Friday, April 14-Saturday, April 15
Depart for Morocco. Arrive in Casablanca this morning. You will return to see more of this legendary city towards the end of the tour. For now, you transfer to Rabat, a heady swirl of color, culture, and history. Arrive at your hotel and spend the afternoon at leisure. Tonight, join your fellow travelers for a welcome briefing. Following the orientation, enjoy a Welcome Dinner at the hotel
Overnight: Rabat
Meals: Dinner
Its not my titanium shoulder that sets off TSA alarms but my left buttock. Really? Didn't know. Anyway easy peasy. Mark, today's Uber driver, starting the easy of the peasy is at our door before we are. That's because we're close to downtown he explains. Dennis our contractor arrived early before 9 to fix our bathroom door so we've time to enjoy Mark's ride and then we're installed in the Delta Lounge at the airport where Bob has madeleines with his coffee. Heaven. I follow suit with my tea plus an egg and why not some pineapple and . . . Free food! We commandeer some rocking chairs overlooking the sky high plaza below with windows looking out at the docked planes and the hills of Middletown San Diego beyond. Only interrupted by a call from the air conditioner company needing an install date for a studio remodel which allows me to put it all off on Don, our assistant. Yup vacating time. "We're about to leave the country. Call Don!" Maybe I'll try that even when we're not.
No middle seat occupied in our premium economy row so goodie for that, allowing me to fiddle with my full-length play, The Last Gift (working title) roomily if not brilliantly.
Then we order white wine (gratis cause we're "upper class" says the attendant) and then he can't open mine, much struggle until another attendant opens another one for me. I tell her I want the intractable unopened one. Merriment where you can find it.
4ish hours to Detroit is bearable and to my surprise I do some decent editing on what I'd written so far of The Last Gift. Maybe I should fly more often. No I'll wait for those Elon Musk supersonic units that will whisk us to the farthest stretches in minutes. Woops. We'll be long dead.
 Another futuristic terminal Detroit's. Little trains speed by overhead within the terminal itself. And then our platinum cards get us access to a charming Delta sky lounge (intimate seating groupings) if just for an hour before boarding. It offers us a glass of chardonnay and front row viewing of pundits warning of Trump's and North Korea's saber rattling--you can hear the clanging all the way to Syria as we drop "The Mother of All Bombs" on them. That's the phrase etched on the bomb. Next time it will say "Trump". Boom!
Trying to figure out who's French on the plane. I look for that protruding lower lip--I guess it's all those rolling r's that does it. There's a French song blaring into my speakers. I like it. French is a beautiful language. Too bad I essayed only a few of my Babble on-line refresher lessons. Best of intentions. Morocco will be foreign to me--us. But what else could it be?
Speaking of linguistic skill, the loudspeaker tells us that the attendants speak English, French, German and Spanish. Pretty intimidating.
Not happy the seats don't tilt back but, rather, lower at an angle; you can't have everything. What they do have is an excellent selection of films. There are those Oscar nominees I didn't get a chance to see, starting with the Dutch film Toni Erdman, highly touted but in previews it had seemed strange; limited appeal so we kept away. Indeed a most odd movie, almost unbearably slow moving and long. Interminable stretches of people being embarrassed by the behavior of the title character as he intrudes on the life of his daughter, a woman obsessed with her business life. The two leads are brilliant but god the whole affair is desultory. What was all the fuss?
Too uncomfortable to sleep. I think Bob is having trouble too. Of course my seat mate as it were sleeps like a babe. They always do. It's the effect I have on seatmates. Who am I kidding, The whole plane is asleep and dreaming of arriving in Paris refreshed and ready to climb the tour Eiffel. Travel to Morocco is a day out of our lives. Over 19 hours official travel time plus the couple of hours in San Diego to and in the terminal. Better feel worth it.
So movies, must see more movies. After the merde of Toni Erdman I find a French movie in progress about fathers and their adult sons in a kind of reality show therapy in the wilderness. One son gets to suck on his dad's nipple. It's funny.
Lunch so-so. I ask for white wine; I get red. For decaffeinated tea, I get non. My seat mate asked for milk--didn't get it. Sorry the tea and milk just arrived. Were they reading my notes? Nope. its decaf coffee. And it's Bob's. Turns out when my complaint arouses the head purser, he declares they have no such disgraceful thing as decaf or herbal tea. The idea! (Well that's my interpretation.)
 The DeGaul, which we are surprised to realize we've not been in before, is huge. My battery is bottoming out so I expend 9 euros for an adapter (and will forget it there) to charge my phone at one of the charging stations at our gate and stand sentry-like over it as it makes scant progress. Our plane is an hour late and we are sorry that neither platinum card nor pass will offer us entry to the alledgedly wonderful Air France lounge.
On the plane from The DeGaul to Casablanca (ah that name redolent of romance) we have the exit row with all attendant responsibilities--panic at a moment's notice--and sufficiently away from the rear of the plane where there is, accompanying a baby's cry, screaming, the sound of a caged animal--this one human, a prisoner I learn, terrifyingly unhappy with his police guards and his miserable state. Of course, it's all the more poignant and alarming against the background of the United PR disaster, the rough treatment and involuntary ejection of a doctor passenger from a plane.
The seats are more comfortable than on the long leg premium economy flight and our brief sleep is interrupted by a lunch that seems more Moroccan authentic than the other plane meals thus far--and why not--grains, pastes, a wonderful roll that is less yielding than the usual and a nice Camembert. Bob notes that our stewards look like tag team wrestlers. I don't mind a bit--the better to protect us if the prisoner breaks his bonds. I think "but they speak French and that feminizes them". Silly thought, I know. "So much for the road to Morocco," Bob says. "I'm not giving up on it yet", I reply.
We are given customs cards to fill out. I ask Bob what is his "Nom de jeune fils". He gets it (maiden name)--needed laugh. (Reach is required.) In the seats behind us there's constant chatter and even though it's in French this time it's annoying.
Then the fun begins (said with tongue firmly gnawing at cheek). Our plane arrives in Casablanca late and then after hurdling the usual barriers to entry, lines, baggage and body scans, examinations of documents, our luggage is nowhere to be found. Nor is our Gate 1 rep. So after scanning the terminal for a friendly face to no avail we call the local office and are told to exit the terminal and find the rep which after more hurdles we do, one Abel who tells us to go back in and file a claim. Not so easy; we and our diminished wherewithal are re-scanned and this time the contents of our shoulder bags are a matter of much curiosity especially my month pill container with its daily dose allotments of prescription mess. Where is the prescription I am asked at which point I am enraged and vent--with a tale of our tribulations in their cockamamie airport--to these agents who barely speak English. (They couldn't read Monday through Sunday on my meds box Bob later explains.) A claim is finally filed and we are told that the luggage will arrive at 9:30 in the evening. Once outside again--don't ask--a call to/from our tour guide Abderazak Allane. Call him Allan says Abel who we learn loves surfing, has a wife and 2 year old (we are shown her photo) and left his desk job for this more liberating one. Hopes to be a guide but these days guides must know Chinese (the new chosen people). But where are our bags??
 Abel reveals we are to head to the hotel in Rabat an hour and a half away and return the following afternoon for our luggage because Air France is notoriously unreliable. Our driver who had been waiting 3 hours and left returns after a while and off we go to Rabat nodding off to his sporadic soft recitations of his prayers.
 Our hotel is wonderful--bright spot # 1. We specifically book a room facing the lovely gardens which Sofitel jardins des roses is famous for and still in our airplane duds (all our clothes are off on vacation in our suitcases) we meet our guide and are just in time for dinner having missed the orientation. All our 10 companions seem quite companionable indeed. Most are veterans of Gate 1. The women ex teachers, nurses, we'll find out more later of the cast of characters. Bob and I sit at opposite ends of our banquet table (we are the late arrivals--"I call the meeting to order" I joke) set in an elegant private dining room giving us each a chance to meet different participants in our tour.
At least the wine flows because the service is s l o w. My Niçoise salad is wonderful, the soup is enjoyed by the others. The main, which arrives an hour later, is not as successful. The strip steak is tough, the mashed potatoes without taste, though Bob's chicken is flavorful, tender. However the chocolate cake is heavenly. Because there's so much time we trade tales about the horrors of modern air travel (the woman who was sucked [apocryphally?] into a toilet) and other anecdotes. The young Phillopina (after BA, nurse training) whom we all give free advice to do what she enjoys in life. After dinner a few hours later I meet Bob's contingent. He's apparently revealed tales of our lives, and that I write plays. A man of mystery no longer. After only three hours of sleep on the trip over perchance to dream--this night clothes-less, naked in a soft bed--of better days.
Sunday, April 16
After breakfast, you tour the capital. Begin with a drive past the beautifully tiled entrance to the Royal Palace, followed by a stop at Bab Rouah, or the city's "Gate of the Winds," so called because it's been battered by Atlantic winds since its construction in 1197. Visit Hassan Tower, part of an unfinished mosque started by a 12th-century caliph. At the incredibly preserved Kasbah of the Udayas, explore the fortress and take a stroll in the French-colonial Andalusian gardens. End the day at Chellah, the necropolis and ruins of an ancient Roman outpost. Balance of the day is at leisure
Overnight: Rabat
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch
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Actually accumulating a decent though turbulent night's sleep in our comfortable king bed. Parties are out in the great gardens below making noises of merriment into the wee hours--all night actually. The fabulous 5-star marbled bathroom offers an entirely required refreshing shower and then into our old duds. Phone batteries up thanks to Allane's borrowed adapter. Can start obsessive note and picture taking.
And such a breakfast! This in a high-ceiling magnificently appointed dining room presenting rows of tables piled with delicacies. Eggs to order. Everything topped off with English breakfast tea for me well served in a pot and an espresso and hot milk for Bob who finds us delish pastries because he can.
Our friendly chattery group assembling in the capacious lobby Allane assigns us seats on our big bus but for only 12--how civilized.
We will start at Chellah, then on to the royal palace, then to Hassan tower and the Mohammed the 5th mausoleum. Then north east Rabat, Oudayah. Rabat is the capital of Morocco since 1912. Our lunch will be in another city, Sale (river), across a river where there's a traditional style of life and it's "cheaper" and where the government workers live. Then on to the small Medina of Rabat.
