Chillin' out in Essaouira

As it turned out our journey southwards down the coast to Essaouira was fraught with difficulties. Having missed the bus in Casablanca, we ended up getting one to Safi, an industrial town 2 hours north of our goal. The plan being to spend the night there and get a bus the rest of the way the following morning.

However, after a night in a room without air-conditioning, with mosquitos and a husband being violently sick, we had to move on to plan C. Having changed our tickets, this time for the evening bus, and visited the pharmacy, the aim was to get the man well enough to travel. The guide-book says there isn't much to see in Safi and what there was I certainly never saw! An attempt to walk alone down to the harbour area to kill some time while Kevin rested, had to be abandoned after a creepy guy on a moped started dogging my footsteps - despite the fact I was dressed in trousers and had on a cardigan! So we whiled away the hours in a darkened sitting room, and with a couple of short excursions to a local cafe with air-conditioning to give the local men something to talk about.

With a combination of medication and acupuncture, Kevin managed the journey to Essaouira, but spent the next day in bed, and though recovering slowly is still a very cheap dinner-date!

Essaouira is a small town on the Atlantic coast with a very laid-back atmosphere. The windy city has a pleasant climate, relatively cool in the summer due to the trade winds making it a popular place for surfers among others. Historically, it was an important trading post used by Europeans and Arabs alike - a link between Europe and Timbuktu. A French architect, Theodore Cornut, was employed by the reigning sultan to design a city there in the eighteenth century, which is why the town resembles St. Malo (which he also designed). Essaouira's more recent claims to fame are as a place where hippies such as Jimi Hendrix liked to hang, and you still get offered "space cookies" on the beach! Orson Welles filmed Othello here, and the town also provided the inspiration for Thorbjørn Egner's Kardemommeby.

We've been staying in the lovely Ryad Wathier, owned by Frenchman Jean Gabriel. A beautiful airy four-storey house, where breakfast is served on the roof terrace from which you can glimpse the sea. We were intrigued to recognize Aboriginal paintings among the works of art in our room and elsewhere around the house. The man is a real collector and has among other things sailed all over the world and spent time in Australia. A genuinely nice and interesting guy who made us feel very welcome and even invited me to eat with the family while Kevin was ill.

Essaouira's famed winds have not been so apparent during our stay, which made the beach a very pleasant place to relax and while away the hours. It's fascinating just watching everything that's going on; Moroccan families and tourists enjoying the sun, sand and ocean, hawkers of sunglasses and watches (RayBan and Rolex, no less!) and the inevitable cookie sellers.

Yesterday I treated myself to a visit to a Hammam (bath-house or spa) - an otherworldly experience! You go down some steps, strip off and enter a dimly-lit, warm steamy cellar with a few mats on the floor. At one end are troughs where the ladies fill buckets of water (hot and cold). First I was swilled down, then black olive soap was applied. Once that had soaked in well, I was scrubbed from head to toe and then caked in a body mask. While I lay there letting it do its work, they went to work on another couple of women. Afterwards I was swilled down again, my hair washed and then was massaged all over with argan oil. The whole process took an hour and a half. Though at times pure torture (particularly when my sunburn was scrubbed), it left me with skin that feels 20 years younger!

Well, that was the last stop on the road. Now it's back to Marrakech and a sweltering 47 degrees (according to the thermometer!), and then home again to fifteen degrees and rain! Ah well, always good to get home again.....until the next trip

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From a woman's point of view

Some observations on life as a woman in Morocco; just my impressions as a foreign woman formed over the last couple of weeks as we have travelled around the country, not a generalization about the role of women in Islamic society as a whole.
Pretty much all the Moroccans we have had dealings with during our time here, have been friendly, courteous and eager to make contact and help us in a way they can...though sometimes with varying results. They also seem to be a relaxed and modest kind of people. But the vast majority of the people you meet as tourist are men. One can't help feeling that one has entered a man's world coming to Morocco.

