HEY PANGE!

183 days in south africa....

[heypange]

Jemaa el-Fnaa - Monkeys & Cobras, Juice & Kebabs, Day & Night

I spent most of my second last day in and around Jemaa el-Fnaa- and by "around" I mean on the balcony of the Cafe Glacier with a great view and lots of liquid refreshments.  As the sign says, consumption was obligatory!

I'll admit that this 'in & around' strategy stemmed mainly from laziness induced by the heat, sore/sunburned feet, and general holiday 'I don't have to do ANYthing' mood, but it actually turned out to be an excellent strategy, because I literally watched it unfold from the morning to the evening.

A little background:  the square is a designated UNESCO Masterpieces of the Oral and Intangible History of Humanity site (a mouthful, but love the idea behind it- more info here: MOIHH), and it is easy to see why- there is a huge variety of trade and entertainment taking place, 24 hours a day.  And while there are many tourists, there are just as many locals- young couples wandering around, and families with children out for dinner, sitting side by side at the huge communal tables that get set up every evening.

In the mornings, it is full of big carts that sell freshly squeezed orange juice (and grapefruit, and pomegranate) for 40 cents a glass- and that's a real glass, not a plastic one, so you stand at the cart and chat while you drink.  Hands down the sweetest orange juice ever.  I asked one of the guys how much sugar they put in it.  He was quite horrified, and sliced an orange in half and squeezed it straight into my mouth to prove his point.  

One of the many stands (and a smartly dressed local):

Next, the snake charmers and monkey men move in.  Apparently the heat makes the snakes lethargic, hence the reason they don't slither away.  If they do get a bit feisty, the guys put the tambourine looking thing over them for a few minutes.  I was really surprised at how they generally stayed pretty stationery, and in neat coils...

And a close up- those eyes say it all... (Oh, and I was totally ripped off- this photo cost me $10- I wouldn't care if I thought the monkey was actually going to see at least 50% of that)

Then come the water-sellers:

The balloon sellers:

And the crowds:

Caleches:

Terrible photo, but I love it...this guy with three rifles for sale!  

There are many, many mosques in the Medina- most of them behind an unassuming door- you only realise they are there before and after prayers when people are streaming in.  There are a few that open straight onto the Jemma el-Fnaa.  So many people head to prayer that the square empties out.  And not everyone fits into the mosque- so instead they pray outside:

Standing prayer:

Kneeling Prayer:

Here's the centre of the square in the middle of the day.  How this woman sat here for hours I do not know...it must have been at least 50C on that concrete with no shade:

Here's the exact same area after dark, with all the smoke from the grills:

At night, there are more entertainers that come out- mainly storytellers performing to music, transvestite dancers, and acrobatic troupes.  Oh, and many, many women wanting to paint henna for you.  I actually found them far more intrusive than any of the men I met- the women are so determined to get a sale, they literally grab your arms or hands from behind.  Most of them are in burkas or Niqabs, with these rough fabric gloves, so the first time it happened, I got a real surprise, and literally turned on this poor person and gave them an earful (or 'rock on' as dad would say) about grabbing me.  I think she was quite stunned, but what can I say? I like my personal space!

Anyway, as I mentioned, I had been offered another evening bike ride.  After tooling around the new city (and running out of petrol!), we made it back to the square.  Here's how it looks at about 1:30am in the morning...and the ride back to the riad.  There should be annotations on the video- of you don't see them, click on the little speech bubble just below the screen.  Best not to watch if you've been drinking- my filming skills skillz may leave you queasy.

This place is incredible, but there is one thing the guidebooks don't tell you:  All those Caleches mean a lot of horses, and a lot of horses mean a lot of horse pee.  And at 40+C, the stench is pretty phenomenal in places.  Multiply Water Tower Place in Chicago on the hottest summer day by 100 and you're getting close.  I'd still go back in a heartbeat though.

[heypange]

Music, Majorelle Gardens & Mojitos (Day 3)

After another lazy morning, I decided I needed to make an effort to visit at least one more 'tourist' site, so I hadn't spent all my time wandering aimlessly (but enjoyably) before it was time to leave.  I headed out in the general direction of Majorelle Gardens (I had given up trying to find the shortest or 'best' route anywhere).  Besides, I love the maze of footpaths, and all the shops and activity.  

And also the lazy cats:

And another.  This one looked so uncomfortable- awkwardly lying in a basket of metal horse stirrups, but it was happily bathing, and purring more loudly than I have ever heard a cat purr.  Obviously very happy....

