…And Another Border Crossing (Morocco)
I had Crosby, Stills, and Nash´s Merrakech Express in my head the entire flight to Morocco, that is, when I wasn´t sleeping. The landscape was so clear, as there weren´t any clouds in the sky-I could see desert, more desert, squared off sections of land, and cities every once in a while. At last mountains loomed into view and we circled for twenty minutes before even thinking about landing. We flew over field upon field of olives and I hoped this would be a precursor of what´s to come as I love olives.
We finally landed, walked across airfield into a building that had a line snaking out of it for thermo testing-no swine flu for me! Filled out the customs sheet, stood in line. We were welcomed to Morocco by all the crying babies, toddlers, and kids too old to be jumping up and down, throwing tantrums, slapping their mothers, and feigning tears on their already tear stained faces. It was mostly girls, dressed in cute little dresses, that showed their knees everytime they pushed back their tangled hair. At what age does a girl start covering up? Got to the man at the border control desk, and he took us to the health services desk, where there was no one to wait on us. I was growing impatient, wondering why we counldn´t continue into Morocco. Finally a man came out, disappointed we didn´t speak French (we would continue to get this throughout our 10 days in Morocco), and motioned for us to fill out another customs card. Once we finished, he looked them over to make sure the two were identical, took one, stamped the back of the other, and sent us back on our way through customs. We got our passports stamped, found our bags, and headed into the Moroccan part of the airport.
For some reason I wasn´t nervous entering Morocco, despite the fact that I encountered another border crossing, and it was a Muslim country (Im a very independant woman). It could have to do with the fact I was with my friend, Ryan, whom I hoped would be my shield and protect me from the harassment I experienced in Istanbul. It could also have to do with the fact that I feel I´m a bit more traveled and can handle whatever life throws at me (I´ve learnd that I can only take so much).
I did my normal thing in any aiport in a new country, and hit up the ATM. After countless tries, I gave up. My card was `unidentifyable´. Damn bank-I had had problems with them when I was in London and when I called them they said it was because I was in another country. I´ve been outside the US since December and I´ve had no problems until now, until WaMu switched over to Chase…I told them I was coming here, so what´s the problem? I always keep a few hundred USD with me while traveling, for an emergency, and this was.
As we were walking out of the airport, a taxi driver approached us. He offered us a ride to the center for 100 Durham (10 Durham is about equal to 1 Euro, or 7 USD), I said 50, he shook his head, so we walked on. I love haggling! We saw the bus for 20 Durham was waiting, but I decided to try the other drivers, who were lined up waiting for tourists to overcharge. They told us 150, we laughed and told them their buddy was offering 100 inside, one dropped to 80, I said 50, he 70, I 50. He said 60, I took a step forward, pretending to bite, said 50, and turned on my heel and headed for the bus. Ryan followed, but the man came and said, OK 50, but he wanted to put our bags in the trunk and to share the taxi with another guy. Ryan didn´t like the dodginess of that, so we happily saved money and took the bus.
We walked through the main square, Djmaa el Fna, ignoring every person who tried to talk to us, smelled horse shit, saw a donkey carrying a cart that had car tires on it, lots of bicycles, lots of vespas, lots of tourists. Saw women in tank tops and short skirts; it always makes me mad, these people who don´t follow customs and don´t seem to be fazed by the fact they´re in a Muslim country, especially after I was in Istanbul and dressed very conservatively and still got harassed. What is my body language giving off?
We turned after Cafe France, as the directions said. We were supposed to turn down the third street, but I wasn´t sure if all the alleyways we were passing were just that or streets, as there were signs posted in Arabic on them. Ryan said he hadn´t seen any streets, I told him I had seen streets, and some pig brains he might want to eat later, both of which he hadn´t seen. I told him to ask a guy, but all we got was `Parlez vous Francois?´ (sp?) No, no French. He looked at us, a bit desperately, Espanol? Yes, yes! He told us the directions in a mixture of Spanish and French, as he didn´t know the spanish word for street. We found our street, and our next direction was to turn after the Mosque, and I had to point out the large-boxish minarette that was obvious to me from the electronic megaphones sitting in each of the windows.
A man tried telling us the street we were going down was dead, too quiet, but lead us to our hotel, making us promise we´d see his brothers leather shop tomorrow. Yeah, OK buddy. We sat down with three Moroccans, a woman, man, and a guy around our age, Kemal, who did all the talking, although the others understood English, at least when we asked their names.
We had to fill out info cards, of course Ryan first (no ladies first here!), and most of the questions asked were directed at him: if this your first time in Morocco, first time in Africa, what do you plan on doing here, how long are you in Morocco… The woman brought us tea, which we drank out of clear glasses about twice the size of shot glasses. It smelled like Halls Menthol cough drops, and tasted of it too, until you could taste the sweetness of the sugar, which came as an aftertaste. I felt as if I could chew the sugar there was so much, but it was still good, and hot, refreshing, even though it was already extremely hot at 10 am.
After sitting, feeling like we were at an interview, we were showed to our room. The bathroom had a blanket seperating it and the bed. There was just enough room for our backpacks between the wall and the bed. Turned on the fan, took off most of my clothes, and slept in my tank top and underwear until 4.
Tags: Africa
lauracat
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