake charmers, camels, and mint tea. My roommate Lauren and I set our alarm for 5 am, hoping to catch sunrise on our way into port. Rolling out of bed and making our way to the Observation deck, wrapped in Semester At Sea blankets and eyes sleepy but wide, we were greeted by about fifty kids who had the same idea. The area we came into was extremely industrial looking, and not very inviting. We had breakfast outside, discussing plans for the next four days. Some were travelling to Marrakech, some to Fez, and some were staying in Casablanca in an attempt for maximum immersion. It sounded like there were too many options- like no one could possibly do everything he or she wished to. I’ve heard from past SAS students that sleep is unrealistic and hard to come by while in port. That you can sleep while at sea. That you can sleep when you’re dead. When will you be in Morocco again?

That was the general theme of the past four days, and I’m sure for the next four months. When will you be here again? When will you have the chance to be with kids who all love to travel and have a good time? Some want to surf in every Port. Some want to visit all the historical places. And some just want to get drunk with a variety of cultural cocktails. Everyone has different plans and goals of how they want to spend the next four months but the common similarity is that we are so blessed and will never let an opportunity be passed up, especially one that may never present itself again.

Saturday, Day 1: We took a tour that oriented us with the town of Casablanca, giving us a general overview as well as a thorough visit of the Hassan II Mosque. A lot of my girl friends were on it, all dawning linen pants, scarves, and aviator sunglasses. It seems to be the outfit of any female Westerner who wants to be respectful but won’t wear anything unfashionable despite the local conservative religious norms. The markets were crowded with kittens running everywhere, skinned rabbits throughout, all smelling of bizarre spices and urine. The Mosque was, in my opinion, far more impressive than the Eiffel Tower. The current King’s father built it in an effort to increase and stabilize the country’s culture and religious beliefs. The exterior was intricately carved, the inside made of stones of every color. The Mosque fits a total of 100,000 people, men on the bottom floor and women filling the top balconies. There are public baths in the basement for washing before ceremonies that appear to have a lot of European influence. They are extravagant and practical- a common theme for the country. It is beautiful and grandeur, just like any all-white living room in the largest homes of Newport Beach that are never touched or used. However, it was also quite apparent that it was utilized for precious reasons. It was the best of both worlds, flawlessly speaking to all visitors of the values that this country has, that beauty and operations can coincide flawlessly.  We continued on through the town, opting to be dropped off at the central market instead of returning to the ship. We had lunch at a local café with a group of SASers that we ran into- which isn’t hard, considering we all stick out like sore thumbs. FYI- if you’re ever in Morocco, DRINK MINT TEA. It’s amazing and so addicting. There are four boys on the ship who brought walkie talkies to use in place of cell phones while onboard as well as in port. However, they’re usually together so they gave one to us so we could communicate for the day in an effort to meet up and join forces after us girls did the tour. I gave them specific directions to our café, explaining that it’s called Glacier Café. After a series of excruciating communication errors, they appeared, aggravated, explaining that every café is called “Glacier Café”, which is still beyond any of our comprehension. We went through the market, feeling like mice in one large maze, except that there was no beginning nor end, and definitely no correct way to go. We bargained and attempted to converse with locals, enjoying the variety of knockoffs and culturally representative trinkets. As we were walking out of the market, one of the boys we were with was pick pocketed. The Moroccan only took his bottle of Advil, but the experience was quite frightening because the other locals around us went after the desperate man. Immediately following, we had a near collision with a motorcycle and made our way back to the boat. We got ready to hit the town and went to dinner at Rick’s Café, made famous by the classic movie Casablanca. It was much fancier that we expected, but nonetheless we enjoyed the experience. The place was overrun by excited 20-year-olds trying to come up with a plan, all mainly concerned with what club was breaking the rules and serving alcohol right after Ramadan. We made our way to the beachfront area that was more touristy and supposedly had the best nightlife. On the way, our taxi cab was in a car accident. No one was hurt, but it was becoming clearer as more of these situations presented themselves, that we needed to really prioritize the issue of safety. Upon arriving, we met up with what seemed to be every person I had ever met on the ship. Lesson #1: Never travel in huge groups. There were at least 30 of us, all indecisive and disorganized. It made for quite a frustrating night, traveling to and fro, never sticking one plan out. I met a lot of people and got a great sense of the culture, but it was definitely an experience. Very late that night, we took a taxi back to the ship and packed for the next morning. Hours of sleep on Night 1= 2.

Day 2: We woke up at 4:45, rolling out of bed and walking through the port with our bags to meet the buses at the entrance that were going to take us to Marrakech and our two-day camel trek. Little did we know what we had in store. We traveled in a school bus-type vehicle over the Atlas mountains, with about a foot between our tires and the side of the cliff that would inevitably lead to all of our demises. Our understanding was that it was a three-hour bus ride to Marrakech, where we would have lunch. Then, outside of Marrakech, we would meet the camels and trek to the camp for the rest of the day and spend the night. Apparently “outside of Marrakech” is a relative term. By estimation, we should have been at the camp by noon. We arrived at 8:30 pm. Our tour guides spoke minimal English and I became less and less trusting as “little longer” turned into two hours. By the time it was dark, we were worried. There were two buses, totaling ninety kids so the pure amount of participants calmed most worries. Still, most were nervous and talking quietly about how scared they were, within their groups of friends. A few tears started and I had a bad feeling in my gut. We had absolutely no idea about where we were and we were getting no information. No one seemed to step up so I started walking back and forth to the front of the bus in an effort to speak with the guide and driver. I then read the few signs that were on the side of the road, and called SAS to ask for advice. I told her where we were and she said that we were way too far, on the border of Morocco and Algeria in the middle of the Sahara. It’s amazing how possible it is for a group of 90 people to feel so helpless. All the talks of our concerned parents, especially those of girls, were coming back and starting to seem more plausible. One girl wanted to call the US Consulate but that seemed to be jumping the gun a bit. My general opinion was that I didn’t want to be stupid about it. I wanted to avoid feeling like an idiot by blindly entering into a potentially dangerous situation without doing anything about it.