Street near the Riad.  And yes, that is a Lavazza sign...there is no escaping it (shout out to Laura, Gina & Margaret!):  

Here's a water seller, in his awesome garb.  They have two different coloured cups- one for Muslims, and another for everyone else, and literally wander around selling shots of water:

I happened (happy navigating accident #136) to pass the government artisan centre, that I had read about.  Apparently this is an alternative to shopping in the souks.  The prices are slightly higher, but you are 'assured' that the craftspeople/artisans are local and being paid a fair price. It was in a beautiful building with a gorgeous tiled entry:

I stopped and talked to this guy- he was definitely making his own instruments.  He was working on the stringed instrument (a lotar, or Oud, I think) in the photo when I arrived, but was happy to chat.  I really liked the pipe/flute instruments that the snake charmers played, so he took down a bunch of them and played them for me...I wish I could remember what they were called.  

From there, it took me about 30 minutes to find the gardens, and by the time I arrived I was ready to melt!  It was such a relief to walk through the gate and be greeted by the sight below.  The temperature dropped about 10 degrees instantly.  The power of trees!!

The gardens were established/originally owned by the French painter Majorelle, and in the 70s were purchased and restored by Yves Saint Laurent.  Following his death, they are now run by his foundation.  It is an amazing green sanctuary in the hot, dusty city.  

Turtles! (Don't tell Jasper there is life beyond Barrington):

Even though it is a very small complex, it houses the 'Musee Berbere' in what was the original artist studio. The building, along with some of the other structures and plant pots are painted 'Majorelle Blue'.

They actually sell the blue paint in the gift shop- officially 'Majorelle Blue'.  Given the state of my luggage, I opted for a postcard of one of YSL's annual collages instead.  The originals are exhibited in a tiny gallery on the site.  

As I was leaving, I decided I would take a cab, but after arguing with the driver over price (will admit that was what I found hardest traveling alone- haggling without 'back-up') I stubbornly walked off, and continued home on foot, which took about 50 minutes.  Two things happened on the way bacK:

1) to the two men with their pants around their knees (and wearing neither boxers nor briefs) calling out 'Hello pretty lady; This way, lady' while pointing to a nasty looking alley:  Has that approach EVER worked for you?  Pretty sure there is not a woman on earth who would consider that an attractive proposition, and 

2) As I was making my way back through 'the Point',  I ran into the deputy leader of the Jets, who recognised me immediately.  I paid him and settled my debt. 

After heading home for a swim, and the (by now) obligatory nap, I went out to a 'fancy'restaurant where I had been told they would be playing the Euro Cup Final (Viva Espana!)...ahhhh, mojito!  

And it was GOOD.  So was the tagine.

Got home ready to roll into bed, but was invited out for a midnight ride around the night market...how could you pass that up?

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Day 2...

Day two was a major sleep in and more wandering, so that means random photos.  

Not sure what this does, but thought it was funny....stuck in a can of concrete on the footpath:

The best part was, it had a proud label 'Design in Italy/Best of Italian Design' on it...not sure the Italian designers had this kind of installation method in mind while they were dreaming it up in their studio....

Ate lunch at a dodgy cafe for tourists- for obvious reasons, my one and only 'Western/English/American' meal:

It's a joke at the office in Chicago that you should NEVER eat mayonnaise in hot weather, so given it was hovering around 45C/113F, I decided on the Croque Monsieur.  I was quite looking forward to it, until, while waiting, it occured to me that I had just ordered a ham sandwich in an Islamic country (those who know me well know that I hate pork, but do not consider ham or bacon related to the white meat pork).  Not sure what was actually on the sandwich when it arrived, but it tasted OK (and no mayo, so I didn't get sick!).  But why eat a sandwich when you could be eating local (this was lunch the following day):

The best thing about the 'American' cafe was watching people coming & going from the Koutoubia Mosque (the reason no other buildings are permitted to be taller than a palm tree is so the mosque is the tallest building).

From the Mosque, I took the long way home, on foot, but I found the cab rank!

Something about this kind of appealed to me.  I took the photo, and then the driver jumped out and wanted me to pay him (for photographing his truck).

Home, dinner and hung out in the pool...

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Visa Saga is Over....