It's not that you don't see any women here, its just that they play such a small part in the public arena. The ordinary cafes are only full of men with the very odd exception, the hotel accomodation is pretty much run by men, most of the salespeople in shops and stall-holders are men. I was even shown into the changing-room in Zara in Marrakech by a very helpful man! And Moroccan women definitely don't go walking in the mountains, so the only women we saw there were other foreigners. It appears that to a large extent the woman's place is still very much in the home.

Modesty is the key word when it comes to dress code. Many Moroccans (both men and women) wear some form of the jellaba, an ankle length robe with a pointy hood. They come in all colours of the rainbow, from very simple plain white cotton or black to brightly coloured patterned jellabas in slinky silk materials. A large majority of women also wear some form of hijab, head covering, often in exotic colours or sparkly material to match their slippers/shoes. Only a tiny minority actually cover their faces. Some young women wear western style dress, and may for example wear a fashionable strappy top or tunic over a long-sleeved top. A few even wear short-sleeved tops, but I can count on one hand the number of women I've seen showing bare legs, even just a little bit of flesh. They keep their bodies covered even on the beach. In Casablanca we saw young women sitting or paddling in the sea fully clothed while their male friends and relations swam and frolic in the waves.

The thing is that the vast majority don't look unhappy with their lot, and though things are changing, particularly for women in wealthier families it will take time before rural areas catch up. It was quite normal for girls in rural areas such as the Atlas mountains to only complete primary education until relatively recently, but up and coming generations won't accept that.

As a westernized woman you inevitably attract attention, particularly if you get a bit off the beaten tourist track. You can't help but feel uncomfortable being the only woman in a cafe or having looks directed at your bare calves (despite wearing more clothes than normal in hot weather). It means that you end up going into places where there are other tourists. Walking around on your own in places where there aren't other tourists can also excite unpleasant attention as I discovered, rather a limiting factor. However, it makes one very aware of the freedoms one otherwise takes very for granted.

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Casablanca - not for the inexperienced!

Casablanca was colonized and named Casa Branca by the Portuguese in the 16th century in an attempt to keep the local pirates under control. Five centuries later this city has grown into Morocco's largest and most international city with a population of anything between 3 and 6 million or more, depending on who you listen to. Despite its claim as Morocco's financial and cultural centre, it still seems to have rather a rough edge to it.

The centre of the city still shows signs of Spanish and French influence and occupation - it was a French protectorate during the first half of the last century. Though there is the odd interesting building here and there, the overall impression as a tourist is of a city that looks dirty and run down.

This general air of faded glory wasn't helped by the fact that many of the streets were in the process of being dug up and repaired/relaid, which made walking or taking one of Casa's many "petit" taxis anywhere a bit of a nightmare. Neither was it helped by finding a cockroach in our room at a hotel that was described as "art deco meets 70s retro"! OK, so we maybe should have expected the cockroach, the manager certainly wasn't surprised when I presented him with it!

I also managed to bungle our escape route... didn't check the time on our tickets southwards, so we ended up missing the bus. However, plan B is now in operation.

Enough negativity! Casablanca does have a lot going for it, and a very definite western feel compared to Marrakech. This is particularly obvious in the financial/business quarter where all the designer shops are. Many of the young Moroccan women were wearing western style clothes, and there are quite obviously people with money around. And though one reads of Casablanca's shanty-towns, there are few beggars on the streets....no more than you might meet on a good day in Oslo!

Highlights of Casa have to include the fabulous Hassan II mosque, third biggest in the world and one of only two in Morocco that non-Muslims are allowed to go inside. It is an enormous building with a 200m tower, built right on the sea between 1987-93. It combines modern building methods with traditional forms of artistic decoration, and includes among other things a sliding mechanism that opens the roof! It can hold 25,000 worshippers inside and 80,000 outside.

It really is spectacular, particularly when compared with the Cathedrale du Sacre Coeur built by the French in the 1930s, and now an ugly disused hulk. We were offered a chance to go up the cathedral tower, but turned back as the heaps of bird-droppings increased and the steps became more rickety!