According to Mr. Yuseph our guide at Chellah mausoleum:
Clay material for the building. Important ingredient. Holes insure ventilation for clay, and are useful for scaffolding. Built in 14th c. After Romans 2nd c. Then 5th c became necropolis, city of the dead. (With the Meridian's occupation.) "Yallah" he says. Means go.
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| Note nest and stork above minaret |
We see men making a stage for a famous yearly music festival. Walk through a grove to the ruins of the Roman harbor--excavated in 1958 when Morocco got its independence. We see the shops, forum, baths-hot cold and medium-the basilica and the forum. Not a city but a harbor. Buried kings in the fortress. Eels for pregnancy. We see storks (called lak lak in Arabic for their sounds) who share nests with other birds. (I keep thinking of my father who in the 1920's named his new concept, a diaper service, the Stork Laundry and had an artist create a logo of a stork flying with a baby in a well laundered diaper. Clever daddy.)
Morocco was ruled by dynasties since 9th c. until today.
The weather is perfect--breeze from the ocean. As we pass the flora Bob says "sort of like San Diego" except, I say, "we've never stopped to wonder at them as we do here".
Morocco's economy is agriculture, tourism, and fishing.
We see the mausoleum and necropolis of the "black" king and his bride for whom he paid a ransom. And there the ever present storks and cats. We see the pool where the eels are. We look for them. (Yosef says they don't work on Sunday.) One of our number, Elaine, throws a coin in to make a wish. Wishes for a gorgeous rich man. Her husband George says he's already half of that.
Quite a place! I take a photo of an African tulip tree that looks like an animal--at least to me.
We pass through embassy row. It's quiet today on Sunday. 45% of the population works in government. 2 million inhabitants in Rabat and Sale. Founded 12th c. Called Rebot, which means camp. When the French came in 1912 named it Rabat. Then we continue through the Nouvelle, the new city built by French outside of the old city--the Medina (literally city).
Through the Ambassor Gate into city within a city. The white ministry of defense. Through manicured ficus trees. Past houses of kings guards, then of his servants, then the royal school. Then the summer palace. Bob remembers the emptiness and sense of desolation when we were last here.
The workers Work from 9-4. Leave offices at 11 on Friday to pray in the mosque. Then they go back to work til 4. They are off on the weekend. Mohammed 5th, father of country, ruled to 1961 when he died. Also helped other African countries to gain independence. Then Hassan 2nd reigned until 1995. Then Mohammad 6th.
We remember this mausoleum area, the Hassan. Royal guards shift every hour and a half. Obligatory photo recap 15 years later. We enter the mausoleum which we couldn't do last time, Bob recalls. It's gorgeous and so are the guards (Arab style) at the 4 corners.
 
In 1755 Mohammed 3 built this for his vacation (better than signing up with Air B & B). He recognized the independence of America. He was buried here as were all in his dynasty. 1912 French added to it. It's 5 acres. There are the royal guards in red (we have a photo with them from our years -ago visit). 500 servants for the palace. Today the king is 53 years old--decides policy of the country--lives in Sale but comes here for work. Parliament says "yes", but doesn't make the laws. Elections every 5 years. People wanted the king to rule [guide talk]. He's in the USA today. Has 2 children--the boy of 12 will be Hassan the 3rd. In every city a Mohammad 5th Avenue and perpendicular Hassan 2nd Ave. (our guide, interesting guy, says no Ave. will be named after him--read: for the people).
Next stop, the king's palace, to be seen from the outside only.
When I take photos of men in kaftans Allane explains that's the jilaba. When I say glancing at my girth that I need that he says there will be time to buy it in Marrakech and Osouria. Bob says your irony is wasted here. And in my own country I reply.
Another question one cannot get an answer to Bob poses, is there a pecking order by skin color; another is an opinion about the king. "He's a man of the people, drives his car through the streets of the city". Yeah. Sure.
This big square was supposed to be a mosque in the 12th c. King came back from Spain to build it for his 40,000 soldiers. Died. Never built. Minaret (its top) and walls destroyed in 18th c earthquake , 364 columns supposed to hold a roof--after lunar days of the year. Muezzin calls prayers from the tower. Are building a museum here (next time). Tomb of Mohammed the 5th is alabaster from Pakistan. Rabat's color is green, Marakesh red, Fez blue and represented inside. French exiled Mohammed 5 '53-55 because he refused to separate Morocco into Berber and Muslim. Site is a deliberate marriage between 1st and 6th dynasties.
Of the museum building, bob says it's a folly. I say it would be nice in the backyard. He says we have one in our backyard. It's called a pool. (Ours is currently unheated and useless.)
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| MISSION VALLEY YMCA--NOT |
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| THE LANGUAGES TAUGHT--ARABIC, BERBER, FRENCH |
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| BICYCLE RACE BEYOND THE WALLS |
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| RESTORING FOREVER |
Next up is the Udayah casbah. People live there. Bab (gate) Roah after that. Both cities are managed by Rabat, on the Atlantic Ocean. Take taxi boats as transportation between the two cities. 3000 km of Morocco is along the Atlantic Ocean. Of school, study French, Arabic and Berber. He points out a sign of a school in Arabic (right to left), Berber (left to right) and French.
A casbah is inside a Medina. Here it's small. A residential quarter. In the Sahara desert casbah has another meaning. The gate is moorish architecture, that is a mixture between Spain and Arab. "Blind houses" here don't expose the outside with respect to one's neighbor; inside there's a courtyard in the middle. Spend their days in the courtyard. Know each other and help one another in the Medina. Safe. Doors are open. Not so in the new town. Forms of hand as in a door knocker. The hand protects.
As we view the sea, vendors are selling baklava.
 
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| HAND PROTECTS |
Gate dates from 12th c. It's a photo stop. Here as we cross the street to better glimpse the gate, Allane tells me that after lunch, which he pronounces "lench", Air France will take us to the airport for our luggage. Abel will be there. And Gate 1 will pay for it. (We had threatened to raise a fuss if they didn't.) "Good man," I say.
Pass the colorful museum of modern art. In "basement" many local restaurants.
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| NEED FISH |
Lunch follows on the marina, at the Marina Restaurant. Learning more about our companions, Niece is Diane, aunt is Suzy, Dianne and Joe from Pennsylvania, Bill and Alan gay couple (my guess) from Dallas, Jack and Bonnie from different places (?), George and Elaine retirees, she ex-teacher.
Fish soup for me. Good but no fish, more a purée of Essence of fish. Subtle. Bobs vegetable soup is good, tastes like pea soup.
 Bob's pasta is "adequate". I've got a fish fillet (good, mildly spicy sauce), others fried fish which they like. The restaurant cat regards us imploringly for fish pieces. No luck kitty.
There's talk of eating fish eyes. Dianne asks, do they have a taste, the eyes? Jack, "Ive always heard the eyes have it." He's the joker of the group. Then it's mint tea, the Moroccan specialty, served with panache. Topped of with a delicious ice cream.
 
Now a drive along the coast out of Rabat at 2:15 in our reserved car. I missed saying to our friends getting back on the bus, "You threw us off the island. Now they're taking us away" but they got the idea.
Avoid the following few paragraphs if you don't like tales aptly titled "Frustration":
There's Abdel at the airport. He's there 6 days a week because this is the high season for Gate 1. However things are not going to be easy. First we need to get in with our claim. Then when we try to find an Air France office upstairs, we find it downstairs at the other end of the terminal. Then we are told our luggage is at the luggage claim--but Bob is not allowed in because only my name is on the claim. So I take both passports, the claim and the luggage tags to what I think is the claim place at one end only to be told after a wait that this is not the Air France claim which is at the other end. All this time I'm hobbling about because my feet are not doing well in these particular shoes--this is no country for old men as the saying goes. A dispatcher is dispatched to help me and wants to take me to a carrel for incoming luggage. I remember a French word "hier" which means yesterday (as that was when the luggage was misplaced and later arrived) so he knows to take me to the long-term holding place.
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| guarding our luggage? |
Finally when I'm at the Air France pick up, the dispatcher there whispers to me how hard he worked to protect my luggage. All I have is a twenty and two singles. He's clearly pissed when I give him a dollar and I choose not to insult my companion through the terminal with the other dollar. Then it's to a clerk who registers I've claimed the luggage, thence through luggage check and x-ray. (This time I've purposely and successfully avoided the examination place where earlier we were queried about our prescriptions in our shoulder bags.) Outside there's no Bob to be found so I leave the two bags with Abdel and head back in for another lengthy limping inspection of the terminal and at last see Bob who tried to text me but had no success. It takes us awhile to find a working Sortie--Exit--door and Abdel who I tell we can dine out on this but Bob's still pissed and we tip him a fiver that Bob has, thank him and when our car arrives at 4:40 we're off back to Rabat bent but not broken, luggage now in the trunk where it belongs--belonged. Whew.
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| AMAZING DOCU ABOUT 117 YEAR OLD AFRICAN WOMAN |
Back shortly after 6 dispite stoppages replete with much honking at the toll stations. Respite. A minor forage into our luggage. Glamorous again. Then 7 ish down to Amber, the eurotrash bar. That's us I say. Some rather pretty ones abound. Revivifies my faith in life say I coquettishly. We're the chaperones here. A woman dangles her cigarette like a 40's siren. Kettle 1's this evening are de rigeur for us. We speculate about the attractive young things. Not a lot of as one of us puts it "Arab vibe". Bob reminds that Muslims don't drink. Big drink of water saunters to the bar where he's silhouetted against the alabaster.
And so our day ends in a haze of, what? After the struggle--peace.
Monday, April 17
After breakfast, you drive inland to Fez. Along the way, stop to explore the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Volubilis, the once-bustling city and African administrative center of the Roman Empire. The site also has vestiges of the Berber civilization that took the city from Rome in AD 270. Continue to Meknes and view the Bab Mansour gate, beautifully patterned with zellij mosaics. Afterwards, head on to Fez and enjoy dinner at the hotel later this evening
Overnight: Fez
Meals: Breakfast, Dinner
Where are my notes for this wonderful day? Floating in the ether somewhere?? Pictures will need to be the thousand words.