We finally made it to the place on the side of the road where there were Moroccans in full garb, leading packs of over one hundred camels. We made it! And they didn’t bag our heads and throw us into a van. Trying to seem adventurous and less like scaredy cats, we mounted camels and made our way in the pitch black over the sand dunes. Camels are very uncomfortable to ride but I like them a lot more than horses. They’re calmer and smaller. I was almost- ALMOST- glad that we did the trek at night because it was so gorgeous. I have never seen a sky like the one in the Sahara desert that night. You could barely see black because there were so many stars- they all looked so close and connected. We made our way to a camp full of tents, a firepit, and fairly developed restrooms. There was nothing for hours around this place, it seemed to be a dream. We picked a tent- I requested that boys be in our tent and I slept in the middle, away from the door. The plumbing and smiles of the camel herders were not enough to completely convince me of the legitimacy of this situation. We set up camp, had a traditional dinner, and hiked up a huge sand dune. My blacklight flashlight was a huge hit because apparently that is the way to look for Scorpions. …And I thought I was buying it to wave at clubs. Go figure. We laid back and reflected on the stressful day, acknowledging that there wasn’t one location in the entire world we would rather be. It was crystal clear and you could see tons of constellations. We stayed up for most of the night, getting a few hours of sleep before waking up at 6 to have breakfast and ride the camels to get back to the bus. Hours of sleep on Night 2= 2.5.

Day 3: We had a very clear mission: get to Marrakesh. FAST. We didn’t want to stop at all. Ration out the Cliff bars. Pee in your water bottle. We were wasting as little time as possible in that damn bus. We got to Marrakesh and split up in an effort to find hotels. We found a nice hotel, opposed to a hostel, because Lauren and I figured the safety and peace of mind after that past 48 hours was worth the extra Dirhams. Hotel rooms were full so we splurged and got the penthouse apartment at a very nice hotel. It only cost $60 per person- a little bit different than America. We got dressed, looked for a restaurant with palatable food, realistic prices, and alcohol. This combination is extremely hard to come by in North Africa, apparently. We ate and made our way to Pasha- the biggest club in the continent of Africa. It is a whole complex, with separated different clubs, bars, and lounges. Unfortunately, it was all closed down except one small part so we enjoyed the setting, walked around, and moved on to meet a big group of friends. The rest of the night was spent wandering through Marrakech, discussing how we all were completely fooled by our monstrosity of a bus tour, and bar hopping. We had a 7am train to catch the next morning but again, you can sleep when you’re dead. Hours of sleep on Night 3=1.

Day 4= We took the 3.5 hour train back to Casablanca at 7am. More unsolicited advice: if you ever take a train in Morocco: pay the extra $5 for First Class. It is the only place where you get a seat and have air conditioning! The less informed travelers did not enjoy their sauna in the slightest. I was a little disappointed that we didn’t have more daytime in Marrakech because I have heard great things about the markets and atmosphere of the city. Returning to the ship, I had never been dirtier or sleepier. Lauren convinced me to rally and we trekked out again through Casablanca to find wireless Internet, a post office, and hair oil. We didn’t find the first two, and later found that the oil we bought is very different than what we buy at home. We did, though, find a cart filled with baby chicks that were dyed different colors. It was incredibly sad but no amount of PETA commercials can make you think about anything other than how cute they are. We made our way back to the boat, showered and ate- both of which I have never been more appreciative. The stories told at dinner were mind blowing- it seems like we weren’t the only group that ran into some bad luck. Morocco was a complete culture shock. Some parts were a complete nightmare but I am so thankful that we did this. It was pretty empowering to take charge and be self-sufficient in an environment such as this.

We have six days of class until GHANA. I’m planning on sleeping, eating well, and taking vitamins. Classes are all very interesting but , honestly, not a huge priority of mine. My goal is to not stress about grades, keeping this experience in perspective. The pool is probably where I’ll be at during breaks tomorrow. Our room, 3048, is very social and we have visitors a lot. 3048 has a big sign on it that reads “Welcome to the Scottsdale Sandwich” because the rooms on either side of ours have someone from Scottsdale, Arizona. I love the people here and already cannot believe that I can’t take them all back to Oregon with me. I am only called “Anna” by my teachers- outside of class I’m Newps (for obvious reasons), Closet (because apparently I seem naïve and nervous & my peers are convinced that by the end of this I will be more adventurous and crazy), Mama (again, for obvious reasons), and Monkey (?). My fanny pack is a hit and I always have Pepto Bismol on me, which makes for instant, very grateful friends. Tonight is the first night I will get a full nights sleep and that I will sleep without my money belt and passport wrapped tightly around me and I cannot wait. The boat is rocking like never before but I’m too tired to even notice. I’ll blog after Ghana, in about a week and a half- or maybe two weeks? I have no idea- time is irrelevant here. Sweet dreams from the Western African coast!