31 December 2008

New Year's Eve in Fes

Breaking with our usual rule, we accepted the offer of a guide today to see Fes, reputed to have the oldest original Arab Medina. We generally shy clear of guides for two reasons: one, we like to have our own adventures and move at our own pace and two, we don't like to be conned! On both accounts we lost out to some extent today, but on the other hand, we did see parts of the city we would never have found and the guide was a pleasant young guy who arrived with his Canadian girlfriend in tow. An extra advantage was that he had a car, so taxis were not going to cost us either.

Fes, on what was a dismal rainy day, our first in a long time, was not as attractive a city as Marrekech. But what it lacked in beauty, it more than made up for in intrigue, adventure and exposure to the raw life of big city Morocco. Our guide was true to his word in not pressuring sales in the places we 'happened across' on our ramble through the back streets of the incredible maze that is old Fes. There is no way we could have found our way around by ourselves.
Somehow we have become hardened to third world living conditions. People survive here amongst rotting garbage, piles of building rubble and suspect sanitation in the middle of a crowded city of more than 2 million people. Some areas we went to in the old city today had no running water. Taps on the streets provided water that kids toted back to their houses along muddy streets. Somehow they all seem to stay clean and happy and that's probably why we didn't 'freak' at meeting donkeys and horses on lane ways so narrow that we had to press ourselves against the wall to avoid being squashed by skins on their way to the tannery, and lord knows what else, strapped to the backs of these sad-looking animals.

This is life for hundreds of millions of people in the developing world. It's rough, but it's not hopeless, at least here in Morocco. As in Vietnam and Cambodia, every street level opening, no matter how small, has some small enterprise. Furniture making, pottery, the making of new cd players out of the bits of old ones – these are all part of the thousand ways of working to survive.

Our visits to carpet makers, ceramic works, tanneries and jewellery shops today were all part of the routine employed to extract the tourist dollar gently and courteously. Despite our resolve not to buy anything, we, of course, did - not a lot, but probably just enough for our guide to get his kickback.

Having contributed, last year, in much the same way, to the economy of Vietnam, today we did the same in Fes. And it was most enjoyable and just one little contribution to hurry along the development of wonderful people in this fantastic country.


30 December

What a road can mean

All we did today was drive – firstly from Marrakech back to the coast at Casablanca, on to Rabat and then east again to Fes.

All but a dozen klms of this almost 600 klm trip was on motorway quality roads, equal to, or even better than, those in Europe, and way better than anything in Australia. But where did these super highways come from, in the midst of this beautiful, but still-developing country, where fields that line the highways are still tilled by horse or donkey-pulled ploughs (some made of wood) and donkey carts are the main form of transport in rural areas? Towns and cities are close to western standards in their core, but roam to the fringes and the shanty towns are pitiful.

The highway seems to be almost a protected tunnel for the developed world to access the wonders and, probably, the resources of Morocco. As we flew along it today, every 3-4 klms there was an overpass that allowed villagers on either side of the highway to continue to travel to their local towns unimpeded. Here and there along the road, locals sit and watch the world they are not yet part of fly past at 120 klms per hour. The privileged, like us and wealthy city Moroccans, might just as well be behind glass.

Shepherds wander with their flocks on the verges of the road, where their charges can access the lush grasses shaded by road cuttings. Despite the obvious chasm that exists between these two worlds, the locals wave and smile as we cruise past.

At the moment they live in a world that most just want to drive through. But will the road make a difference?
European investors aren't stupid. They helped build these roads because they can see the potential of Morocco. Everywhere we have been, we have seen rich agricultural land a plenty; land that can grow food far more efficiently than further north in Europe The trucks that dominate European Motorways aren't here yet, but they are coming. Just up the new motorways and 40 minutes away by ferry is one of the wealthiest concentrations of people on the planet.
For the poor farm kids leaning over the rails on the overpasses with their donkey carts, waving and smiling, while peering into a world that is currently far beyond their reach, the future looks much better just because of these roads.
And hell they deserve a break!