Tuesday, April 18
Explore the sprawling medina of Fez on foot this morning. It's said that this is the world's largest car-free urban area; undistracted by traffic, you're sure to agree that strolling here is a feast for the senses. You'll enter via the Bab Boujloud, or "Blue Gate" and visit the famed Al-Bou Inania Madrasa. Afterward, you will have an opportunity to shop for authentic Moroccan carpets. Then, stop at the Chouara Tannery to see how leather is cut and dyed using traditional techniques. At the Nejjarine Museum, browse the collection of wooden arts and crafts, then view copper craftsmen at work in Seffarine Square. The tour ends outside the Karaouine Mosque and University, the oldest continuously functioning university in the world, founded in the year 859. After lunch in the medina, your guide leads you through the Jewish Quarter, or mellah, built in 1438. By the end of the walk, you'll be at the King's Palace. This evening, you're the guests of a local Fez family for dinner. Over typical Moroccan, home-prepared food, you'll connect with your hosts
Overnight: Fez....
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner
Here we sit in at 7:05 in an ante room of the lovely dining area watching Germans being served their breakfasts. That's good because it makes them serious and they're no longer chattering like magpies. We're the only ones of our number here. So we'll see. Bob was up rather early and ready for the day when I arose. A bird was chirping madly and the light filtered through the charming filigreed windows. He'd already "braved" the shower which decides its own temperature . . . variously and temperamentally.
 "I want breakfast", he declares unnecessarily "and then I can be human". Since "it's lousy" he's going to be half human particularly since he's not slept well. I on the other hand apparently thrive in idiosyncratic hotels (he prefers our first place the 5 star Sofitel) and slept, unusually, the night through. Our server asks if I want Moroccan tea. I ask if I'll regret that. He says yes you'll like. Bob again says try not to use irony. Dianne and Joe sit with us. Bob and Dianne are free to trade complaints. Of the service, where are the napkins? The air conditioner dripped on her clothes. The shower was too hot or too cold.
 We start out on our Medina walk. The weather is perfect now; there's a breeze but there's a promise of great heat ahead.
In each city there are small taxis. We're going to discover a beautiful Medina. Fes is 1200 years old. Restoring. Must use clay. Funded. Today: School. Carpet. 2 medinas 8th and 14th c. Idres --excellent, speaks perfect English--is our local guide. Can get lost immediately. Afternoon Jewish quarter and synagogue. Evening family dinner.
Overcrowding problem in the Medina. Now at the biggest and oldest. I thank god for my cortisone shot. (Much walking will be required.)
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| MY CLAUSTROPHOBIA KICKS IN |
Medina = walled city. Built w adobe, clay white washes and stone. Holes for wooden scaffolding. Then left them for ventilation because thick walls. (Later adobe imported to Mexico) idres Arab king was a descendent of Mohammed. Riad is a garden with a fountain--a copy of paradise. Can think about paradise. Outside must wear a scarf. Jilaba is a gown with a hood. Caftan without hood. Has 9400 streets and alleys. 220 neighborhoods. 80,000 people. Each has a small mosque for the 5 prayers. Plus small fountain and small kindergarten. Bakery. People prepare the bread at home and take it to the bakery to bake. Then hamam is the steamed bath (introduced by Romans). Many houses don't have bathrooms. $1-1.50 a day. Each has these 5 elements. Mosque built by lady from Tunisia. Refugees from Tunisia. Some from Spain and African countries. Therefore Moorish, i.e. Spanish influences. River used for dyers and tanners. We'll see the oldest tannery in Morocco. 15 km of walls.
We
see a park which separates the oldest from the newest Fes. In corner the new city.
Here in the Medina there are no vehicles only donkeys and mules. Population of the city is 1.5 million. At one time the country was named Fes. Oldest university in world.
Month of Ramadan to suffer and understand what it is to not have.
Olive tree, olives 3 colors red black green. Sticks are used to collect them.
14 gates around Medina walls which is classified as a world heritage site.
We drive through a new gate merging traditional and contemporary, all done by hand. Begin our walk. "Balack" means watch out. Warns about pickpockets; "they can take your underwear without touching your pants".
Islam is the religion of peace. Salem Aleichem. Lots of cats. Indoors place to pray.
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| KNIFE SHARPENER |
Moroccans allow no dogs. Illiteracy problem. Poverty hence young pickpockets. Wooden scaffolding as temporary protection. Wonderful doors. Made from very resistant cedar. 3 styles. Fes big door inside small (for everyday use). Nails for stability. 2 knocks. One for foreigners so the woman inside could put on her scarf. Fatima's hand with 5 fingers like 5 pillars. Woman can see out ,can't see in. Rich and poor are equal from the outside.
Education is compulsory but not respected. Most electricity based on water--hydroelectricity. My claustrophobia is kicking in through the skinny allerways. As we walk from the Andalusian area to the Tunisian. Escargots can fast 2 months get clean and can cook. Wonderful smells as we walk through the market. Ah the bathroom. No camels in Morocco. Only one hump--dromedary.
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| WEDDING DRESSES FOR RENT |
Get fresh fish only 4 times a week because Fes is 300 km from the Atlantic. Sea bass, calimara, shrimp. Biggest sardines in world. Fish can be fried or prepared in fat with vegetables. Very garlic cuisine.
 As to slaughtering an animal one must be pure and say Ali Achbar. Best quality of oranges.
Dyers area. Use agave plant. Use vegetable colors. Red from poppy, etc. Get colors from hot water and then fixed with cold. Can redye your clothes. Use darker colors. Any embroidery from agave. Bridges recently renovated. We see the knife sharpener who's been doing it for 70 years. Produce a lot of mint for mint and green tea.
Pass from guns to caftans. Everything done by hand. Wedding dresses $2000 to $20,000. Decorate brides not with real stones.
Pass wedding chairs learned from Moroccan Jews; need 4 to carry a chair.
 On to the main court, the madrassa. This one big housed 400 students. Dormitories for foreign students. Since 13th century. Surrounded by a small step. Dips to center for water drainage. Balconies covered with wooden work. Then work on stucco--mixture of plaster, marble powder and yellow eggs. Stencils then chip by hand. Calligraphy. Geometrical, floral and calligraphy. The fountain is for ablutions. Take dripping from mouth to nose right and left elbows, hair and ear. All repeated three times. Done 5 times a day. Off to the side is the small mosque without shoes so there are carpets. Prayers said and not heard. Bow then head to floor. 2 employees. Muezzin. Never a recording must be live. Imam directs the prayers. Does not have power over worshippers. That's the king. A worshipper can replace him and direct prayers. 15 minute sermon than directs prayers.
Students privileged to study for free. Took 8 years for BA.
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| STUDENT STEPS UP TO THE "BUNKBED" |
2 students per room bunk bed style. Oil lamps. Cook from tangine which is both the plate and the ingredients. Can cook in fire or oven. He who has the highest marks becomes king of the students placed on a horse and paraded through streets.
This is a big souk, i.e. a market. This beats Istanbul's grand bizarre by a mile.
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| THE PITCH |
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| "WRAPPING" OUR CARPET |
Then the carpet place. First mint tea. This building dates from the end of the 14th c. Marble mosaic fountain plaster and cedar wood. Only window to outside is the ceiling. Only women make carpets " because they have patience".
Carpets: representing women's tattoos. Fes carpets: made by one person. Lambs wool. Double knots. Reversible. Winter and summer side. "Self cleaning".
Tribal carpets. Berber tribes with their tattoos. Saffron carpet yellow from saffron region. Kilim carpets were dowries.
Prices. Just pay winter side; summer side is free.
Fondouk is a hotel. 14th c Moroccan route of salt created by Moroccan Jews. We're in the smallest forouk--later these became caravans. Rooms for the readers. This one now a bookstore. Biggest mosque we see accommodates 22000 worshipers.
Separate entrance for women.
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| ABLUTIONS |
Right hand ok is Allah.
Compulsory bowing with a wooden bar overhead.
Area for carpenters who make the palatines for weddings.
In the largest Farouk we love the room for the "mobilizatione des enfants, one for etages, coffers, (which I guess means containers), rooms showing various architectural elements, doors and windows.
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| BABY HOLDERS |
And after buying our carpet for our opium den, (blue to match our giant urns) $900 bargained down from $1200. It's supposed to be the finest superior Fes carpet.
Feast for the senses everywhere. And everything $5 American ... except our carpet.
Public bakery.
Lunch. Again seated on a wrap-around sofa with cushions. Tented. Within a gorgeous large space. Family style plates of salad, cauliflower, olives (fab), beans, carrots, rice in expectation of our individual main course. Conversation about pressure cookers exploding and the crock pot Bob and I shared in New York. My meatballs in the tangine (great presentation) is excellent, Bob likes his veggie tangine especially the cauliflower .
We hear the kindergarten kids repeating verses from the Koran after their teacher.
As we enter the tannery we are given welcome mint plants which I later learned is to combat the smell of the treating leather. Only partially successful.
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| TANNING VATS |
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| SMELLY STUFF MAKES LEATHER THINGS PRETTY |
850 families work here. Pidgin shit $20 for 1 kilo. Brown cedarwood, camel hide very light. We feel a camel bag. True. Kidskin--baby goat. Smooth. Then sheepskin. "Plastic is fantastic." I ask Bob if "there's something u must have?" Reply . A nap.
As we leave the Medina and approach the bus a young man follows me with little leather cases, 10 for $20 for your friends. I say I have no friends. Then he gets close and says seductively, "I want to smell your money". I laugh. "For your friend?" He asks. Hmm.
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| THEY COME IN 3'S |
Stop at the Blue gate. White for Tabat.
220,000 Jews expelled from Spain who moved to Morocco. Wanted royal protection and moved next to Royal palace but didn't need it because of great relationship with Muslims. Named the area mela. Traded in salt, did very well.
Of the king's palace, we see the doors hand tooled and note the knockers tribute to the three religions.
Jewish quarter Medina difference balconies. Only Muslims here. The Jews moved to the expensive areas.
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| LEADING TO THE MIKVAH--WOMEN'S BATH |
17th c synagogue. Photos of synagogues. Not working synagogue historic monument
Only Muslim country to protect Jews. 2nd king said to the Germans that only Moroccans live in my country. Learned art of jewelry from Jews. Torah 24 meters long. 2/3 went to Israel. Today only 14,000 Jews. FES 420 Jews.