I woke up the first morning in Marrakech to the sound of someone banging on the front door.  My first thought was that the Jets had returned, however it turned out it was a grocery delivery, but it got me thinking about solving the Visa situation which was now dire, but not insurmountable after a good night’s sleep.  I headed up to the roof terrace for breakfast, and Abdel came to see how I was, and how the first night had been.  I asked him the best way to make a phone call to the states (mobile was dead, no charger and I hadn’t seen a phone at reception).  He solved that very quickly- he asked what kind of phone I had, and said he had a charger, so after I finished breakky, I headed downstairs and found him with the charger ready.  I waited 15 minutes or so and then called the bank.  After another 10 minute phonecall, I was told it had finally been sorted, and to wait ten minutes and then try an ATM.  I asked Abdel where the closest one was, and he insisted on taking me (giving directions is hard in the Medina- it really is a rabbit warren of footpaths (see map below).  It hadn’t even occurred to me that there were most likely none close, as a truck couldn’t get in to service them.  I went and grabbed my bag and when I got back to the front door, he was standing there with a motor bike.  What?!!  Not what I was expecting- I had just assumed we would walk.  But no- most locals use bikes- SO much quicker, and despite lack of road rules, actually less dangerous than walking, as I was soon to discover.  Based on my previous experience of the traffic, I hesitated slightly (which made him laugh), but then jumped on the back and we were navigating the medina on his half scooter/half dirt bike.  We got to the ATM (which he rode up onto the footpath next to, so I did not have to get off the bike!), and after two tries, I FINALLY had cash (woo hoo!!).  Glad I actually had the presence of mind to pull out my camera and take a video of the ride back.  This was probably about 9:30am, so not too much traffic.  The last 30 seconds or so show us driving through ‘the Point’, and then into the smaller paths of the Medina- the covered footpath is actually the ‘street of butchers’, but given it was so early, not many were open.  Probably not a bad thing, for the vegetarian viewers! 

Please disregard the cheesy instrumental track, but I had to get rid of the original audio, which included a rather awkward conversation regarding my plans for later that night!

So, now I had cash, it was off to explore.  Abdel had given me an ‘official' map.  This gives you an idea of the myriad of ways there are to get lost (these are footpaths, not roads):

And also a mud map they had made on the computer showing how to get to the famous ‘Place Jemaa-el-Fna’ from the Riad.  I set off with both maps, feeling very positive- it was meant to be an 8-minute walk.  Within 2 minutes, I was hopelessly lost in the Souks (shops).  I was reluctant to get out the maps, because as soon as you did, you were surrounding by more kids telling you which way to go (and usually pointing you the wrong direction).  So, I decided just to wander, and eventually (3 litres of water later), came across the Musee de Marrakech and also the Medersa Ben Youssef.  The Medersa used to be a thrological school, and is one of the prettiest buildings in the Medina..  It reminded me of some of the Asian temples in Malaysia/Indonesia, because there was a lot of carved wood, but then also mosaics & sandstone.

Carved sandstone ceiling:

More sandstone:

Door with tiles:

More tiles, for you, Susie:

And more- the Sandstone frieze is carved with stylized script from the Koran:

The view from the students room down to the entry, under one of the atriums (and more tiles!):

After I finished there I went to the Museum to cool off- it is housed in an old palace:

Ceiling in the harem:

Tile & sandstone carving details:

Just like Istanbul, cats had the run of pretty much the entire place; unlike Istanbul, they didn’t look as well fed (although these ones were doing better than those I saw in Casablanca).

Finally made it home around 6pm- time for a shower and nap before dinner at 8:30pm.  Wish I had taken a photo of the Riad dinners, but basically you got an appetizer, which was some kind of cooked salad- my favourite was tomato & eggplant; then a tagine- either lamb or beef, then dessert, which was always fruit- watermelon etc, followed by mint tea (VERY sweet) and little Moroccan pastries/bikkies that were really good.  Amazing homemade meal & fresh, local ingredients for only USD12. 

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The Riad

There are not really any hotels as such in the Medina (they are all in the 'new city'), so the best option for accommodation is a riad, which is a traditional house built around a central, open air courtyard, with all of the rooms opening onto the courtyard.  There are very few, if any, windows in the outer walls.  The design evolved from Islamic principles, and (according to the wiki) making sure that women had a private place to relax without the hijab.  The wiki talks about entering a riad as being a tranistional experience, and for me that was definitely the case. One of the things I loved about Marrakech is that you never knew what would be behind a door.  Here's the unassuming entrance to my Riad (yes that is donkey & cart making deliveries):

And here is the interior courtyard during the day:

The first & second floors house the guest rooms; the third floor roof terrace has various seating areas:

There is no restaurant, but they have a kitchen.  Breakfast is included in the price of the room, and you tell the cook (Aziz) at breakfast if you will be back for dinner, which she & Rachid cook & serve on the terrace anytime after 8pm- you just show up whenever, and the food follows.  Breakfast (petit dejeuner):

There was a variety of freshly made bread & rolls, including something like a home made crumpet (I can't remember what it is called, and am not too keen to google 'Moroccan crumpet'!) that was so yummy- it was warm from the pan.  Also, between the two jams is a kind of soft cheese, similar to labna I think.  Very good!  Nothing was rushed at the riad- it took me a couple of days to relax into the fact the breakfast was a 90 minute event.