29 December

Watch that African Sun

Our driver suggested an early start today, so we hit the road to the city again at 9:00 am. It was New Year's Day today on the Arabic calendar, so public offices were closed. But that was just about all that was! Traffic was a little lighter to and from the city, but there was still plenty going on in the Souks and squares of this exciting city.
We started the day being conned into a visit to a carpet warehouse by a guy who crossed the road with us after we got out of our mini-bus. These touts are good! He 'had' us until we arrived in the maze of alleys that led to his sponsor's shop. “No pressure to buy, this is just a visit... etc”. We have heard it all in many languages, but we still fall for the initial contact. What we have worked out is how to escape while not offending. So we bid our initial contact 'Happy New Year!' and then were left in the maze of alleyways that make up the old city of Marrakech. This is another part of the game – so we have heard – that, abandoned, the victim needs directions out, which are happily given – for a price! Not this time, Sunshine! We carry a small compass and with that and a bit of luck, we were back in familiar territory in a couple of minutes. No harm done and yet another experience to remember, embellish and bore family and friends with! And, oh! It was good – a very slick operation, but all completed with good humour – all part of the game.

Today we saw the remains of some of the dynasties that have ruled Morocco – the tombs of one dynasty that had been covered over by the next, a palace that had been systematically looted by that same, vengeful, dynasty and another palace, which showed what the first would have looked like; very ornate by modern standards, but you have to admire the skills of the workers who created such incredible buildings.

We also did the “tourist thing” - lunching on tajine and couscous, while overlooking the major square of old Marrakech, where snake charmers, acrobats, water-sellers, musicians, monkey touts, donkey-driven carts, story-tellers, etc all compete for attention – and money!

Wandering through the fascinating souks, with people latching on to you if you so much as pause, can be disturbing but, aware that this is the source of their livelihood, we have found that good humour works well.
Marrakech is not in the desert – to our surprise. But it can be hot. Even on this mid-winter's day, the fairer of our party managed a good dose of sunburn.

It is Africa after all.


28 December

On the Marrakech Express

Not really, but we saw the train to Marrakech and a mighty flash train it was too!

Where do you start to comment on a day like today? Let's start at the end just for fun.

The mini-bus loaded with ourselves, three Swiss adventurers, who were off to Mauritania overland and the Moroccan mini-bus driver, ripping through the dark centre and suburbs of Marrakech, down streets crowded with donkeys, hand-carts, buses, Mercedes, farm utes and thousands of people. We were on our way back to our very reasonable (very good by Moroccan standards) camping grounds on the outskirts of Marrakech. It was only 7:30pm but it had been a long day.

We had made record time on our drive from Casablanca south-east to the once Royal capital of Morocco. Record time was due to the fact that it was all excellent motorway with very light traffic. It is the wet season here and we are probably seeing the countryside at its greenest, and it sure is green, with dark brown stone villages and farm compounds settled in the rich valleys.

Casablanca was far too big for us to deal with in the van and we had read that the only reason people went there was because of the Bogart movie of the same name. So we drove around it and took a photo of the highway exit sign!
While on the subject of highways, it has to be said that, as embarrassing as it may be, there is no question that Morocco has a far better highway infrastructure than Australia. Major cities are linked by European standard Motorways and even the secondary roads are well up to the standards at home.

There is a certain 'unevenness' in the development of Morocco, and probably many other developing nations. Some people here, even many, are doing fairly well, thank you, but others, particularly the rural poor, are still miserably poor.
Former colonial masters, France, Spain and Italy are investing heavily in North African countries like Morocco. Question their motives if you will, but the end result is an increase in general living standards that will eventually flow through to some level, even to the very poor.

While we are in the subject of highways and infrastructure, we stopped at an Aire de Service (Motorway stop) for lunch today and heard Australian accents at the table behind us. Turned out to be Doug Murray (ex-ABC Rural Reporter) and now Channel 9 Extra presenter and his friends. We had a nice chat about our respective travels and were invited for drinks with Doug and company in their hotel in Marrekech - an invitation which we probably won't take up. No disrespect to Doug, but as we found out in the course of our chat, he and his friends had flown into Casablanca with pockets full of Australian dollars and were mortified that the Moroccan banks wouldn't exchange them. When we respectfully pointed out that they could have stuck their Visa cards in an ATM and taken local currency out, they replied that they didn't have debit cards. Faced with this level of naivety and eccentricity, we probably will just pass up the offer of drinks.

So. How did we end up with the Swiss adventurers in a Moroccan mini-bus?