Respite. Bob takes Bonnie's rug. Inadvertently of course. The ingeniously wrapped items are practically indistinguishable except ours is larger of course. I'd understand if he took a larger one. Anyway we will endure much ribbing from Bonnie and co. even after Bob lugs the rug back inscribed as it is with Bonnie's name, to the bus for the evening event.
Bus to new town for a home dinner. We're told he's a business man (a merchant we later learn who has just moved his business from the Medina to the new town), she makes dresses for women (costing from $1000 apiece). Families live together. Look after their old people. They live in quite a large apartment which houses 9 family members, the mother and father-in-law, 4 kids, mom and dad and someone else, brother-in-law I think.
 Kind of awkward because of the language difficulty. They are bilingual, French and Arabic; we are, well, not. Their eleven year old sits with us and she speaks as we can tell only one word "eleven" in English. She's filled with merriment when Suzy says "Je t'aime" however and doesn't understand my ""Etudiez vous Anglais et Espanol en ecole?"
The food is good (not gourmet); Bob says it's equivalent to the chicken breast dish he serves company (not great praise by his lights). We are served at two tables or rather we must serve ourselves from the family-style dishes of the appetizers, carrots, beets, Aubergine (very good as it is as accompaniment to the chicken) and the like. A nice sliced preserved lemon sprinkled with cinnamon that we all declare we'll serve at home (sure) followed by cookies that the mother-in-law admits she made as she did the entire meal.
Afterward Bob says, I wonder why Gate 1 thinks we need these family meals. I remind him that in theory it's a great idea and we enjoyed some other "home dinners", for example, with a humble farm family in Chile(?) and another humble family where we sat in their kitchen house (Thailand?), asked questions. Actually it would have been better here if Allane had translated for us instead of lecturing as he did. Verdict: at the time feeling uneasy, in retrospect some insight into upper middle class Moroccan life.
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| THEIR CONDO BUILDING |
Wednesday, April 19
Today, experience a thrilling adventure into Morocco's Middle Atlas Mountains. Begin with a stop in Ifran, a Moroccan ski resort. Then ascend scenic roads past pine groves and giant cedar trees. Midmorning, you cross the 6,000-foot pass and continue west toward the great Sahara. Next, stop for lunch in the village of Midelt. Then as you approach Erfoud, enjoy views of the remarkable Ziz Gorges and vast valleys
Overnight: Erfoud
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner
Sky news blaring Therese May, Tories, Labor, calling an
election, grumpy parliament. As if that matters to an All American. "If
you Brexit you bought it", say I.
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| EVEN ELEVATOR DOORS ARE GORGEOUS |
 Rice pudding for breakfast? Ok. Actually too much stuff.
Didn't even try the dates. I say I need my own table. The server (the one who
speaks the best English and is apparently in charge of speeches) says how
wonderful we are with our "purity and goodness" and all and they have
gifts for us, lovely scarves for the women and Fes hats for the men (I say I
want a scarf). Really neat especially since I've been eyeing the hats in the
Medina, Bob requiring that I desist.
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| FEZ-ED |
On the bus Allane announces our schedule--amounts to
a lot of riding, stopping and riding some more a whole day until we get to
Effoud and the great Sahara (named after my mother Sarah). Ribbing continues at
Bob as the great carpet thief. Now it's about the women protecting their new
scarves from Bob's thieving ways.
As we rise, Allane tells us that Moroccans come here for
relief from the heat during the summer. This, medium Atlas, is expensive. Big
university here. For rich kids. Very green landscape. We stop at the upscale town to give the
madame in a cafe's bathroom her coin and wait in line. I say I didn't get my
money's worth. Bonnie: "It was a good value." Then we "shoot the lion",
the town mascot in the town's park. Bob says he much prefers this to the Medina
which he finds dirty and scary. I say I love the romance of the Medina. This is
a continuing disagreement.
 Pass by nomad encampments. Tents. Herding sheep. Today
we're crossing the medium Atlas. Starts from Fes. Highest 12,000 feet. High
Atlas 4,700 meters. The small one is near the Atlantic Ocean. The Sahara desert is a desert of
sand as opposed to a desert of storms.
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| NOMAD WOMAN GUARDING HER TENTS |
Another village. Unfinished buildings--because save
taxes. 7 years to finish without paying taxes. (It seems we've encountered this
odd beaurocratic posture in other countries.)
And then a dynamic change of scenery as we climb. Rocky.
We even see snow in the distant mountaintops.
 We stop by a nomad encampment. The men are away herding
sheep. The women step out as if to guard their camp from us. One screams at her
child who is running along the side of the highway. One man comes out with his
son and daughter. Bob notes that his t-shirt reads Exodus. They have a well not
far away. We are in Berberland.
Pass village of Zaid. 6000 inhabitants. Copper mining
here. Extract colors from the minerals. Words on hills: "God. Homeland.
King."
Stopping at a city, pop 55,000, also mining activity.
There's an apple sculpture at the roundabout. They have an apple festival here.
 Country divided by regions which have provinces. Midal ?
Is the administrative center of the provinces in the region. Stop at a casbah
for lunch. A clay fortress.
Soup good and spicey. Trout good and salty. Bob,
"we're getting a lot of food." I recall we didn't gain much if any
weight in our last tour, Israel/Jordan. The food was not as plentiful--in a
good way. The locals probably have one
big meal a day. Here we have three. An
entertainer in costume sings and plays a drum. And afterward Jack and Joe who
collect rocks have conversations by the bus with attractive Berber boys selling
rocks. If you're lucky you can even find a meteorite or so they say.
So when I get up from my nap, the scenery has changed yet
again. It's decided to be desert now. Great sand mountains arising from fields
of sand.
We stop for a moment to take in fabulous rock formations
and nomads suddenly appear, Berber nomads selling camel figures from
leaves they've crafted. $1.50. We don't buy but they do a good business with
our compadres.
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| JOE BARGAINING FOR FOSSIL ROCKS |
Adobe houses. Palm tree groves where there is a river.
In Morocco there are 300 days without rain but when it
rains there are storms and flooding. So dams to block the water during the short period,
then use it for energy, irrigation. This one we pass stores 300 million cubic
meters of water.
Through the city of E-Rashidir. Not far from Algerian border.
Troubles over Western Sahara. Phosphate there--fertilizer.
Their car here is the Logan. $7000. Basic. Import to
other African countries.
 Now through Ziz (means gazelle).
Stop above a palm tree grove, little kids selling their
less complex camels from palm fronds. Their houses below but above the river
bed protected from flood. Each family has a part of the grove. Each Has so many
palm trees, that gives its value. They farm at the foot of the palm trees, such
as almonds, etc. for themselves and for their animals. Use leaves for fuel, for
cooking--and alcohol from the dates. They don't sell their properties but give them to family members if they move.
Pass cemeteries. They visit on Friday. There are no names
so visit all the dead. Water the tombs--for fresh souls. Put the body in white
dress and bury it. Die in morning, be buried in afternoon. Clay to clay. Pay just the
$30 cost of the dress. Everyone digs the hole. If possible face the body to
East, Mecca. Dianne is obsessed with whether the body will smell.
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| EVERY POOL NEEDS CARPETS |
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| EXOTIC BATHROOM |
ass "sand fences" buffers against sand flying
into the road.
So it's a lovely casbah-style hotel but after ejecting
ourselves from our first room because there's no air-conditioning and my
swimming in the outdoor pool--brr and then soaking in the jacuzzi (all along
with Bonnie with whom I have fun and some terrific conversations), I am
shivering. Uh oh.
 Sure enough I have no appetite (moi?) at the buffet (where
nevertheless we have a good conversation with our gay compadres, Bill and
Allen, who plan to retire in 3 weeks and I am decidedly rheumy and diarrheic. Bob
feels my forehead. Yes low temperature; it's warm. Darn. We leave our room tomorrow for
what I'd hoped would be the highlight of the trip, a night in a nomad tent
under the Sahara stars.
Thursday, April 20
This morning, explore the small city of Rissani on the edge of the Sahara. En route, stop at a fossil factory to learn more about this unique activity which is famous in the region. Then, wander its lively souk, and visit a 17th-century ksar. Afterwards, stop to discover the ancient ruins of Sijilmasa on the River Ziz, once a bustling Berber city and medieval trade depot. You'll pause to visit a local bread shop, where you'll witness and sample an ancient culinary art. After lunch at the hotel, you journey into the Sahara Desert, stopping en route to share tea with some welcoming locals in a Berber tent. Later, settle in to your Sahara camp, where dunes rise and fall around you and feel the adventuresome spirit of explorers of old. You'll even have the opportunity to enjoy a short camel ride. Witness an incredible sunset here and enjoy traditional music under a canopy of stars
Overnight: Sahara Tented Camps
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner
Thank goodness the "trouble" seems behind me and I wake up not feeling feverish--yea Imodium. We were not prepared for the concept of a separate packing for the desert overnight so Bob disgorges the contents of his carry on for the overnight items. The news: Bill O'Reilly of Fox News is fired. Bravo. Now let's work on Trump.
This time it's Elaine's turn; she's got the runs and armed with a magical pharmaceutical from Suzy's pharmacy she and Jack will miss the morning jaunt but join us for lunch back at the hotel.
Berber nomads are Tuaig or "blue men". (Use an indigo sun protection.) Essouria big on tourism.
I really don't understand half of what Allane says but his soft voice is mesmerizing.
In Effoud women wear a black dress even in the summer. More black people in this area.
Fossil factory. We're in the capital of fossils. We see 360 million years old snails and calamari when our host wets the rock.
The Effoud rock is stronger than marble and doesn't absorb liquids. Always a surprise what they'll find. Grind it out to create a sculpture. We see one with snails and squids.
Use the big cutting tool from Italy--cuts carerra marble there.
Fossils Discovered in 1960.
This place is fascinating and we buy a piece of geological history for $15 (I really want the $2800 sculpture but it's too . . . Heavy). Ours is a map of Africa carved out of Effoud stone and showing the squid fossil buried within. I'm ecstatic.
Through the Risani gate we'll meet our guide, Mr. Ali in his indigo blue nomad dress. (Later learn he has a PhD.) "Wacha" means ok. He's from the blue man tribe--not the blue man group. His gown is a "boo boo", not a jalaba or caftan. Baggy trousers under boo boo--"so we're air conditioned".