Definitely not the "fanciest" room I have stayed in, but it was pretty close to my definition of perfect luxury:  no phone, no TV, beautiful crisp organic cotton sheets, a MASSIVE sunken shower, french doors opening onto the courtyard, awesome bathrobes, fresh roses every day and amazing toiletries.  I think I could have lived there for a month, and I could definitely rave about it for a week.

Probably my favourite thing of all was that there was no lock on the door- they were thick wooden doors with iron hardware.  And a padlock.  That's right, you just clamped on the padlock when you left the building.  I loved that!

After dinner shot from my room- the pool ready for a post dinner dip.

At the risk of sounding cheesy, it was a total sanctuary.  As soon as you entered, it was cool, quiet and so relaxing- immediately you could smell the fresh roses.  Even when there were quite a few people around, it was quiet- the walls meant sounds were muffled, so you could hear someone calling out, or people talking, but the natural acoustics meant that you couldn't tell where it was coming from.  

I loved that it was really shut off to the outside, and like a lot of things in Morocco, didn't make any apologies for it.  It was built to be a private space, and you only came in if you were welcomed in. Whatever was outside stayed there (including the Jets!) 

To sum up: TOTAL HEAVEN.

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The Medina

I’d decided to stay in the Medina, which is the old city.  It’s the original fortified settlement with a wall surrounding it.  There are about 20 gates (called ‘babs’) that originally were closed at night, or if they were under attack or siege.  The majority of the gates all still exist- here is Bab Agnaou, originally built in the 12th century (and a petit taxi, circa 2007):

By law, nothing inside the Medina is allowed to be ‘taller than a palm tree’ which means that in essence it looks very much as it has for hundreds of years.  It is also required by law that all buildings must be painted the same terracotta pink colour.  I saw workmen with HUGE tubs of the paint- it was kind of like 'Acme Medina Paint'- only one brand/variety- and the label was just a photo of pink Medina buildings, with one word in Arabic across the photo. The roads that lead through the gates are accessible by car, but only to a point, where they become too narrow for anything bigger than a bike.  To get to wherever you are staying, the cab must drop you at the closest ‘point’, and from there you make your way by foot to the hotel.  

Here's a photo taken during the day of the 'point' closest to my hotel.  Apparently also the local donkey cart parking area.  I didn't see the donkeys at that stage, given it was dark when we arrived. 

Very wordy, but it is hard to photograph the ongoing no cash/Visa saga:

As soon as the cab stopped at the ‘Point’, there were two guys (about 15-17 yo) opening the door and getting my suitcase from the boot.  They wait at the Point for tourists and make money guiding you to the hotel.  The problem was, I literally had given my last 70dhrm to the cab driver.   Not smart, but I had tried again to withdraw cash at Marrrakech station, and my card was still not working.  The driver had told the boys the name of my hotel as soon as we pulled up, so the younger one had already started off down an alley with my stuff, while the older one waited for me.  I said ‘no money, no cash’ a few times, and asked him to just give me directions, rather than walking me there.  I am sure they hear ‘no money’ a lot, and tourists rarely mean it.  Eventually he just shrugged and headed off in the direction of the younger one, leaving me no option but to follow him.  It took us less than 3 minutes before we arrived at the door of the hotel.  The boys rang the bell and asked me for money.  I told them again I had none, and then they both started to get angry.  It reminded me of being followed by a 7 year old in Bali years ago, he kept yelling at my friend ‘you no buy my perfume, I kill you.’  All of a sudden, 4 more of their friends appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, looking for all the world like a north African version of West Side Story as they sauntered down the alley towards us.  They all began talking at once, telling me I owed the older kid money.  It culminated it me getting incredibly frustrated (imagine!), and actually opening my wallet and holding it upside down and shaking it to show I had nothing in there.  One very sad dime fell out and rolled away.  Just as this was happening, the door finally opened, which was a complete relief. The young guy inside (Rachid, who I later found out was 25 or so, but looked about 17) gestured to me to come in.  I explained what was going on, he said something in Arabic and shut the door on the guys outside.   After welcoming me, he told me he didn’t speak English and that his manager would be here in a minute.   The manager  (Abdellatif) arrived just as the Jets (or the Sharks? who knows) started pounding on the door. Rachid explained in French what was going on, so Abdel opened the door and talked to the growing throng outside (I was completely mortified- what an introduction!) then shut the door on them again.  He was very calm and friendly as he checked me in- luckily they don't even look at your credit card until check out.  After 10 minutes, the pounding started again.  I’d already explained that I was happy to give them money, and asked if he could he tell them to come back tomorrow after I had gotten some cash.  He looked around the office, but only had coins (he was going to pay and I could pay him back, he said).  Apparently they would not accept coins though, only notes, which I thought was pretty hilarious. He opened the door again, and after more words, shut it and all was quiet.  He could see I was worried about the situation, and he laughingly told me the door was almost a foot thick, so no reason to worry!  He then showed me to my room, and after making sure I was happy, invited me to the roof for tea.  Rachid stopped by to chat while I was drinking my tea, and also told me not to worry- he was at the hotel all night and was ’24 hour security’!  When I got back to my room I called the bank again- getting increasingly frustrated because every time you call it takes them 5 minutes to read all the notes and actually grasp why you are calling.  Anyone who knows me well knows that call centres are one of my least favourite things on this earth.  After 5 minutes (all on my mobile which was: 1) rapidly losing power (I had no charger), and 2) costing me what would probably soon equal the GDP of a small African nation), the bank person told me I in fact needed to call the card issuer, not the bank.  Really?  It would have been nice if someone had told me that, oh, I don’t know- sometime during the last three phone calls we have had on this matter !  He transferred me through and stayed on the line, but after 6 minutes on hold (NOT KIDDING!), the battery finally gave out (Tom- I think I accidentally took your charger, and then forgot to pack it anyway- sorry- I'll be home in six months!!).  The amazing thing about the Riad was how calming it was- I took one look at the beautiful sheets on the bed, and suddenly didn't care that I had no cash, no working credit card & no phone- and had the best night's sleep in months! 

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Casablanca to Marrakech

The train from Casablanca to Marrakech takes just over 3 hours.  I shelled out the extra two dollars (big spender!) for first class (based on the train the night before) in the hope it would buy me the choice of non-smoking (it did), and possibly include air conditioning (barely functioning, but better than nothing).  Temperatures keep rising as you move south/inland.   There were two British women on the platform (mother and daughter) who kept telling me ‘It’s really hot in Marrakech’.  I wasn’t sure exactly why they needed to keep telling me (probably because I was wearing jeans), but it was kind of weird the way they kept repeating it.  The trains look relatively new on the outside, but inside is another story.  I will say that they appear to run like clockwork- quite a feat, I think, with temperatures well over the hundreds (F)/into the 40s (C), to below freezing in the evenings in winter. 

  I love the way nearly all the footpaths and public areas had designs stamped into the concrete:

  The trip was pretty uneventful.  Apparently the seat number printed on the ticket is up for interpretation. The first 15-20 minutes was not unlike musical chairs- with people switching cars multiple times until it eventually appeared everyone was relatively content.  Our compartment of six people was full, and everybody was napping due to the heat.  After about 30 minutes, the conductor came through, and I once again found myself wishing I spoke Arabic, as shouting and arguing erupted all over again.  I got the distinct feeling I had let the team down by producing my ticket when requested.  The conductor took it, marked it off and handed it back to me without even looking at me, then glared down the rest of the compartment, who in turn all glared at me. I, of course, pretended to nap.  

I had met a girl, Salimah, from Marrakech on the platform, and as soon as the train compartment emptied a little, she came to find me and sat and chatted for awhile.  She worked at the Club Med in Marrakech but was hoping to get a transfer to the one in Tunis.  We talked for awhile and she told me a bit about her life.  She was a great example of the friendly and helpful Moroccans I met.  Even though Marrakech was the train’s last stop, she came back to find me and make sure I got off the train, then told me how much I should pay a cab to get me to my hotel.

 It was really interesting to see complete strangers offering each other water and snacks on the train.  At one stage there were a couple of water bottles being passed around our compartment, with everyone drinking out of them, and no one worrying whose was whose.  Don’t think you would see that anywhere in the West.  Another example of unexpected cultural differences- I saw many women openly breastfeedng their babies in public (on the flight to Casablanca, in the train compartment, and various restaurants in Marrakech- even on a moving scooter while navigating the Medina!).  I saw this many times, in front of men who were obviously not family/friends, and no one batted an eyelid. Quite interesting given the recent Time cover on the stands just before I left the US.

