Wow. I spent last weekend (the last in Feb) in Morocco, and I can honestly say it was one of the most beautiful and just all-around awesome weekends of my life. It was filled with warm and interesting and multilingual people, delicious food, beautiful things and weather....BUT let me backtrack and tell you the story :)
Before I left, the father of the girls I teach, who works in the hotel/tourism business, gave me a list of the best things to do in Marrakech, as well as a "Maruecos" (Morocco in Spanish) guidebook he had, then told me should anything happen, he knows people in Marrakesh and would do anything he could--both helpful and so nice of him. We headed to the airport on Thursday afternoon to sit and wait hours for our EasyJet flight, because our plane was coming in from Paris, where the airport strike had just begun. There were 9 of us total (4 guys and 5 girls), 4 from my program and 5 from Wash U's business school program in Madrid with us. The wait really didn't matter, because we were all together and so excited for the weekend. Our flight was into Casablanca (cheaper flight), although we had planned to spend all 3 nights in Marrakech, about 4 hours away.
Although we only flew for an hour and a half, landing in Casablanca was actually like stepping into another world. This was my first experience being in a place where I really didn't have any grasp on the spoken languages (French and Arabic), and also my first time in an Arab country. We got off the plane and headed to the train ticket booth, where we bought 2 tickets: one from the airport into Casablanca's main train station, and the train that would take us from there to Marrakech.
The 4 hour train from Casablanca to Marrakech was one of my favorite parts of the whole weekend. The train was divided up into small cars of about 8 people, and it was very crowded, so we split up. I was the first to go into a car, and sat down by the window as I felt 7 pairs of eyes turn to look at me. The ride started with looks and smiles, but little by little, as the ride went on, people began talking and offering their snacks to everyone else in the car. By the end of the ride the entire car was chatting, eating and telling us about themselves and their country. One of the women, Khadija, even offered to have us over for traditional weekly Friday-night couscous at her home (we ended up not being able to reach her later, but still), and I exchanged emails with Miloud (I have already gotten an email from him saying that he hopes we had a great trip and he will welcome us back to his country anytime). The entire ride was a blend of languages: Spanish, French, English, a Berber dialect, Arabic and even Hebrew. I found out I can understand French pretty well, and I would respond in Spanish or English, with a nice blend of homemade French and/or sign language included. (although we were talking about it on the train, between the group we travelled with, we speak English, Spanish, French--thank goodness, Hebrew, Chinese, and Italian. Not bad for a group of Americans!) I can still picture that train car perfectly--where everyone was sitting, even what they were wearing--I think my new favorite thing is traveling by train in a new place, as it allows you to feel more a part of the physical space by seeing more of the place while meeting people who have all come together for a few hours on this moving machine.
One of the more interesting parts of that train ride was our discussion about where we were all from. There is diversity within the Moroccans too, as many of them have at least part Berber origins which each also have their own language. When it got to my turn, Miloud looked me right in the eyes and told me, "Sarah is definitely Moroccan". He said that it was something in my character and looks, and he could just tell that I am from there, even if it is from a long time ago. I went next door to say hi to our other friends and met a journalist who told me the same thing. This happened to me about 5 other times that weekend. Then, when I would tell them my name, they would use it as information proving their point ("Of course! Sarah is Moroccan name!"), while I thought to myself that all three main monotheistic religions have the name, but it's all good! I could have recently spent a weekend in my ancient homeland. Who knows?
One of the more interesting parts of that train ride was our discussion about where we were all from. There is diversity within the Moroccans too, as many of them have at least part Berber origins which each also have their own language. When it got to my turn, Miloud looked me right in the eyes and told me, "Sarah is definitely Moroccan". He said that it was something in my character and looks, and he could just tell that I am from there, even if it is from a long time ago. I went next door to say hi to our other friends and met a journalist who told me the same thing. This happened to me about 5 other times that weekend. Then, when I would tell them my name, they would use it as information proving their point ("Of course! Sarah is Moroccan name!"), while I thought to myself that all three main monotheistic religions have the name, but it's all good! I could have recently spent a weekend in my ancient homeland. Who knows?
I think the pictures express it best for this experience. Here's just a few of them, a mixture of mine and my friends'.
After a LONG day, we finally made it to Marrakech! The hostel room inside the Medina (old part of the city) and right off the main plaza that Alex, Mikhail, Eliana and I shared. Friday night we all went up to the terrace on top of the building and just lay there talking and enjoying the beautiful weather.
Our first dinner at the HUGE open-air market in the main plaza, Djemma el Fna. During the day, it is filled with people selling things, fresh-squeezed orange juice, tourist traps, people with monkeys and snakes, women trying to get you to let them give you Henna, and more. At night, it becomes rows and rows of these outdoor "restaurants", that all serve mainly the same things: couscous, tajine, harira (vegetable/noodle soup), and many kinds of meat. Azeez, the 18-year-old whose family ran our hostel (and he ended up becoming our guide/hilarious friend) took us to this one, just called "1" cause it's the first in the rows, owned by someone in his family. The food itself was so pretty, not to mention delicious.
I really wanted to know how they make everything and just hear about how it's all done so after we got our food, I went to talk to the guys working that night--Sharaf and Rasheed. They were so friendly and told me how they make the couscous, and how they have to take down the whole restaurant every night and store everything in a giant garage off the market. I also learned that they have both been working there for over ten years. We talked about all of this in Spanish, which they picked up from Spanish tourists at the market over the years. Walking by the following nights, they always addressed me by name and came up to talk to me, which was so fun and made that huge market seem a little smaller.
We spent a good part of Friday afternoon walking around the market and doing a whole lot of bargaining. I actually ended up not buying many things, and more just looking at the colors and smelling spices, looking at hats, turtles, shoes (and really anything you can imagine) that were around the markets--as well as trying to avoid getting hit by the horse-drawn carts, mopeds, bikes, and other vehicles that zoom through the super narrow streets.
Spices, mmmm! I love the smell of a new place. It amazes me how after just a few hours, your nose accustoms itself to the smell...we are so adaptable in so many ways. I got a tiny bit of the spice used on couscous and tajine, and I'm excited to use it when I get back.
Mikhail and Melanie getting some of the amazing fresh-squeezed orange juice..there's about 20 of the EXACT same-looking stands all hollerin to get you to come get some every time you walk by.
We walked around the Mellah, which was the old Jewish neighborhood. We met a man working in a store in this old area who told us that Marrakech had a huge Jewish community, and today still has about 250 Jews. This is the old synagogue, and there is one other one that is still used today.
An hour long ride around and outside the Medina in a horse-drawn cart. Also an example of someone who spoke to me and explained things in French, which I understood but responded to with some highly advanced nods and gestures.
On Saturday evening, we went to a Hammam (traditional Moroccan baths) which our friend Azeez who worked at the hostel told us about. We split up into guys/girls, and when we went in we ended up being the only non-local women. (That was an amazing/surreal experience in itself, please ask me if you want the full story on that!) When we got back from that and dinner, we spent hours in our room talking and hanging out with Azeez and another guy who worked in our hostel, before getting up at 6 for the trek back to Casablanca and then Madrid.
It's hard to recount every moment, but I think it's clear that a lot happened in a small amount of time! I would love to go back someday to see more of that country, and meet more of its incredible people. Oh, also, a common joke there is for men to ask the men girls are with "how many camels for these beautiful girls?". Alex and Mikhail got offered 4,000 camels for both me and Eliana. They thought about it, but said no. Now we know they're keepers.
Oh, my Moroccan child, you knew you'd get to me with that French! Je t'aime! C'est magnifique!
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