The area known for 2 important sites, na sijilmassa--old city. Risani built on top of it. Old city 7 gates--now in ruins. Meant place with water. A place for caravans to stop. Intermarried. A mixture of tribes.Mausoleum of Sharif founder. Then old village of Ksar. 17th c. Made of Adobe.
Berbers were the first inhabitants of Morocco. Many tribes. Here there are 3 big tribes. Ait- son of (Berber); Beni--son of (Arabic); Ben--son of (Jewish). Berber (came from BARBAR as in barbarous) changed to Amazir-"Free and noble".
Shows us the Berber alphabet characters. Points to the freedom character.
Beduins are gypsies. Wear black. Can tell tribe from veil--"haig". Amazir wear black with embroidery. Sunni Muslims live here. Black people here were imported as slaves from the gold coast. Lots of Jews. Old town used to trade salt for gold--founded in middle of the 8th c. Very rich. Reached Timbuktu in 2 months, also a rich city.
Ali made the BBC 1 program called "From here to Timbuktu".
Dam built in 1971. Farmers here not happy with it. But got electricity and drinking water.
This mausoleum restored 3 times--only moorish architects. Riad garden. Same as Andalusia Spain. Arches-eye of the needle. Unlike Roman which is smooth.
Holy man born late 16th c. Made of mud. He was influenced by Louis 14th. Hence sun symbol. Pilgrimage here. (Calls WC the happy room).
We enter this Riad illegally and get called out by Ali. Ugly non-Muslim American.
In each Ksar you'll find a mosque, bath, school, and people from different tribes. Lived in harmony. Social life in the community. The movie "The Sheltering Sky" was filmed here. Based on the Bowles book and starring John Malkevich.
There are only houses in the Ksar. Roman influenced adobe.
We see a morgan David in the ceiling.
114 community villages like this. Don't have sewarage. So mix human and animal dung for fertilizer; every 5 months it is removed through holes in the walls.
Make blocks with wooden form-compress mud and rocks. Test with water. Cover blocks with mud, water and straw. Water is free. Electricity is inexpensive.
On to the Isani market--3 times a week. Where we'll see donkey parking. Huge oasis-150 km long. 1.6 palm trees. Export the dates to other Moroccan cities. One time it was very rich--lots of water, dates, fruit, vegetables. But 35 years ago attacked by global warming. Desert getting larger, oases smaller. Also Parasites. (Bayou disease)
Get a strong whiskey from dates. Cosmetics.
Can preserve for 5 or 6 years. Also lack of water. Very deep water table. Very salty water (reason there are fossils here).
Visit the market , and the donkey parking lot. Then the sheep -- excellent breed-- they haggle.
 A lamb costs about 2000dhr, ($200) Fruit here is honeydew, cantaloupe watermelon. Vegetables are all local. This is the high season for onions and garlic.
We taste the bread used for a kind of pizza. Water, flour and yeast are the only ingredients.
"Shochrun"=thank you. (Goes a long way as always.)
Back to our hotel for a buffet lunch. We're all tired. It must be enervation from the heat.
Having a couple of hours before the next event, bus to jeeps, we have a delightful conversation with Jack who shows us photos of his log cabin he built on 9 acres in the Wisconsin Dels. It 's on a river ("I own both sides") and looks idyllic but Jack claims it's too isolated for him to want to spend more than a week at a time there. Then we get to discussing politics once we discover he's a purist liberal who will join us in invectives against our current prexy. We knew he was a charming guy with a ready quip but he's even more charming when he tells us he abandoned a longtime friend once Jack discovered he was a homophobe.
As we leave the dining room, Allane gives us the bad news. There is so much wind coming up in the desert--a serious storm--that our overnight in the tents, with sunset under the stars and sunrise included, has been called off. "It is for you safety and security." Damn!
Nothing to do but wheel our bags out of storage back to our original room.
I tell Bob I'm so disappointed. I just want to stay in bed-uin.
Joe is the only other passenger in our jeep (it's really an SUV) and we ask him about all of his trips--he and Dianne are extremely well traveled--2 months of the year out of the country 2 months visiting their 3 kids and 9 grandchildren. Do a lot of independent travel. I say annoyingly "Very fertile." He replies "I'm blessed". Yes. Been to both poles, Africa 4 times, etc.
 We stop at a shepherd family's tent consisting of 12 members. They are goat herders. The men will be back in late afternoon from herding. We see a goat skin for water. 1/2 hour to reach a well. Mother was "carding" the wool in prep for spinning. Can take a half day to find plant. Use wood for cooking. They move everything within a few months except the kitchen which another family can use or if they return; Then into another tent. They have 2 kitchens, one for bread another protects.
The children we see don't go to school but learn about the stars, since they don't have compasses, and where to find water--about life. Move when camels don't have enough to eat. Grandma's tea is delicious with sugar.
Bumpy 4x4 ride--the camel will be a breeze after this?
Now there's rain as we approach the camp. That's apparently not a usual thing.
We look inside the tents on the next stop and I pronounce that I require 5 star; this is only 4 star. Laughter. Then discover this is not where we would have been staying after all.
Waiting for our camels we are served yet more tea by the blue men in their blue caftans.
Omar is our driver. Ahmed is our camel (dromedary--One hump) guy. My camel doesn't seem happy about me when I alight. Ahmed reprimands it in no uncertain terms, then has me disembark (is that the term of art for getting off a camel?) to tie my scarf properly so as to protect my nose and mouth--well the eyes are on their own against the weather. Bob is similarly habilled.
It's another white knuckle camel ride over the dunes. Windy and sand swept. Next time we'll get the sun in the morning and the moon at night. Next time? (Bob declares later he's never going on a camel ride again. Never say never say I. I'm promising him a ride on a yak when we get to Mongolia--where a yurt will substitute for our forever lost tent experience.)
Ahmed takes pics of us on our camels and individually as blue men. He asks for my email address so we can give him a good yelp recommendation. That's the way they do things in the depths of the Sahara I guess . . . or anywhere. Global economy. Unfortunately we didn't get the word about gratuities having missed orientation--so we undertip him. He'll have to settle for 5 yelp stars instead I'm afraid. My glasses are broken some time during the ride perhaps to be rescued when I get back home. Recurring moral: No venture is without its consequences.
We glimpse town life as we near the Riad. Children playing soccer, men riding donkeys with bushel baskets filled with greens on each side, women peering thru slits in their headdresses (veils). So much bustle (but nothing to do really with our pressures and concerns).
 Great fun at dinner (at 8 like we're civilized) with Jack doing his comedy routine, Bonnie a most excellent foil. Gate 1, full of repentance for the loss of the presumed high point of our trip offers us a bottle of wine and then Joe and Diane offer us theirs, then repentance number 2 since there was going to be a show and dance at the tent camp, we proceed to the "Royal tent", a huge space with carpets and cushioned settees ringing it where a group of musicians plus a guy who juggles tea glasses, sort of, sing and dance. Then they invite us to dance with them, Joe showing us that there's a "fun guy" there and Bob determining it was great fun. Yea.
Friday, April 21
Awake amidst the silence of the desert this morning as Morocco's natural beauty continues to astound you. After breakfast, leave the camp and make your way to the lovely oasis of Tinghir for lunch. The real attraction here is the spectacular Todra Gorge, a deep ravine carved by the Todra River over millennia. There'll be time to marvel at this sight before you continue to the Dades Valley, where roses bloom in profusion in springtime. The locals make good use of the prolific flower by producing rose water here. Dinner tonight is at your Ait Ben Haddou hotel
Overnight: Ait Ben Haddou
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner
I put little chocolate thingies in my dry cereal this morning. Nice. I'm feeling a little queazy. Jack also. I wonder where the fickle finger of diarrhea will point next.
There are only 12 of us but there are 3 people taking care of us. Driver, Allane our tour manager and the water/luggage guy.
On the road again. This promises to be a long day of driving from Effoud to Ouzzaria. 200 miles through the Sahara desert. To the underground channels bringing water from the mountains to the villages, no longer extant. We're supposed to see some spectacular natural sites. After lunch Dades Valley to see the roses. He warns us that the rooms of our next hotel will be small. In the afternoon we'll be crossing from the high to the small Atlas Mountains.
  We pass through the village where last night's musicians come from. Ordinary village life from what I can see--we've got the front of the bus today--beware of gifts,
there's little leg room--people on bicycles. Wells convey water from the mountains. These mounds we get to see are above tunnels big enough for a man to crawl in. The mounds are the stones and mud removed from the tunnels. Not used since 1951. Purpose--to prevent evaporation in the scorching sun.
 As we look at the tunnels, middle school kids are waiting to attend first class in the school across the street at ten (Allane explains that there are not enough schools so the students take turns). They cross to see us. We are after all a curiosity for them. Most remain at the school during the day because it's far for them. It's a privilege to have a bicycle. They show us their notebooks full of writing. They are told that Dianne is a teacher.
 We pass a weekly market in a small village. (I see boys holding hands. This is not a unique phenomenon here as is the arms around one another posture--here where homosexuality is illegal. Nope doesn't exist as I also discover in today's e-posts about Chechnya where gays (who the government declares "do not exist") are tortured and killed. There is work to be done.
Palm grove, "richer" than the others. Abandoned village. (Clay takes too much trouble to restore.) The Toudre. We see school children on the roadside. Teachers teach 10 hours a day and sometimes on Saturday to accommodate kids from the countryside.
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| LOCK UP YOUR WOMEN |
A stop to walk along the river to see rock mountains that remind us of Petra. There's a rock climber clambering up the rock side. Hotel Casbah Les Roches built into the mountain has been abandoned as too dangerous when a rockslide fell on it.
Mining city of Timrir. Buffet lunch.
Unfortunately too overcast today to get great views of the oases and the city
 on the horizon at Oued Dades. A photo I request of us at the site from Allane is blah and I say to the loss of blue skies and sunsets yesterday and the gain of smog today that we'll just have to return (not).
This Allane points out is a region of 1000 casbahs. Houses have rose gardens, and their inhabitants sell these flowers for cosmetic products. "Roses from Damascus". As it happens we will have the dual advantage of stretching our legs there as we walk along the road and smelling the pink roses growing along the road; we pass young men selling hearts they've festooned with those pink roses--low overhead.
