Salaam possums. After leaving the city of lights (or the city of legs as my luck would have it), I hopped a plane to the crazy town of Marrakech, Morocco. You often hear what a mental place this is, with it’s souks and snake charmers and such, and this town definitely did not disappoint. It’s funny when I was leaving Canada, many of my friends thought I was nuts to travel Morocco on my own. Yet when I told people in Paris what my travel plans were, they thought it was fabulous! Morocco has definitely become a popular place for travel and I found it to be very safe...even for a cheeky Canadian such as myself.
When I arrived at my hostel, which was nothing short of Aladdin’s palace, my new friend Ucef at the front desk advised me that I ‘looked American’. Now, one can take this a number of ways, however I gave Ucef the benefit of the doubt and explained to him I was quite obviously a Canadian, more specifically a Vancouverite, given I was sporting Lululemon’s and had an umbrella in my bag. To which he replied “Where is Vancouver? Never heard of it.” Okie doke, American it is.
Starved, I headed into the square of the Medina (Moroccan term for township) in search of some tasty, authentic Moroccan fare. Little did I know this would later disappoint me, but I digress I found some food alright; ‘group eat’ I call it. Sure, there are plenty of touristic restaurants but I decided to dine under some large tents in the centre of the square with crowds of others while the Moroccans cooked us a feast over large grills. Couscous or Targine (stew). This was my choice in dishes over the next week, and this could be accompanied by either beef, chicken or vegetables. Oh, and a big hunk of white bread. I’m confident I ate more white bread during my week in Morocco than I do in a year in Canada, but hey, carbs are the new protein, no?
Another interesting thing to note when dining in Morocco - forget about enjoying a glass of vino with your meal folks. It is possible to get a drink in this country, but incredibly inconvenient. Where’s the
funky cold medina people? Nope. Nada.
The next morning, I went to the square to see what the vibe was like during the day. Enter the snake charmers. Big, black cobras literally entranced by a flute. Alarming. I was suckered into getting my photo taken with a few of these reptiles draped over me (a ‘water snake’, not the
cobra) for a few Durham, so I went along with it. After I snapped my pics and handed the snake back to the man he kissed it and held the thing up to my forehead and announced “You will have many years good sex. Good sex for you!” Excellent. That’s good news. I actually tried to give this guy American dollars at first, to which he explained “We don’t take those anymore, only Euros.” Wow, how the world has changed possums.
On the way back to my hostel, I got lost in the souk, or maze more like. Shit. This thing is confusing. A cute little boy came up to me and offered to lead me back to my hostel for a fee. Done and done little man, let’s roll. We arrive, with me feeling like an idiot as I hand over 20 Durham to this kid and before I could open the door he threatens to light up a cigarette if I don’t give him any more money. Excuse aime moi? (He’s probably about 8.) I refuse ofcourse, to which he lights up like he’s been smoking for 20 years and walks away. Where am I?!
I should note, I learned alot about the Muslim faith during this trip, and although I like to keep an open mind, I have to say - where are the women? Are they hidden? Are they nocturnal? I didn’t see many gals around, and when I did, I would often get a look that said ‘oh look at you, must be nice to be in shorts and a tube top whilst I sweat to death under this thing’. I mean no disrespect by any means, it’s just a tad hard to swallow for this western gal.
I then embarked on a road trip to the Sahara, making many memorable stops along the way. However, when the red dunes started to appear on the horizon, I knew this was going to be the
highlight of my trip. My group and I hopped on some camels and embarked on a 10K trek into the desert to our campsite for the evening. Please note possums, 10K on a camel = a very sore tookus for DAYS. We arrived after dark and sat under the stars waiting for our guide to cook us dinner. Never in my life have I seen stars like this. Pure magic.
Our group was split in half, 50% French speaking, 50% English. Morocco attracts alot of French speaking visitors, naturally, however this is bad news for me as French people don’t seem to appreciate my sarcastic sense of humor. Or any sarcasm...period. Let’s just say I wasn’t exactly the life of the party in the desert. When our food finally arrived, we were told we were eating ‘Moroccan style,' i.e. no plates or utensils. Yuck. A dozen filthy mutt hooks all grabbing at the family style dish at once. I decided to sit this one out.
The next morning, I perched myself on a dune alone in silence and watched the sunrise.
Probably the most peaceful thing I’ve ever experienced. The Sahara is quite something. To me, it looks like a big sea of red pepper dip, like you could dip a chip into it. Strange comparison? Maybe, but the sand is so soft and fine...almost creamy.
All in all, I loved my time in Morocco but I have to say (and anyone who has been there will agree) - ALL of my belongings smelled like cumin, which is essentially the smell of Morocco. I had to air myself out for about a week after I left, but it was well worth it.
Photo credits - Urban Cowgirl
Possums! Did we all survive the holidays? I managed to overindulge within an inch of my life with every goodie and cocktail I could get my mutt hooks on. Tis the season so they say (they obviously aren’t worried about fitting into their New Year's Eve frock).