The train station in Marrakech is the first clue that this city is completely different to Casablanca- new, very  modern and quite stunning.  I forgot to take a photo, so this one is thanks to the Google: 

  I was told by Salimah & another woman from the train it would cost 10dhr to my hotel in a taxi.  After failing miserably at negotiating, and not wanting it to get any later, I agreed to 70 which was all the cash I had on me (BAD idea, but I didn’t seem to have a choice, unless I wanted to walk 7Km with my suitcase- no!).   While that’s quite a percentage increase, it is still under $10USD, so I figured it wasn’t too bad.  My cab driver was quite nice, and again, I got a ‘tour’ before being taken to my destination.  Traffic here was also crazy, but no construction.  All the buildings are pink, and I arrived just at dusk, so it was very, very pretty, with tree lined streets and all the horse drawn Caleches taking people to dinner:  I was still busy taking everything in at this stage, so another Google pic of the Caleche:

I thought it was hilarious when, stopped at a roundabout-come-intersection, I asked the taxi driver how anyone knew when it was OK, or their turn, to proceed (I could not see a traffic light).  He smiled, and promptly reversed about 10 metres (causing much alarm and honking from the cars behind us) to point out his traffic light.  He was watching it’s reflection in the windscreens behind him via the rear vision mirror! Whatever works, I guess!  

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Casablanca

Based on what I had heard about Casablanca, and the limited time I had, I decided to only spend a day there, and had bought a ticket that morning on the 4:50pm train to Marrakech.  I decided just to wander around the city and explore a bit.  Besides the construction (EVERYWHERE- did I mention it already?), the first thing I noticed were the buildings and architecture.  It is the Miss Havisham of cities.  Some really beautiful old buildings that had obviously sparkled in their heyday (20s-50s, I would say) I would give almost anything to see them as they had been, although I do like buildings that show their age, and with their paint peeling, they still evoke a lovely feeling, and have their own kind of romaticism.  Some of them just make you feel like you are in a war zone:

Here are a few of my favourites.  Oh to have the means to buy and renovate some of these…..

The cars in general are also of the vintage French variety...lots of Renaults and Citroens.

Another thing I noticed was a disregard for attention to detail.  If anything was in the way of construction, it appeared that they just worked around it.  And not always in a good way:

I saw this many times- a rock, pipe or something similar on the footpath- no problem, just don't bother paving that bit.  If I had of known how often I would come across it, I would have photographed them all and had quite an amusing collection.

After making my way through what appeared to be the industrial part of town, I reached the working port, which was full of shipping company offices, merchant sailors and cargo being loaded/unloaded.  It was interesting, because many of the signs (street signs, shops, hotels etc) were not only in Arabic and/or French, but in Greek as well.  I guess they are still ruling the shipping waves (or maybe not so much since last month!?).  Next to the port area are some of the fancy western hotel chains, as well as the Plaza United Nations.  The Plaza looked to be in a pretty dismal state (ironic, perhaps?), and was also undergoing construction:

Opposite the plaza is the Medina, which I was going to wander around, but was completely turned off by the tacky souvenir shops at the entrance.  I felt like I was at a Wednesday market in the East End- it was all football jersey’s and fake purses, so I decided to head in the direction of the Hassan II Mosque instead.  My map had proved relatively useless, so I just tried to head in the general direction.  I came to a local fruit and vege market, and after passing through that, came to an area that was probably the slums.  No tourists around (well, except me!), lots and lots of rubbish, and all the houses/shops were made out of discarded pieces of wood, cardboard, tin.  I definitely got some odd looks and quite a few questions, but didn’t feel unsafe.  Uncomfortable maybe, but not unsafe.  One of my favourite things that I saw was this ‘homemade’ outdoor cinema:

It was about 100F/37C.  These dogs had the right idea:

There were cats everywhere…crawling over the stands and waiting for scraps.  The condition of some of them completely broke my heart- tiny kittens wobbling around in the heat.  I couldn’t even take a photo they looked so sad.

After the fruit & vege area (which took about 30-40 minutes to navigate through), there was a street with a lot of business on it.  My interior designer side came out, because a lot of them were workshops.  There was a young guy of about 25 working in one, making the amazingly detailed plaster mouldings that decorate most of the buildings, both old and new.  He was working out of a TINY shop, and was hesitant at first, but after I asked him a few questions about his craft, he was very friendly and explained the different types of plaster and other aspects of his work.  He did not want to be photographed, but let me take this one, which is literally half of his entire space. 