A square with four towers--large house for large family is a casbah.
Ouxizate is a big tourist, mining city, wind farms, a new town as of 1920. Filming activity here. 55,000 inhabitants. A lot of "economical housing" supplied by the government mainly for young people. Atlas Film Studio here. Ridley Scott's 1989 Gladiators filmed here. Shot scenes from Exodus, The Bible, etc. Casablanca was never shot in Morocco.
Stuck behind a watermelon truck on the winding road we are painfully aware that this has been a very long ride.
Ah finally CNN and a nice soft bed to watch it from albeit in a, we were warned, smaller room than we have become accustomed to--although looking obscure from the outside this Riad is quite charming, a kind of terra cotta Garden of Allah. But as we lie abed now drinking warm vodka and water (better than no vodka) Bob reveals that now he is not feeling well. As the evening progresses so will he--some carefully chosen food will help but we are a delicate lot.
We bump into Bill and Allen who tell us there's a great view to be had from the top terrace and they are quite right as we join them up there and take in the panorama, clay ruins long abandoned abutting new buildings, their Byzantinean shapes unique to Morocco, all set against a lush landscape rimmed with the still indistinct Atlas Mountains.
Our compadres are already seated in our virtually private dining room (Bill and Allen tell us that a luxe gay group we saw earlier assembled by the pool, Out Traveler, is seated in the larger dining room where there's more hubbub--and they pay a damn sight more than we do for that dubious advantage.) We have a separate table and are able to chat with the very sociable Bill and Allen, the other gay duo in our group. We learn more about their business as very successful manufacturer's reps, their imminent retirement and their involvement in Gamma Mu the international gay social fraternity. (Yes there's always Groucho Marx's quip that any group that would have him he wouldn't want to join. Not that we mandarins in our own minds were ever asked.) As to our buffet, the fried thing is great as is the cheesy (jokes there) thing--yes part of the fun dining in exotic locales is feasting on the great often delicious unknown though we now avoid anything remotely salad-like. (Bob opines that our particular gastronomic problems arose when we had iced martinis and sliders with lettuce in the bar of the Rabat Sofitel. Who knows?)
Saturday, April 22
After breakfast at the hotel, take time to visit the UNESCO World Heritage Site of Ait Ben Haddou, a ksar - or fortified city - along a former caravan route. This is the true Morocco: a village that seems to rise from the sands. Its desert-dusted Kasbahs and maze-like warrens are sure to enthrall you. Next, make your way to the magical city of Marrakesh. This evening, get the details about henna painting during a talk and demonstration. Dinner tonight at your Marrakesh hotel
Overnight: Marrakesh
Meals: Breakfast, Dinner
The trouble with news. One grows weary of the same blatant, ugly pattern--the authoritarian regime blames the protestors,the real hope of the people, for the trouble, the disruption. And the people buy that trope. Will Marine La Pen be the next Trump? And what of the eternal boy king in North Korea rattling his nukes in our face?
Breakfast. Just one table. Not so fancy. But fine! A hard boiled egg, (Dianne looking out for me insists I have salt and pepper--she's right) a bit of yogurt and I won't fall to the floor as ballast. Funny our Gate 1 table is next to the Out guys gay tour table, 5 couples plus a guide and his partner is my guess. It looks like we're having as much fun with our shall we say more varied compadres for less than half the expense. Hooray.
 A guidebook in our room reveals that our Riad, which is indeed lovely, is "nestled in the foothills of the High Atlas, in the heart of a small Berber village, close to the famous site of Ait Ben Hadou thirty millimeters from Ourzazate . . . A renovated ancient kasbar . . 50 rooms. Arab-Andalusian architecture." So that's it--love the exotic shapes and silhouettes of the buildings.
Next Ait Ben Hadou: very important during the caravan and nomads 13-14th c. Coming from Timbuktu to Marrakech. Stopped here before crossing the Sahara desert. The Ksar (village) here is composed of kasbahs. A world heritage site. Used as a background for movies.
 We walk. Long walk. Today houses of built of cement which are hot in summer unlike clay houses of old. The things in the shops along the way reveal the culture, a tent pick, a Plate showing a morgan davide: many Moroccan Jews inhabited southern Morocco. South cross used as a compass for nomads. Berber women use broaches to attach clothes. Triangles represent women.
 Bonnie says this is like walking thru cocaine for her--these shop stalls. This is indeed wonderful! We see an artist and his inks, saffron, cobalt, a lot of sugar. Used to burn to get a message. We see him burning the art.
I climb to the top, Bob not feeling it in his tendons. As I take photos of Bill and Alan his hat flies off and chasing it he almost falls for the cliff as I'm shouting "it's not worth it". Seems he's had the hat 20 years. Still one is reminded of that scene in Auntie Mame when she loses her new husband to the Alps.
We somehow miss the picture burners going down. Maybe find it elsewhere. Elaine and George are haggling at a jewelry table where an ornamental box turns into a bracelet.
Another group of African musicians in a circle chanting after the lead of an ancient leader. They brought their own rugs notices Bob. "And their own wives," say I.
A pleasant lunch spot, bright, clean, looking out at the mountains. I get to sit on a banquette with pillows which makes me feel like a pasha; the others are chair sitting types. No accounting. Bob has a cheese omelet, I a Berber omelet, which is served in a tangine, good when served with spices on the table, cumin and a hot sauce. Fossils and things store next door. Bob says of the fossil sinks we're encountering in our riads, they are beautiful but so difficult to use.
It will be 3 hours to Marrakech. We're climbing now to the highest Atlas peak. 7000 ft. Traffic stops. There's an earth slide and an earth mover is clearing the debris away.
Joe our mining engineer explains the striata in the dramatic hills we are climbing.it was flat he says. Not now.
Approaching Marrakech, top golf courses, 4th largest city in Morocco. Rabat, Fes, then 1st Casablanca, the City of White. Marakesh is the city of red. Buildings red all over. Largest souk in the country. Expensive city. Ousouia is cheaper. Marrakech tourism is its largest economy.
A tour of Marakesh in our bus. We have a map. A lot of gardens and olive trees that don't need a lot of water here. We go through the Jardin Agdal.
Koutoubia minaret is highest. Can't build anything higher. Bab (gate). Passing by the Medina wall.
At the Luxe (well not all that luxe as it will turn out) Meridien Hotel we're all on the 5th floor
Sunday, April 23
Discover historic and exotic Marrakesh today, the "City of Ochre." Begin at the 12th-century Koutoubia Mosque, its minaret still topped with four copper globes. Then, explore Bahia Palace, where 360 rooms were once adorned with Italian marble and Sudanese gold. For a more recent archaeological find, you'll see the richly decorated tombs of the Saadi Dynasty. You will also have the opportunity to shop for authentic Moroccan jewelry. Enjoy lunch on your own in the medina. Afternoon at leisure to explore this fascinating city independently. This evening, an optional horse-drawn carriage ride takes you through the lively streets of Marrakesh followed by a lavish dinner of Moroccan fare. Relive the days of Arabian folklore while enjoying classic Moroccan music and an elegant belly dancing performance
Optional: Dinner with Horse-Drawn Carriage Ride (PM)
Overnight: Marrakesh
Meals: Breakfast
Birds in Marrakech start singing at 5 am. Is that universal? Like one Meridien hotel is like another? Though perhaps this one is a tad shabbier. But it's Marrakech! Marrakech, the name is redolent of romance, caravansaries, pot, a pop tune of my young adulthood--On the Road to Marrakech--Crosby, Stills and Nash--I brought it up yesterday at lunch and googled it. Not sure who really remembered the song or knew who Graham Nash was or am I just as usual making it all personal to me, this well-harmonized musical refrain half floating in my brain.
 Try to get another hour of sleep, despite the insistent birds. What do they want from me anyway?
A benefit of buffets and the breakfast kind in particular--information. I learn this morning that I don't particularly like carrot juice. Once again the buffet fails to excell. Bob concurs. The pastry chef however is pretty good and I decide I like hot chocolate for an occasional breakfast drink. Of course one is limited. Not going to eat the salads or any of the fruit. Bob agrees that it "makes good sense if you want some of your stomach intact".
Apparently Allane complained to Gate1 about our hotel, food etc. he explains as we hurtle down the main drag past the theatre being built, the characteristic "red city" paint yet to be applied.
This is a touristic city. The French built outside of the Medina with their church, so it's called church quarter. Fes is the oldest, Marekkesh 2nd--dates back to 1071. Defensive architecture--wall to secure what's inside. Medinas are overcrowded. Traditional style of life--La Mamounia most expensive hotel. Highest minaret 252 feet. (Can't build higher.) Not a lot of rain. Many motorcycles and bicycles.
We pass an accident. Unhappy young people nursing wounds by the side of the road--a scene we also saw in Bali, another bicycle/motorcycle culture. Now we're in the Jewish quarter. 2 hours walk. Nice seeing the shopkeepers readying their stalls.
A Vizor (prime minister) built the huge house we will see (primarily with the taxes he collected). Sour orange trees, not edible so marmalade is the product. The air is scented from the flowers.
Entire courtyard is the main part of house. Even niches to sleep in. Riad must be a square, with a fountain in the center. 4 small gardens perfectly symmetrical to the fountain. Moorish architecture. Sculpted wood, ceramic floor.
I ask Allane if they have pillows and carpets in the bare tiled rooms. He says yes, low sofas sit close to the earth and mix bright colors. I like that too I say. You should live here he says. Bob laughs.
Moorish architecture incorporates flowers and leaves, geometrical lines and calligraphy. It is repetitive and symmetrical.
 Amazing detail. Getting ideas for our (already teeming full) opium den.
Adjoining houses. The second one is for his four legitimate wives. (Polygamy is still legal in this country.) The present king changed The laws. A guy must have permission today from his first wife.
Enlarged house as he became more polygamous--28 wives in all. Concubine women were really servants, looking after education, kitchen. Kids lived with moms until 10 years old.
Bahia the main wife had direct access to the harem (from Arabic word for forbidden--to men--other than to eunuchs) for the concubine wives. I notice the women in our group seem to focus on the first wife's power more than the powerlessness of the harem.