Given the aforementioned excellent state of the highway network, we had arrived in Marrakech just after lunch. The only way into town was by mini-bus so we booked one. Just as we were about to leave, two 4x4s arrived in the dusty camping compound, complete with – you guessed it – three Swiss adventurers. After a short wait for them to park, we all piled into the bus headed for the Medina of Marrakech.

Just over three hours later, we were all together again. In the interim, we spent the time just wandering in the almost hot sun, through the maze of markets (souks) and the squares that are the life blood of this amazing city. In some ways, what we experienced is probably how life has gone on here for hundreds of years. Trade is now partly with tourists from all over Europe and the rest of the developed world. Two or three hundred years ago, these same streets were filled with camel trains from across northern Africa, coming to trade at this ancient cross-road.

All we did this afternoon was roam about and take in the atmosphere. Tomorrow, we'll see the sights. The Swiss boys will be off 'to the right 12 times' to find the desert - as per our mini-bus driver's instructions.


27 December

Back door beer

After our free night in Larache, we took off early for Rabat, the capital of Morocco, planning to camp in the twin city of Sale and catch one of the small local boats across the river to the Medina (old city) of Rabat. Aside from a little, Italian style, driving on the outskirts of Rabat, the trip was most pleasant. Great roads with light traffic and different and unexpected scenes at every turn. Intensive farming under square miles of plastic glasshouses dominated the scene for the first 100 klms. Strawberries, flowers, and vegetables, all out of season for Europe. Very profitable.
People seem to emerge from behind every tree and bush along the road side as we drive by. This is very open country, but you never seem to be out of sight of someone. Women and kids traipse along the edge of the motorway. Kids cross four lanes of motorway with their dogs. Hooded 'Obi Wans' glide from out of nowhere. And then there are the shepherds - sitting under trees or perched on rocks or fences, they gaze out over their scrawny, but obviously precious, flocks. What goes through their minds for all those hours?

Most villages and towns are relatively new and fairly clean, with power, water and, of course, satellite TV. There were exceptions in the poorer areas and on the outskirts of bigger cities like Sale and Rabat. Some of the slums were terrible, but there is much rebuilding going on and things in most areas are looking much better for the future.
There will be no prizes for guessing that our plans to camp just across the river from the Medina in Rabat would be foiled. This time, we actually found the campsite, or where it had been! Seems the camp is a casualty of the development boom in Morocco. It is being turned into a flash marina complex and so no longer exists! On the advice of a security guard on the 'ex-site', we took off for the southern outskirts of Rabat. No go there either, so on to our current spot in the unlikely-named resort town of Mohammedia, on the outskirts of Casablanca, one of the many clusters of condos that line the Mediterranean and now, North African coast. Moroccans can't afford these places. Foreigners are invading, here, mostly the French it seems.

The foreign invasion in this area did help us today though! A supermarket. With beer and wine! Oh, and yes, food as well. Terrified that the wrath of Allah might prevent us from buying alcohol, we had almost taken the pledge.
Others must be even more worried about the prophet or his ministers, as there was a discreet entrance from the back of the car-park of the supermarket - for those who wished to partake of the forbidden joys of the demon booze. We ran into some of these sinners during our walk along the rocky Atlantic coast behind our camping area later this afternoon, quietly consuming their purchases away from prying eyes. The good news is that these guys obviously aren't fundamentalists and there seem to be a lot of them!

Another change for us, wrought by Africa. We now flush our van toilet with mineral water. How classy is that? Due to the doubtful nature of Moroccan water, we decided to top up our drinking water tank with store-bought water. The batch we put in tonight was mineral water. The only outlet of this water we can't control is the toilet. It must flush from this tank. So, mineral water flushes!


26 December

Into Africa

From the Mosques of Larache the call to prayer echoes through the streets. For us, it coincides with beer o'clock, so we will look forward to evening prayers.

Our travels over the years have taken us to Europe, Asia, North America and, of course, Australia. Africa is a new adventure for us. Of the inhabited continents, just South America left?

Arriving at the Spanish enclave of Ceuta was really no different to any other of the many ferry ports we have graced with our presence in the fast few months. It wasn't until we got to the Moroccan frontier that we knew we were in Africa, rather than Europe.

