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Tale
1 -40 days in Morocco! - by Malik
“Forty days in Morocco!!! Are you mad?” screamed
my neighbor, Riaz. His perplexity was natural. English is
rarely spoken in Morocco and the language barrier may create
problems.
Being determined, I boarded Emirate Airlines Boeing 777 on
June 26, 2004 for Casablanca.
There were nearly 300 passengers. All applauded when the airplane
made a smooth landing. I joined them and appreciated a good
custom.
Immigration formalities were brief and soon I found myself
on a waiting train right in the terminal area. In about 30
minutes, the train reached the city. I had a reservation for
a hotel which was located next door. In a moment, I was at
the reception of Ibis Moussafir with a printout of my Internet
booking. Never before finding a place to straighten my back
was so safe and so convenient.
Casablanca
After a good night's sleep, I was ready to explore the city.
To start, I went to a nearby bank to exchange traveler’s
cheques. It was difficult to explain what I was looking for.
At last, I came across a bank employee who knew a little English.
He asked me to go the bank’s main branch. On my request,
he scribbled on a piece of paper the bank address in Arabic.
This paper served as a gate pass and I was directed from one
block to another till I reached there in two hours (the local
currency is dirham and current
rate was 8.8 dirham to 1USD).
A long walk to the bank provided me an opportunity to have
a look at the City Centre. It was like any European downtown.
People were wearing smart business suits, designer dresses
and sunglasses. Rare to be seen was the national dress, jellaba:
a loose-fitting, hooded robe with full sleeves. The area was
fairly impressive with big, lively, tree-lined boulevards
and white buildings. I was looking for Humphrey Bogart and
Ingrid Bergman around every corner because of the classic
film “Casablanca”. There were none except in “Bar
Casablanca” (Hyatt Regency) which recaptured the ambience
of the fabled “Rick's Bar” echoing with the immortal
words, “Play it again, Sam.”
Next day, I went to see the world renowned Hassan
II Mosque. Built on the edge of the ocean, the Mosque
rose like some kind of a divine ship. Walking up to the mosque,
I felt more like I was going to a large sports stadium with
signs directing traffic to various underground car parks.
Three times the size of London's St. Paul's Cathedral, it
boasts a 200 meters high minaret. The prayer hall can accommodate
25,000 of the faithful and the esplanade 80,000 more. Its
retractable roof can, in three minutes, transforms the prayer
hall into a magnificent patio. The esplanade was very peaceful,
away from the traffic, the ocean waves crashing against the
rocks and families strolling around.
The majestic Hassan II Mosque
Meknes
Though I was on a pleasure trip, I had planned it well. It
was time to move. For traveling within Morocco, a number of
options were available. Apart from comfortable and fast trains,
the bus network was dense and efficient. Running alongside
the bus services were shared taxi's linking one town to another.
One can leapfrog and cover the entire country.
I boarded a train for a comfortable ride. Meknes
was about 230 kms away and the train reached there in about
three hours. The approach to Meknes was a delight with lush
green olive and citrus groves covering the surrounding hills.
All old Moroccan cities like Meknes have an ancient market
called "medina". Here
daily life follows a centuries-old pattern. Goods are haggled
for in tiny shops and stalls, often over a glass of hot mint
tea. To wander through these streets is to be drawn into a
wonderful feast for the senses. Small shops sell henna and
other cosmetics. The merchant unfolds a piece of blue cloth
with reverence. The pleasure becomes all the more intense
when the object of the visit is the choice of a ring, a sword
stick, a carpet, a woven basket or sweet smelling spices.
The "Medina" or market at Meknes
Fez
After staying for two days at Meknes, I took a train bound
for Fez, only 60 kms away. There
were three towns in Fez. First, Fez-l-Bali,
an old medina, a labyrinth of sloping and winding alleys.
Second, Fez al Jedid, a modern
city with broad avenues, and in particular the Avenue
Hassan II, distinguished by the patterns of light playing
through the leaves overhead onto the ornamental pools beneath.
Third, Ville Nouvelle, a French-built
city. Here the buildings were much more like those in Marseilles
or Nice, with walled courtyards containing lovely gardens.
The place was blessed with great spots for wood-fired oven
pizzas and decent pasta dishes.
I remained there for four days and had a good view of the
city from several surrounding hills at different times. In
a broad day-light, I got an impression of an ocean of flat
roofs punctuated by soaring minarets with a gentle succession
of terraces following both sides of the valley. At dawn, the
light climbed up the flanks of the hills and, at dusk, the
sun flooded the cascades of roofs and cupolas with ochre-red
light.
Fez is a holy city, a spiritual and cultural capital of Morocco.
This is where, as in Florence or Athens, one can find the
whole treasure at one spot. This is a city of endless mosques.
Mighty doors of the Andalusia Mosque
invite the faithful to prayer. Easily identified by its green
and white minarets, the El Sahri Medersa
(school) seems to be literally overflowing with luxurious
decoration. The voice of enchanting children drifts down from
the open windows.
Rif Mountain
While moving in Fez, I met Mike, an American tourist who had
been in Morocco many times in the past. I joined him and we
went to a town called Ketema
about 200 km away in the Rif Mountains.
The approach was very scenic and fascinating, the valley sides
being terraced as far as the eyes can see with kif
(hashish) growth, sanobar firs and cedar forests. It was a
land reminiscent of Southern Spain, only seventy miles away
across the Straits of Gibraltar.
We left the taxi at Ketema and walked for 2 km to meet one
of Mike's friends, Elbrazi. He greeted Mike by seven quick
kisses on both the cheeks and led us inside his house. A boy
came in with a pitcher of hot water in his right hand and
a basin in the left hand to start the hand washing ceremony.
Mint tea was next. It was followed by Moroccan traditional
dish, tajine with couscous (semolina
topped with meat, vegetables and spices, steamed in an earthen
pot and served sizzling.) The dinner ended with sweet cinnamon-flavoured
pastries drenched in nuts and honey. Afterwards, Elbrazi and
Mike had a fiesta smoking kif marijuana. For the next two
days, eating & smoking rituals were repeated three times
a day until Mike vomited right on the table and realized it
was time to move.
Our
next destination was Chaouen,
a town 5000 feet above sea level in the Rif Mountain. It was
famed for whitewashed houses, narrow blue-painted lanes, blue
doors, little iron-cast balconies, and its very Spanish-like
plaza. It was a pretty laid-back place. Many hippies with
long hair and pale complexion were smoking hash openly; in
the cafes and balconies of the motels. Since I avoided smoked-filled
places, I stayed separately in a nice hotel on the outskirts
of the town. Next morning, I tried to find Mike but he had
mysteriously disappeared. Once again, I was on my own to continue
with my travel plan.
Hafeez ur Rahman Malik, Karachi-Pakistan.
Submitted: 18 September 2004
Next: Tale 2 - 40 days in Morocco.
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