There's a poor woman sweeping the damned ever-shedding jacaranda -- sleeping hibiscus never opens.
Stained glass is foreign to Arab culture having been brought from Spain. E.g. Arab Calligraphy became more ornate= moorish.
Through the souk-- now opened for business, past the many spice shops and then into the casbah (residential quarter) and the 16th c. Reserved for servants, some of the king's entourage. (It's good to be the vizor.)
I ask Allane if he lives in a Medina. Not now. Grew up in one but it became too noisy. Lives 15 miles away from the Medina.
Entering the Saadiens tombs. Reserved for that dynasty. 3 tombs, king's (masterpiece of Moorish architecture), the women's, and the children. No names in evidence. Only very important people were buried with names. Bodies faced to the east. Closed and undiscovered for 300 years until French discovered it in 1910.
The 3 balls above the minaret represent the 3 religions (or so it is said).
Now we're on our own in the great souk. And passing by the snakes and the monkeys we choose to have lunch at a cafe with a panoramic balcony (to translate from the French) overlooking the hustle and bustle.
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| SAADIENS TOMBS |
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| OO LA LA |
Bob asks if I'm having a good time. He means in general. I say there are moments when I'm experiencing such beauty that I tear up, other times when I'm bored.
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| WATER BEARERS |
Of him. He finds our companions companionable--they're a good group I chime in--the long drives are hard--the hotels are uneven--the oasis at the Ksar was lovely but was run like a work study project and the last Riad had lovely gardens and a great bathroom, the sameness of the food is disappointing.
Our tajines are colorful. I love the way they remove the tops and viola! Bob says a good choice both the fish--his chicken tajine--and the place. My fish tajine is excellent reminding me of meals my mother cooked in a pressure cooker.
Now continuing to be free at last of the tour regime and on our own, we struggle nevertheless to find our way back to Le Meridien. It's a lot longer route than Allane suggested and we're pretty much lost though it turns out we're moving in the right direction. Though there are streets notated on the map I photographed, there are no actual street signs and inquiries along the way move us just blocks ahead at a time. About an hour later we find our hotel and, exhausted, are ready for our afternoon naps. Well accomplished.
Next up is a foray to the mall across the street for cash. Easier said than done, 1st finding the cash machine--the first one yielding, alarmingly no cash in return for our card, though a second one complies. Ai yai.
This accomplished, Bob accompanies me to the pool--which by the way is lovely as is the hotel landscaping including the charming gardens. (The hotel's not entirely mediocre.)
He's got a book to read on his lounge and I've the whole pool to myself. What is it with hotel pools that people don't use them?
 We've got a quiet hour and a half before this evening's optional event. As the time approaches I say I just want to lie in bed. But if we do then we'd be anywhere and if we go out we'd be somewhere. And being somewhere--in particular Marrakesh--is the point.
 Buggy ride through the busy streets and when we pass through the great souk we see that crowds have gathered in every cafe and any place where there is a tv to watch the soccer game all tellingly ignoring the muzzein's call to the evening prayer. Soccer apparently is the true religion. That is the high point of a circular ride through an unexciting part of Marrakech with Dianne and Joe, our carriage mates, that takes an hour. (They gracefully pass up the opportunity to attend a reading of my play Okay Now in Carnegie, a suburb of Pittsburg, on May 1. Visiting grandchildren takes precedence. Da noive.)
However a treat awaits and it is the dining experience at Riad Lotus Privilege (yes that's its name) where we are dropped off at an unprepossessing spot and walk through a winding alleyway to an oasis of elegance. Ritual hand washing, costumed musicians playing as fountains plash, a meal that is wonderful in a beautifully appointed room evoking ones best idea of an exotic Morocco especially the array of appetizers, topped off by a belly dancer first appearing in Muslim garb, headgear revealing only her eyes and then wiggling hips salaciously in less restrictive belly dance dress. And the piece de resistance, handsome servers pouring wine throughout.
Afterward I tell Allane I'm going to complain. He frowns alarmed. "Gate 1 has no right to give us such a luxury experience on an economy tour." I'm glad he laughs.
Monday, April 24
Spend the morning at leisure or participate in the optional tour to the scenic Ourika Valley where typical Moroccan villages are scattered amidst the towering Atlas mountains. Here, discover the area’s natural herbs and their many uses. Before lunch at the gardens enjoy, a "Berber foot bath". In the afternoon, visit Majorelle Gardens, a botanical marvel set in the heart of Marrakesh. End your thrilling day in the famed Djemaa el Fna square, a dazzling display of acrobats, story tellers, and snake charmers. Take your time and absorb this vibrant kaleidoscope of culture, torn from the pages of Ali Baba
Optional: Ourika Valley and Botanical Gardens with Lunch (AM)
Overnight: Marrakesh
Meals: Breakfast
I am in essence the personal assistant to Elizabeth
Taylor. I'd been in a play at the theatre where I sit next to her. We're having
a grand time. (She likes gay men you know.) Soon we'll be getting on the bus to
travel together perhaps for the last time--she's old and ailing. I wonder if
it's Marrakech on the tour? What does this mean? Is Gate 1's tour too pedestrian? Do
I require a taste of the fantasy and excitement this dream offers when I
awaken? It's 7:30 and Bob's alarm has beeped and then it's the hotel's wake up
call.
Actually no need to seek drama. We've enough here. Bob
has serious diarrhea problems. I call Allane to contact Suzy our nurse
companion for special medicine. Shortly both he and Suzy appear with the magic
(I hope) pill. He comes down to breakfast with me for prescribed dry toast and
tea which requires a server go to another part of the hotel for hot water. Just
one of a litany of problems with this place. Suzy lists a cockroach and food
unremoved from the halls. And we both experience separately elevator stoppages
this morning.
Bob remains behind but I go on the optional tour. We're at the foot of the high Atlas. See stall-keepers
opening up. Camels, pottery, schoolchildren walking along the road.
We stop by a river stream. Allane says each community is named
after its family. Men marry wives from other communities who then are
incorporated into the husband's community.
"Marhaber" means welcome. Berber family. We see the main
house. Where family of 18 gathers. The
first room we enter is like a cave. 85% have tap water. Wash the hands of guests
with a kind of tea kettle. Clay and stones. Rain requires frequent restoration.
La Fadma (her name, a variant of Fatima) is the grandmother (the chief!). Sidi is
what you call an old man. (Call me sidi.) Moule is honorific (bow).
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| COURTYARD OF BERBER FAMILY HOME |
She breaks up the tea. Use fresh mint and verbena . The
hospitality idea is to prepare the tea in front of the guests. Make own olive oil, honey, butter.
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| NOT BAD FOR 75 (OR IS THAT SUGAR) |
 We meet the grandmother, daughter, her brother, and
granddaughter. We hear their donkey braying outside.
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| GRANDDAUGHTER SERVES THE TEA |
Shower room. Is like a sauna. Heated underneath. When
Allane first opens it, a bat flies out to the shrieks of the observers.
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| HEATING THE SAUNA--EXTERIOR |
They are entirely self sufficient. Room for cows, chickens, lambs, a pottery room where they make it. Also sell their work.
This has been a memorable stop.
At about 11 0'clock must have butt-dialed Don. It's the
middle of the night in San Diego. Poor guy. He's not feeling well and needs his
sleep. I owe him.
At every stop there are rather insistent peddlers who
buzz around us like furies.
At one stop the highest peak is hard to see in the haze.
Passing the Monday Berber market. Men do the market. Not
the women. Not near their village. So must transport their things.
Get off the bus to walk to the gardens and lunch.
A young woman guides us through the gardens planted with
herbs.
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| FOOT BATH IS GREAT |
Marjerim plants for nerves (verbena too). Oregano for us.
Sage good for tea in winter.
Absanthe (wormwood). Alcohol--too much makes you crazy.
Good for pain.
Thyme--For asthma, flu and cough, and for the digestive
tract.
Sweet orange, one leaf. Bitter, two in one leaf.
Lunch is quite good. However I've got the runs after I return and . . . I don't make it as I run to
our room. Not getting more graphic. But I choose to go on the 3:30 tour
uncertain if that's a good idea. Bob, who has been nursing himself will join this
part of the tour.
Next to the Jardin Majorelle renovated by Ives St.
Laurent and Pierre Berger, his "boyfriend". It's a wonderful garden
replete with reflective pools, some filled with carp, and bamboo groves--that
house their private residence. But the flora is familiar to us as former
denizens of the desert and presently of San Diego with its world famous
arboretum--varieties of palm trees and cactuses. Visitors are transfixed
however and Bob reminds me that a Dutch museum happily accepted the cactus
plant that jumped out at me in the Anza Borego Desert that we gave to our Dutch
friend Peter Prins. It seems every man's notion of the exotic is bound by his
experience.
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| IRON WORK SPECIALTY OF THIS VILLAGE |
The tiny but fascinating Berber Museum displays the rich
artistry of the Berbers primarily in textiles (costumes) and jewelry. Then
there are the pricy shops and in one we bump into Bill and Allen who did forgo
the earlier trip to spend more time here. I fall in love with St. Laurent's
Jardin Majorelle blue--though pass up the opportunity to buy a sample paint
can--don't know if the Opium Den would flourish from that color choice and
notice that a few of the primarily French Moroccans there wear that vivid color
in tribute to the great clothing impresario.
Allane bids us ado until late morning tomorrow (I'm sure
he's grateful for more time with his family in this his city) and we spread out
to find restaurants of our choice.
Bill and Allen wait for a cab at the hotel's
entrance to take them to a well-regarded Italian restaurant, whereas we,
utterly exhausted, and after a non-ice home brew of vodka, seek a simple cafe
in front of the mall across the street.
A medium pizza Margherita to share and
bottled water for $10 fits the bill sublimely. And we get to people watch as
fountain waters dance to Moroccan music.
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| OUR HOTEL FROM THE MALL |
 This is followed up by a stroll though
the mall itself, highlights being the supermarket within that does not sell
Imodium but with well-stocked shelves just about everything else, the two top floors devoted to the kiddies,
whirling rides, an ice rink, and a Souk corridor full of shops that are mall
versions of the Medina Souk. Incongruity reigns. There does seem to be a
sustainable clash between the secular and non-secular, the modern west and the
antique Middle East, abounding here in Marrakech.