The Quartier Habous is a prettied-up, modern version of a medieval medina or walled town with little shops, workshops and markets. It has a more relaxed feeling than the traditional ones, and there is less pressure to buy. Kevin managed to barter a good price on a nice pair of Moroccan slippers.

Another highlight was an evening spent at Rick's Cafe reliving the film "Casablanca". The bar, restaurant and lounge area look a bit more upmarket than on the film set, but the atmosphere was all there, and they do a cracking G&T. After drinks at the bar and a good meal, we went upstairs to watch the film that runs continually....a real classic! Dad, you would have loved this place - Here's looking at you kid!

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A thousand and one nights

We've spent the last couple of days on the outskirts of Marrakech relaxing after our exertions at a hotel, the like of which we have never before experienced. You drive out of Marrakech to an area known as the Palmeraie, mostly desert scrubland planted with palmtrees and now an area with smart villas hidden behind high walls.

Les Deux Tours was built in the early nineties by Tunisian architect Charles Boccara in the style of a traditional Moroccan villa. The buildings with several rooms or suites all have their own little courtyards with a plunge-pool, and are arranged around the most beautiful gardens.


All kinds of trees and shrubs grow there; citrus fruit, fig and olive trees, date palms, rubber plants, bamboo, enormous flowering oleander, Hawaiian rose bushes and bougainvillea to name but a few. Here and there are elegant ponds planted with umbrella plants, bullrushes and waterlilies beside which you can while away the time watching the fish, small turtles and listening to the frogs. Wandering through the gardens you may happen on a canopied bed or hammock where you can rest in the shade, or small tables and chairs where you can picnic in the kitchen garden.
Our room is large and elegant, with tiled floor, high ceilings, tall shuttered windows, and on arrival there were petals decorating the bedspread. There are all kinds of small nooks and crannies in the main buildings to sit and read in or maybe play a game of chess, in addition to a bar and restaurant with terraces overlooking the gardens.
The gardens and terraces are alive with the sound of bird-song during the day, and if you leave your food unattended, it may disappear off your plate! At night they become a magical place, lit by hundreds of lanterns and brought alive by the sounds of croaking frogs and sawing cicadas.

We while away our time by the pool, reading, a trip into the heat of Marrakech, good food and wine and perhaps even a visit to the spa. The place has a huge staff all eager to make your stay as pleasant as possible, and a charming Sudanese musician who plays and sings each night in the bar...check out this video!

However, this sheltered existence and taste of luxury that we share with other foreigners and a few wealthy Moroccans actually leaves us feeling rather uncomfortable. This is compounded by the way the smarmy blonde colonial-type manager is all over some of the guests ($$). Having seen the conditions in which many people live and work here and the shacks just outside the walls of this beautiful palace, the contrast is a bit hard to swallow. We couldn't help but remember, with a certain amount of guilt, what our mountain guide Abdellah said: it is better to have wealth in your heart and mind than riches in this world! Ah well, it was only for a couple of days :)

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Toubkal

So the big day dawns for the ascent of Toubkal and we have to be up at 05.30. That isn't a problem as it happens, as sleeping in a dorm is no guarantee for a good night's sleep! Quite the opposite in fact; what with the lack of air, mobiles going off (alarms set wrongly!) and the noises, we don't get much sleep.

Hassan has breakfast ready for us and we are on our way by 06.30. The air is cool, but it is set to be a beautiful morning. There are other groups who are also starting early, and there is a general air of excitement and anticipation. The first challenge is crossing a fast flowing stream on a plank, then we start picking our way up the scree slope.



After a climb of about 500m we come to the first of the snow-fields. The snow is hard and icy and it is difficult getting enough grip while steadily climbing upwards. We are really grateful for the loan of Eva's poles that give us a little extra grip. There are 3 large snow-fields to cross at the moment.




