Into the western extremity of North Africa in the "Farthest land of the Setting Sun" and now a fair few moons ago....
A week spent exploring this unique country of rich european, african and arabic heritage. My journey started with a visit to the enormous 2500 worshipper capacity Mosque Hassan II in the coastal town of Casablanca where my last post left off. I had wandered into an internet cafe in a dark alleyway and had my travelling companion/mother(!) worked into a state when i missed dinner, fearing id been abducted by white slave traders. Reassuring cries of "its ok, the nice lady gave me sunflower seeds to eat" met with "they're not sunflower seeds" and so on and so forth... in part may explain any perceived
hallucinogenic incomprehensible ramblings. No excuse this time however...
Our tour took us to Morocco's elegant capital, Rabat; the first Imperial City and then onto Fes- the country's religious and cultural centre and symbolic heart of Morocco. We went through a previous provincial roman capital in Volubilis, the medina of Meknes and visited the spa village of Moulay Yacoub. We finished with a drive through the heartland of the Middle Atlas into the ochre coloured city of Marrakesh; where the low hills of Agadir rise to form the snow capped peaks of the High Rif Atlas Mountains that tower over the city and border the vast expanse of the western Sahara.
We saw more ancient roman ruins, exploring pagan mythology through preserved ceramic tiled floors of such tantalising titles as "Abduction of Hyalus by Nymphes". There was Venus, Hercules, Orpheus, Medusa and Diana; Queen ofthe the light and Goddess of the Hunt alongside her Twin brother, Appollo; God of the Day. These beatiful ceramics continued my amateur studies of religious symbology which extended into Islamic symbols like the mysterious "Fatimas Hand" given to me as a pendant by one of our guides- warding off evil spirits or at least a good omen i hope?! The 5 pointed star representing the 5 pillars of Islam was omnipresent in every mosque and holy place we visited. The second obligation to pray "Sala" 5 times a day was hard to overlook when projected over megaphone as a type of wailing siren-like voice across the city and also as a digitalised arabic ringtone set as a reminder on our guide's mobile phone. The same guide who in fulfilling the fourth obligation to Fast and get closer to paradise, had to endure us indulgent travellers gorging ourselves on market foods throughout the day.
My first lesson was that just about everyone is called "Mohammed", and i was soon to learn that having a name of Hebrew origin meaning "princess" can barter you down 50 dirham on a camel leather ottoman. Initial impressions included "where are all the women?!" thought while navigating through the masses of men lining every shop front and cafe, sipping mint tea and immersed in conversation for the most part of every day. But also of the warmth and humour of the Moroccan people with a couple of our tour guides downright hilarious- okay so one was completely hungover and perhaps something of a compulsive liar. Another of our first guides described Morocco as a "country of contrasts" and looking a bit closer, the social and economic contrasts were everywhere. The juxtaposition of Modern and Traditional, Old and New, mean that a traditional meal of cous cous on friday can be shared by families with their bare hands alongside fried chips at a roadside diner. Urban and Rural influences see technology of cars, communication and a parabolic panorama of satellite dishes existing alongside medieval donkey-powered transportation in predominantly agricultural and handicraft industrial towns.
The enormous social divide between rich and poor, enlightened and uneducated means illiteracy is of epidemic proportions, unemployment at 20% and poverty all too apparent. The royal family, who claim lineage from the prophet, Mohammed, maintain upkeep of 12 palaces and a monopoly of the country's land, exerting control over the government in a type of pseudo-democratic society. But times are apparently changing, under the reign of Crown Prince Hassan, son of Hassan II who ascended to the throne in 1999. Nicknamed "His Majetski" after a favourite past-time, he has set about tackling the grass root issues of education, unemployment and poverty also giving more rights to women. He himself has only taken one wife, a computer engineer at that, where historically men could have multiple women evidenced by the palace we visited with rooms for 4 wives and shared quarters for 24 concubines! The days of blinding musicians and castrating singers for their entertainment pleasure is also, thankfully, over.
So for now, the uneasy status quo remains in Morocco. Pictures of the Crown Prince frame every shop counter and questioning the "cash for favours"
mentality and royal autocrasy is reserved for the limited Independent Press like French Publication "Le Journal" somehow managing to escape tyrannical censorship. Recent titles like "Corruption; the gangrene of the Royal Family- Why Morocco has become one of the most corrupt countries on the Planet" was loosely translated for me by my mum =). A similar sentiment was voiced over hushed dinner conversations with our tour guide (A descendent of the Berber original mountain tribes) drinking wine out of coke bottles due to tough regulations. Fascinating insights into the political repression ultimately became a bit too much of a foreign affair and rather than be a renagade, i decided to dedicate my efforts into the more familiar territory of, well, shopping.
Most memorable was the famous Djeema-el-Fna Square in Marrakesh where kissing a snake charmed and entwined around your neck is probably as risky as eating the colourful array of foods and spices on the carts- but i did both anyway. I bargained for a lamp, silver tea set, "camel bone?" mirror and, yes, somehow, wound up with that "Arabic Carpet". In what started as an offer of 10 000 camels and a 7 day feast for my hand in marriage to his son (who had rejected the traditional muslim arranged ceremony), the rug guy explained that he knew many australian and french women who had married morrocans, learnt arabic and lead full and comfortable lives. My tour guide had to interject that "Michael is waiting for her on the ice" in broken English (translation: her boyfriend is snowboarding in Canada), one thing lead to another and somehow i walked away without a dowry but with a carpet for a house that i dont have, for a price that would constitute a quarter of the average Moroccans annual salary. 100% silk, guaranteed.
Several marriage proposals and pairs of shoes later, we shopped until the 11th hour and were then faced with the irony of trying to spend the excess dirham at the big corporations of the airport, saved when driving a hard bargain with the local traders. All shopped out and a final visit to Ouszed Waterfalls where Mohammed, aged 14, rowed us out under a massive teaming cascade. We shared a bus ride with 3 "rough as guts" irish gals who spoke in some kind of dialectical english that was almost as tough as my "iron guts" which deserve a mention for withstanding an apparently unavoidable gastrointestinal illness the whole trip. That was despite cleaning my teeth in the water and eating so many vegie cous cous and lamb tagines that i never want to see them again!
As one chapter closes, a few unanswered questions remain. Why are the Spanish so obsessed with security glad wrapping their luggage? But perhaps more pertinant, is whether my sole lost shoe that i left in Rabat and that failed to arrive by donkey in Marrakech 3 days later so was subsequently redirected to the Rocky Mountains of Canada, will ever actually turn up?
Might have to keep you posted on that one.
P.S. When i get back, you are all invited over to my carpet to share a pot of mint tea.
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