Tuesday, April 25
A leisurely morning before departing Marrakesh. Stop at the Argan Oil Womens Cooperative to learn how this skin-nutrifying elixir is extracted from the argan nut. Arrive in Essaouira in time for dinner on your own
Overnight: Essaouira
Meals: Breakfast
Feeling fragile. Careful breakfast for both of us
followed by the other nurse's, Bonnie's, contribution to our health, an
anti-bacterial pill which we pray will do the trick and quell the rumblings of
discontent in our stomachs.
Bob packmaster works at his trade while I lie comotose, a
zombie. Ambition to wedge in a swim on this long morning before we leave for
Essouria is scotched. Our exercise consists of dashing across the street from
our hotel and playing chicken with the unsympathetic drivers to reach the cash
machine. (Gate 1's suggested tip amount is hefty--need to be prepared.)
On the way to Essouria at noon.
What I can make out from Allane--it's hard to understand
his English. Government tries to entice villagers to the small cities. Practically
subsidizes housing. Farmers harvest manually. Problem with stones on the land
which use for building. Even if they have electricity life is hard in this area.
Unfinished houses everywhere.
Lunch. Atlas Cafe. Pizza seems to be the only safe
choice. The photos of sandwiches are brimming over with dreaded lettuce. So
once again we share a Margarita pizza.
The next village is known for its old Peugeots. They know
how to fix them. I see an antique Renault and am reminded that I had one in my
senior year of college. It had some sort of automatic clutch and when we got to
a hill my friends who were piled into the thing like clowns in a VW would have
to get out and push.
Building colors change with each region. Essouria is blue
and white (as Marrakech was red).
 And there they are, the Argan goats. Up in the Argan
tree.And I get to pose with a baby goat. (Bob, I note, stays on the bus. Is he
not feeling well? He is. He says he sees the goats from the bus.) The tree is found only in Morocco in this area. Once called the argon olive. But different.
Bigger fruit than the olive. The seeds are almond, can extract the oil. Can be an
oil we can eat and one that is used for cosmetics.
At the women's cooperative: Harvest in July and Augustus. The women 1. Separate pulp
from nut. 2. Skin for animal food. 3. Break nut to separate seed (for eating and cosmetic)
and the shell (used for burning) toasted seed. Knead it for two hours with
water. After that pure oil squeezed out. The rest can be used for soap. Roast
the seed.
 Look for the certificate of authenticity. (Did I doubt
it?) Work 8 or 5 hours. Weigh it and
they share in profits. We get to buy some soaps for lady friends.
In Essouria you can swim all year round. The name means
small fortress or well built Medina. Its Medina is composed of 2 main alleys.
Built at the end of the 16th, beginning 17th c. During the piracy period. So it's Morocco's
youngest Medina.
And our hotel is lovely, right on the sea as is our first
floor view. Shortly after settling in we meet for a ride to the Medina where
Allane points out restaurants and we pass by the stalls where we note the
prices are reasonable and the merchants don't jump on us the way they do in
Marrakech. We Invite our compadres Bill and Allen for cocktails and decide to
join them at a view restaurant they've heard of.
Wednesday, April 26
Seaside Essaouira has grown into an artist's enclave over the years, and this makes for a fascinating mix of ancient and modern sensibilities. You'll be introduced to its culture with a stroll through the vibrant medina and its bustling fish market. The rest of the afternoon is yours to explore its inviting ancient streets. This evening, learn about traditional music during a talk with a local expert. Enjoy a refreshing cocktail while viewing a Gnawa performance and dance
Overnight: EssaouiraMeals: Breakfast
The breakfast spread is midway between the gargantuan
feasts in hotels like the Sofitel or the more mean-spirited ones, ok
Parsimonious (we ain't starving anywhere) in the smaller places served in a
beautifully appointed room. Jack points Bob to a wonderful cookie ("I
wouldn't steer you wrong. I don't care what they say about me.")
Perfect weather as we head once again to a, where else, the
Medina--no wind.
A small fishing port known for its sardines. Small boats.
Do seaside fishing very early in the morning or later in the afternoon. Not a
fish market here on the port. One in the Medina but here less expensive.
Take pics of the wonderful colorful scene, a boat says Chams. Allane tells me that means sun. And then the picturesque (wow) ramparts
of the fort where they shot at the pirates in the 16th c.
Back in the Medina proper Jack says "I taught Bonnie everything I know and she still
doesn't know anything." Anything for a laugh.
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| BILL AND ALLAN BUY ONE OF THESE--SORRY WE DIDN'T |
On to the old Jewish quarter. See morgan David above door. Spices. Use 35 different spices in their kitchen.
After we are freed by Allane we find a stoop to sit and
let the ocean breezes wash over us before plunging back into soukland. We know
we have an obligation to buy some saffron for Kathy and I've seen so many
wonderful things but . . .
 Abdel Muni is our go to guy for spices. Charming young
guy, 27 years old, 4th generation. He
studied law at the university but needs the money for the fees to practice. His
father age 69 who smoked is in Casablanca because medical care is better. He
and his cousin who is in the gym now take turns minding the shop. We buy
Moroccan saffron and the family mix of 45 spices good for everything. Then he
serves us Royal tea, the Royal, ginger and ginsing cinnamon, sweet wood, anise,
later adds rose and lemongrass. Otherwise bad taste.
I say it's delicious. He says I know that's why I invite
you. They come together in the summer. Friday gather together in the same (grandfather's) house and
have Royal tea. He asks how long we have been together and seems genuinely
pleased for his "friends from America". Meet his cousin from Casablanca who is in the navy. We buy 100 grams for $10.
We see a synagogue
on a street on which we think we've made a wrong turn. Interesting. A synagogue in a house.
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| TRANSLATION? |
Then I buy a jalape. $30 down from $35 after laborious bargaining. Then we find a print of two sheep framed on parchment $7
bargained down from $8. We've done well. We're good tour-travelers.
 We settle on Fantastic a seaside restaurant and are
seated at a window indoors. We order a half bottle of Rouge Presidente. Bob
veggie soup, (awful) Reuel fish. Soup. (Good but both dishes arrive a half hour
late after we've devoured by necessity half of our basket of bread.) we arrived
when It's 2:15 and if Reuel hasn't had food or alcohol, preferably, both by 1
there's hell to pay. But this place is slammed.
Gnaawa music performed during our supper in a gorgeous space
in this 24 room Riad. Three musicians, 2 of whom dance and play. Henna
demonstration. Ground south Morocco plant. Hasna uses henna, found in Zagura, add lemon and sugar. Washed with hot water and walnut to intensify the color. Too bad it's only for the ladies. I would have loved one of the tatoos that lasts for days. Bob
reminds me of the 40's movie where Marlene Dietrich stains her face with walnut
juice to look like a gypsy.
Thursday, April 27
Transfer to Casablanca today, stopping en route for a light lunch in a local restaurant. Upon arrival, see the fabled city's important sights, including the Mohammed V Square, the city's administrative seat. Next, marvel at the massive Hassan II Mosque, dramatically perched on a promontory on the Atlantic. Its indoor and outdoor space can accommodate 105,000 worshippers. In the Habous district, peruse the market and admire the exterior of the Royal Palace. Tonight, a special venue was selected for your Farewell Dinner
Overnight: Casablanca
Meals: Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner
Bye bye Essouria. We'll stop at a seaside resort on our
way to Casablanca where there's 65% of Morocco's industry.
Allane takes this evening's dinner survey. Looks like I'm
the only one having beef. I ask why is everyone having chicken? He says there's
a lot of chicken in this country. Is this a non-sequetor or the only sensible
answer?
El Jadida, our stop, is bigger than Essouria but the same
age and also a seaside resort. Export chemical fertilizers. At our lunch stop,
a chain, there's an opportunity to see the baking of bread in big stone ovens.
We've pre-ordered our sandwiches with that homemade bread, chicken (bob and
everyone except me--beef) and frites. Topped off by a gift from gate 1, a
little package for each of us of homemade Moroccan cookies. They look
delicious.
As we approach Casablanca the homes seem more prosperous.
6 million people. White city. Port city. Besides many mosques 2 big cathedrals
and 4 churches. We walk from the front of the royal palace to the Hamad V square.
Sliding roof. Opened 50 times a year. (We're lucky to witness this phenomenon.) No air
conditioning. This was designed by a French architect who was the BFF of Hassan 3nd, though not a Muslim. This is the 3rd largest. Other 2 are in Saudi
Arabia. Cedar wood. Plaster hand carved in place. Local marble. 57 Murano chandeliers. 25000 men, 5000 women capacity. 1987-1993 built. 6 years
worked day and night. Minaret 600 feet high. Weighs 1100 tons. 200 workers to
clean. 360 speakers hidden at the bottom of columns. Ablution rooms for men and
women.
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| 3 LITTLE MAIDS FROM SCHOOL |
The hamem, bath. Steam room. Capacity outside 80000.
 Quest for a bathroom. Oops it is a squat. Only squats I
do are in aerobics.
Friday, April 28
After breakfast, transfer to the airport for your departure flight
Meals: Breakfast |
Bob. "I like the sea coast city and the ruins a lot; the
sandstorm and the inevitable camel ride were not high on my list." My
thought-- We experienced another fascinating culture and lucked out with very
companionable fellow travelers. "I think I have more of a good feeling
about Morocco than our short jaunt here last time" (an overnight stop on
the Silverseas Mediterranean cruise). Bob: "It's more of a place not just
a trip to Rabat." (From Casablanca.) "dumped in that great big
square with no explanations."
Wowza, and such a lovely lunch which we lay waste
to. Champs for starters, then red wine
with a really nice pate. Curried chicken excellent, Camembert, apples and a
tartlet. Bravo. Then another bottlelette of wine and another of the cookie
purveyance. Gotta be truly motivated for the Nutrisystem regimen that surely
awaits.
Next, how about "Genius" starring Colin Firth and Jude Law
about the professional and personal relationship between book editor Maxwell
Perkins and author Thomas Wolfe. 
Let's see if I find an episode of the Night Manager I
haven't seen. Starring Hugh Laurie and sexy Tom Hiddleston. Oops we did see
the whole series but it's picturesque and who remembers.
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