Morocco

I flew to Madrid on Iberia and then Royal Air Maroc down to Rabat, the capital of Morocco.

Rabat is a regular looking city - easy and inexpensive - which I was eager to leave but able to enjoy more on my return. Let’s get Casablanca out of the way first. Casablanca is the name of a movie filmed in Los Angeles, California. Casablanca, Kingdom of Morocco, is a large commercial city which I passed through expeditiously.

I wanted to first experience Fez, the cultural capital. Flew up there on a balmy night and awoke to a brilliant morning. Experienced one of the best features of Morocco in an hour. A perfect fresh croissant and a bowl of cafe au lait on the hotel terrace and then around the corner a few steps into a thousand-year-old souk seething with vibrant selling and shopping in noisy Arabic. France colonized Morocco from 1912 until 1956. French is the second language. So from a Parisian breakfast to Medieval Arabia = Morocco. A splendid juxtaposition. Fez has an Islamic cultural vibe which developed far from the fundamentalism of the Arabian desert. More intellectual, more artistic and hedonistic. This feels like the Islam of Moorish Spain after 400 years in Europe. Gloriously tiled courtyards and fountains, graceful arched gates, tiny donkeys with burdens negotiating hilly crookedy streets, the stench in the leatherworker’s souk. The clanging and banging in the metalworker’s souk. And deep silence in the carpet showrooms. I felt safe and happy everywhere I wandered. I was hoping it would be like this.

Marrakesh: The song, the movies, the sound of it. You must. I found a long-distance shared taxi going south. A mid-size diesel Mercedes (the Moroccans buy them used from Europe at about 250,000km because they are the cheapest cars to operate). Driver and five passengers. This is a very inexpensive way to travel the 350 miles across mountains and desert in comfort and safety. And what a trip. Over the Tizi n’ tishka pass, stopping for p&t in primitive rocky villages and then down into the Sahara and Marrakesh rising out of the sand like a mirage.

I find inexpensive Hotel Gallia at the end of a narrow passageway. I am welcomed by Madame Galland, la proprietaire, into a Moroccan dream of a tiny French hotel. She gives me a room over the front entrance with an east-facing window. The walls are completely covered in ornamental tilework of geometric mosaics. Pierced metal hanging lamps. Small spotless white marble bathroom. A bed of artful drapery and luxurious pillows. I awake next morning to an etched-in-memory experience:

A loud low sonorous moaning from the mosque next door as dawn alerts the muezzin to sing the morning call to prayer. Then my eyes open - a few feet outside the window a cat is gracefully threading its’ way along the bisque crenelations of the mosque in soft rosy light. Funny what sticks isn’t it?

I go down into the lush tiled and fountained courtyard for a croissant and jam and tea. I’m so blown away by this place that I call Anne and beg her to come over here pronto. I really mean it. She thinks I’ve smoked too much hashish So out the door and into Marrakesh. In the long narrow passageway is a bakery/hamman to which women are carrying their bread dough to be baked in the dual-purpose communal fire. The fire heats the public baths which are at ground level and bakes the breads in the oven down below. The bread in Morocco is excellent- some white flour slightly anise flavored and some rustic brown breads. Keep walking and the passageway opens into the most spectacular place imaginable.

You are in a vast square in front of the Koutoubia, a huge, gorgeous brick- faced minaret. The square is called the Jama El f’na. It is teeming with thousands of traders, musicians, shoppers, magicians, food stalls, thieves, tourists, dancers, a camel market, story tellers. The Jama El f’na is the convergence of cultures - the Arabs come down from the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlas Mountains, the Berbers come out of the Sahara, the Negroes come up from Africa below the desert and travelers from everywhere come here to see the wonder of it. Marrakesh is as sensual as you can imagine. And it gets even better at night. Now add torches and smoky incense from a hundred sources, hawkers calling, roasting meats, African fragrances, a maze of cultural drums and hissing gas lights and you, delightfully overwhelmed, retreat for a moment for a glass of mint tea on a raised terrace from which you survey the whole astounding scene from another time and place.

Truly a world-class spectacle in a world-class city in a world-class country.

And that’s just the Square. The endless souks are also enchanting - the perfect place to get lost, which is a good thing, because before long you are lost.

But the Sahara beckoned. I find a shared taxi going 125 miles further south down to Ouarzazate. Now getting deeper into the desert seeing wild camels and longer emptiness. Nearing Ouarzazate there is a huge abandoned kasbah. I ask to get out and I go exploring. I can’t believe that this ancient complex earthen structure is so much preserved and so deserted. I wander through dim hallways, climb crumbling stairwells and look out over empty courtyards from harem windows, utterly alone in this spooky magic place. As it gets more gloomy after sunset, I walk to Ouarzazate a dusty desert town and a spartan room in a tiny inn - just right for the place and my mood. So glad I’ve done this. Outrageously exotic and safe.

And there is much more Morocco to experience. I take the train north to Casablanca, then on to Rabat and finally all the way up to the Mediterranean Sea and the Port of Tangier. Change to a southbound bus going down the Atlantic Coast to Asilah. This is a well-preserved, pretty, whitewashed and pastel blue beach town. A long way from Marrakesh. Delightful in a completely different way. Still Morocco, but another variety. I find a 5 Star hotel room with a balcony overlooking the ocean, employees in tuxes, fresh flowers en suite and a huge marble shower for $25, the most I paid anywhere. Empty in this off-season as was most of Asilah. One of the few places still serving food was a gas station with a couple of tables outside. I ordered the ubiquitous kefta tagine - spiced lamb meatballs in a rich red gravy with a poached egg on top. Best ever.

Next day I wanted to go further down the coast to the fishing port at Larache. Wanted to see working Morocco and get a fresh fish lunch. Got both. Larache has a central square that day occupied by a giant Santa Claus. Morocco is a long way from Arabia. Just before Larache was a place called Lixus. Now a ruin, it was first a Carthaginian and then a Roman town- a fishing port just as Larache is now. I wandered through the factory of stone tubs that were used for the processing of garum, a fermented fish sauce used as a condiment. It was the remains of a two-thousand-year-old town out in a field overlooking the sea. No gate, no sign. Just me.

Time to head home. The return flight was from Rabat. I had been admiring the djellabas - the outer garment worn by most men and women. The men ones were predictably somber browns and grays but the women’s - wow. All kinds of fabrics and colors. I was now on a mission to find six djellabas - each one chosen for each sister and each daughter and the finest for the Wife. There are dozens of djellaba stores in the women’s souk. I got busy - some were easy, some elusive. I searched late into the evening and reeled out of the souk happily exhausted holding a bundle of splendid garments.

And a food note: Rabat has a fishing port and I was wandering around at lunch time when I saw men in work clothes lining up at a smoky stand. So I got in line which turned out to be for freshly caught sardines gutted and thrown on a grill over an open fire to blacken briefly and then folded into a harissa-smeared flatbread. One of the best sandwiches I have ever eaten.

So Rabat was more fun than it looked that first night. Great shopping, memorable food. One night I’m looking for a restaurant I’ve read about and can’t find. I go into a shop and, as French is the second language of Morocco, I ask the shopkeeper, “Pardonnez moi Monsieur, Ou est Le Restaurant X?” He replies, in English, “Were you speaking French?” We both crack up.

I’m back in the feeling of it - Morocco is the perfect destination! Really exotic, mind blowing - but safe and approachable. And very inexpensive. I am in a radically different environment than Asia or Europe, let alone home, and I get to be in it without sacrifice. The food is terrific, the people are neutral-to-nice, the places are splendid!