Then we turn left and up another scree slope til it flattens out a bit and we eventually make it to the top 4167m!! A fantastic feeling of euphoria as we stand there looking at the views over the mountains, and not a little sense of achievement. Not least for Kevin who struggled with altitude sickness and vertigo most of the time we were in the Atlas mountains. We make it also thanks to our guide Abdellah who gives us constant support and encouragement.

Now we only have to get back down again! That actually goes better than expected though involves quite a bit of sliding on both scree and snow, which has now turned to slush.

Back at the refuge Hassan is waiting with a good lunch, and then we start the trek back to Imlil.

Our trip in the Atlas mountains (including our excellent guides) was arranged through Zbartravel: http://www.zbartravel.com

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Travels with a mule

The adventure starts when we arrive in Imlil, a small village in the High Atlas mountains (1700m). The temperature is in the mid 20s and a wonderful relief from the blazing heat of Marrakech, where it was over 40 degrees. Our guide Abdellah and our muleteer Hassan load up the mule with provisions and our bags, and we set off for our first overnight stop in a "gite" in the village of Aremd, a couple of hundred meters higher up. The stone cabins are basic but comfortable and we prepare for the trip.

Hassan comes from this area and he and his fully-loaded mule spring up and down the narrowest of tracks at a rate we haven't a hope of matching. When we make it to each stop on our trek, he's already preparing yet another excellent meal for us using often the most basic equipment. He is reserved at first, but always has a welcoming smile on his weather-beaten face and gradually responds to our rather pathetic attempts at Arabic. Both he and Abdellah are Berbers, or Amazigh (free people) as they call themselves, berber coming from the Roman term barbarian.

Abdellah is a young man from the desert, proficient in many languages, friendly, strong in faith and ready to share his views on Moroccan society, the landscape we are wandering through and the world in general. He guides us along the rugged and often difficult mountain paths giving words of advice and encouragement when needed, and laughing, singing and praising Allah for the wonderful day we are having.

Our first day's trek (6 hours walking) takes us gradually up to 3000m along increasingly stony and steep paths via a beautiful waterfall to a little mountain refuge. The Tazarhart refuge or mountain cabin is owned by Club Alpin Francais, but run by local people. Perched high up on a ledge overlooking a waterfall it is a spectacular place. Though very basic, we are comfortable enough with good food to eat and matresses in the loft. The only downside being lack of any real washing facilities to clean off the day's sweat.

The next day was the easiest of the trek with just four hours of walking. We make our way over a pass to the large Toubkal refuge in the valley at the foot of the highest mountain in N. Africa. However, it wasn't a completely pain-free day as we had to zig-zag our way up a gully on a path with 99 bends, yes I counted them!

The amazing thing is the variety of wild flowers in what at first sight looks like a barren landscape - bright flashes of colour that suddenly catch your eye.

The refuge has beds for 200 people in dorms and there was a real mixture of nationalities exchanging experiences. Most groups had their own guide and/or cook with them, though there were a few people doing it on their own. The best thing about it was the hot shower! Having cleaned off the sweat, we rested to acclimatize ourselves to the height and prepare for the big day...the ascent of Toubkal.

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Contrasting sides of Marrakech

Djemaa el-Fna, the "big square" in Marrakech comes alive at sundown. Hundreds of small restaurants and stalls selling fresh orange juice are set up in the square, grills are lit and the smell of barbequing meat pervades the area. The show begins then....snake charmers, storytellers, belly dancers, musicians and people selling all manner of weird and wonderful things. The best place to watch this fascinating spectacle is from the balcony of the Cafe Glacier.

This morning we packed our bags ready for our trip to the High Atlas, and spent the rest of the morning in the Jardin Majorelle, the gardens Yves St. Laurent bought and donated to Marrakech. His ashes are sprinkled there among the bamboos, cactuses, palms and bouganvilla. A beautiful zen-like place, but the souvenirs though very stylish cost a packet!

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