 He was busy making a very large piece, and to do so had just set up the mould etc on the road in front of the shop.  I love how nothing got in the way of industriousness:  Lack of space?  Work in the street!  Too heavy to lift?  Call over some friends from the bike shop next door!  Of course I tried to figure out how I could fit a couple of the plaster pieces in my suitcase!

Lack of storage?  Stack it on the roof!  (This is the bike shop next  door)

Bike shops are EVERYWHERE in Morocco.   There are always so many people there getting their rides fixed, I am surprised there are any left on the road.  Here’s another one:

A shoe store on the same road:

Eventually, made it to the Mosque.  It is one of only two in Morocco that admit non-Muslims, however you can only go in on a tour, and I was not there at the right time.  The guidebook said it is the third largest, Wiki says 7th largest in the world. Either way, it is BIG:

The photos don’t do it justice.  It was very serene to walk around, although some more trees/shade would not have gone amiss.  I would have liked to have gone inside- apparently part of the foundations are over water, so there is a glass floor inside where you can look down to the rocks/water below.  Regardless of where it falls on the largest mosque list, it does have the tallest minaret:

My feet were killing me (sunburned) so I decided to jump in a petit taxi and head back to the other side of town.  This was my first time in a cab, and all I knew was what I had read in the guidebooks- that being ‘petit taxi’ are small (mini or mazda 121 size) and all the same colour- in this case red.  You agree on a price before you get in.  Also, they can pick up other people after you and you all ride together.  ‘Taxi’s’ are all early 80’s model Mercedes in an unattractive beige brown colour.  They have a meter, but are generally used for longer distances and are more expensive.  There were a bunch of petit taxi in the mosque car park, so I found one, and asked how much to Casa Voyageurs.  The driver didn’t want to give me a price, so I started to walk away, sohe yelled after me ‘whatever you think is fair’.  It’s a ten minute ride, maybe less, and based on the books 20 dirhams was probably average.  I proposed 20 and he seemed OK with that- he said "OK, whatever you think is fair".  As soon as I got in, he told me that for 100 dirhams he would give me a 90 minute tour of the city.  While that sounded OK, I didn’t have 90 minutes, thanked him and said no- I have a train, straight to the station please.  After about 5 minutes, it appeared I was getting the tour anyway, because he took me to Ricks:

Then we went to the old French flower market and also the palace and the Habbous (a souk-like area behind the palace).  Finally we made it back to Casa Voyageurs, and only a minor argument over the fare ensued.

Casa Voyageurs is another building that has definitely seen better days both inside & out.  It looks better at night- the neon in French & Arabic gives it a kind of exotic flare when the rest of the building is hidden by the darkness.

I had a late lunch at a dodgy café opposite the station, where even the soft drink is ‘So Fresh!’.

After lunch, I went to the hotel to grab my suitcase and withdraw some cash from their ATM.  Uh oh.  Card rejected.  Tried calling on my mobile with a rapidly dwindling battery, only to be told “Our systems are down.  They are doing maintenance for another 6 hours”…eeeek, looks like I have 90 dirham/USD10 (that's right, just the one zero. $10) until I get to Marrakech.  The Visa saga continues.

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Now Who's Happy?  We're all Happy!

My favourite song from the movie Casablanca is Knock on Wood, and I had been humming it all morning.  It was still in my head as I left the hotel.  It took all of three minutes of negotiating traffic, construction and general craziness before it had been completely replaced by Frogger. Traffic was CRAZY, and the seemingly endless construction meant the only place to walk was in the street with the mess of cars, scooters, bikes and other pedestrians. 

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First Night in Morocco/Beginning of the Visa Saga

Train ride to Casablanca was relatively uneventful.  A little knuckle-biting  because I was worried I would miss my stop or misunderstand the announcement, which is made in Arabic or French, and very fast.  There was very little to see (street lights are few & far between), and after a satisfying moment when a guy unleashed a tirade of Arabic on the five chain smokers in our non-smoking carriage (and eventually kicked them out), we rumbled along smoke free for the remaining 20 minutes.  I was relieved to hear ‘Gare Casa Voyageurs’ ("Wow, this was the right train!") over the scratchy PA, and joined half the carriage in a scramble for the door.  Relief turned to frustration when I realized I had needlessly lugged my suitcase up and down four separate flights of stairs (in order to get from the platform to the station), then realised they actually provide carts that you can wheel across the tracks to avoid the stairs. Tourist!  The hotel was literally 80m across a car park from the train station, but that did not deter the group of about a dozen taxi drivers from surrounding me offering a petit taxi, they kept offering until I was at the hotel door.  Tried to check in, only to discover my Visa had been blocked.  After some hasty money transfers (free wi-fi + iPad = lifesaver) paid my bill and collapsed into bed.  Always love arriving somewhere in the ‘middle’ of the night, because when you wake up you see the details of what you missed on your way in.  View from the hotel window in the morning:

  Woke early with no signs of jet lag, so righted my hasty packing job of the day before by repacking/organizing suitcase, documents etc.  Called bank and set everything straight with Visa (or so I thought- more on that later), then headed down to breakky.  I love Mediterranean/middle-eastern breakfast- feta, hard boiled eggs, fresh squeezed juice.  A mini croissant and some natural yoghurt with honey and almonds.  YUM.  

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Arrivee a Casablanca

Disembarking our retro transportation device....

I think it can be safely said that the German stereotype (neat, clean, orderly, organised attention to detail) is on full display at Frankfurt airport.  Cut to 3.5 hours later in Casablanca.  As we taxied to to the terminal, you could see the air traffic controllers and other airport workers lying in the shade under the trees, talking laughing and drinking tea.  We looked to be the only aircraft at the terminal, so it was a huge surprise to round the corner into the customs hall and be greeted by a mass of people.  No discernible lines anywhere, just 8-10 customs agents and one huge push of travelers trying to get their passports stamped.  Once you make it to a window (less than 10 minutes), you see one of the first signs that this is a place like no other:  there are stickers stuck to each of the customs agent's windows that are a winking version of the ubiquitous yellow smiley face, with the caption 'Smile, you're in Casablanca!".  A nice change from 'WARNING: you are on CCTV'.  The differences continue in the baggage claim...I wish I had  taken a photo.  Quite literally, there was luggage EVERYWHERE.  On the carousels- most of which were not working, all over the floor, along with an almost ankle deep assortment of old luggage tags littering the entire area. Surprised again, as I was reunited with my suitcase in less than 10 mins.

The airport is about 40 minutes out of town by train.  I figured the train would be a better option than trying to negotiate with one of the many guys offering 'petit taxi', especially as I had no idea where I was heading.  Found my way to the train station, and was confronted with this:

Wait, what? Hmmmm....I deserve a virtual high five from Jersey Mike for not bolting straight to a taxi.  Found the train (very definitely older than me...can anyone say 1960?), and then crossed my fingers and waited as we chugged out of the station in the pitch darkness at 10:30pm...

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Frankfurt to Casablanca

I flew Royal Air Maroc from FRA-CMN.  I’m always a little skeptical when booking the smaller airlines, so I googled ‘Royal Air Maroc safety’ before I bought the ticket.  When no evidence of any major accidents came up on the first page of results, I decided I was good to go (thought it best not to check second page of results).  Despite this highly scientific research,  my dubiousness returned after boarding the plane: it appeared to be older than me, with no noticeable upgrades having been made in at least 20 years.  It is always reassuring when the final words over the PA from the pilot as you speed down the runway are ‘God willing.’  Definitely not in Kansas anymore:

Despite all that, it was actually a very good flight.  This is the meal we were served- even though it looks very unappetizing, it was really tasty…

compare to the salad course on previous UA flight…a lot more elbow room, a whole lot less flavour...

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Leaving Chicago, Arriving in Frankfurt

First flight of the trip (ORD – FRA) was uneventful…made full use of the flat bed due to the upgrade (Thanks, Pete!).  After landing in Frankfurt and putting my suitcase in storage, I ventured into town via the train.  Shout out to Michael from Jersey, who was also a little directionally challenged, and who made the first hour or two on the ground/of the vacation a good laugh- Michael, I hope you managed to get to the hotel without Tommy tagging along, and are not still circling Frankfurt on the subway!  Met old friends Morgane & Benoit at Konstablerwache Plaza and we drove to a great restaurant by the river for lunch.  Last time I was in Frankfurt, almost a year ago to the day, Morgane was 8+ months pregnant, so I was very happy to meet gorgeous Inga for the first time.  Lovely to have the chance to spend time with friends, although always too short.  Back to the airport, collected suitcase and enough time for a coffee- even ‘bad airport coffee’ is good in Europe!

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Leaving ORD...first stop,Frankfurt. (Taken with Instagram)

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Realised it is less than two weeks until I leave, and I had better finalise some plans for the week I have off. After an hour combing the web (trip advisor & cheapofares), Morocco it is. Can't wait! (Taken with Instagram)

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Africa here I come...