Chaos! No signs, no system to anything, nobody really knowing what to do, not even the locals. We were lucky. Having been amongst the first few vehicles off the ferry, we were at the front of the queue at the border. Guide books warn against touts who offer to “help” with the formalities and we are always cautious of anybody wanting to 'assist'. This time we probably did ok out of the deal. Two older locals attached themselves to our van and provided all the forms and even helped fill them in. Yes, they expected a tip. But, for 2 euros, who cares? They were pleasant, welcoming and got us through the maze with fewer problems than we would have had on our own. After a very cursory customs inspection, (drat we could have loaded up with cheap beer!) we were on our way.

Now, everybody's expectations of a place are different. Our expectations of Africa, particularly North Africa, are of rocky dusty plains with palm tree oases dotting the horizon. Rommel and the Africa Corps probably have a lot to do with this image? What a shock! Not a rock in sight. Instead, we saw rolling green hills, with intensive farms and sheep grazing in the valleys and towns and villages not dissimilar to those on the other side of the Straits in Europe. A new freeway greeted us for the first part of the trip, then roads that were mostly well surfaced, if a little narrow. Traffic was so light that it was far easier than driving in Italy.

Not to break with a tradition of always getting lost, we drove right into the middle of the fairly large town of Larache in search of the free camping spot that we had found on the internet. Again, we have been in far worse central town and city streets but, with no idea where we were, we were just driving aimlessly. Then we met a French lady in a camper who was looking for the same van park. She consulted a couple of locals and, eventually, we followed her to our home for the night.

With the van parked and secure, we took off on foot in the mid afternoon sun to experience Morocco.
Interesting!

Goats and sheep in the streets of a large town no longer phase us, nor do donkey carts and unmade side-streets. What was different amongst all this was the housing. Blocks of brand new apartments lined the streets where goats and donkeys roamed and kids played soccer on an impromptu hard dirt pitch in the midst of a building site. The obligatory satellite dishes scanned the heavens and people, well dressed in a mix of traditional and western dress, strolled in the dusty and rubble-littered streets.

Some of the traditional dress is extremely interesting. Remember Obi Wan Kenobi from Star Wars? He was one of the touts who met us at the border! Then they were everywhere. Some in 'traditional' Obi Wan' brown and others in many other colours - purple, red and white being the most favoured. The women's outfits are equally interesting. Younger women wear a scarf but not the full face cover. Along with this, they are likely to sport a pair of tight designer jeans and a form-fitting shirt. And probably heels! Nasty on the dusty paths? What would the prophet think?

At last, our years of studying French has come in handy. It seems most Moroccans understand French to some degree, even our version! This was no help, though, in finding even a small 'supermarket'. Looks like we will have to learn to shop like the locals, in the open markets, unless we want to live on canned tuna for the next week or two!


25 December

Almost Morocco

Tickets in pocket, we are waiting in a dodgy truck stop in the Spanish port of Algeciras to catch the ferry to Ceuta, a small Spanish enclave of 20 sq klm, in Morocco, tomorrow morning.

Spain has been great. Although we have been here before, there were still a lot of new places for us to see, hassle-free (almost) roads and good drivers. The weather has been fantastic for this time of the year, with mild, sunny days, followed by “crisp” nights and mornings.

We have covered some klms in the past few days, but they have all been interesting drives. The mountains of the Sierra del Baza and Sierra Nevada were spectacular, with snow-capped mountains, semi-desert colours and interesting villages, some built into the cliffs.

From Malaga, on the coast south of Granada, down through the Costa del Sol, it is just wall to wall condos for hundreds of klms. Who lives in all these places? We never see anybody. The resorts are spectacular in a way, but a travesty in another. This coastline was once beautiful!

Today, we by-passed the British enclave of Gibraltar. Why the hell can't they decide who owns what bit of what country? Never mind, we got to hear some news in English. It's always a bit of a shock when we happen on English-speak radio, but nice to understand what's going on in the world, or at least what is going on in the UK – AND we heard the Queen's Christmas Message!

It is a 40 minute ferry trip to Ceuta tomorrow, the Moroccan frontier to negotiate, then on to the Atlantic coast. We don't have an enormous amount of information on travelling in Morocco, but what we do have is mostly positive, with warnings to expect a bit of a 'culture shock'. We keep thinking of Vietnam and Cambodia where we also experienced a culture shock and loved every minute of it.