Beyond Bogie

When I first laid out my travels in Africa, I imagined myself covering just one north African nation, Egypt, before penetrating the Sub-Saharan cultures.  I've since left the 'Dark Continent' and without venturing south of Egypt.  I did, however, travel west to another north African country before seeking warmer climates.  Morocco was a fitting end to nine months of circling the Mediterranean Sea.  It has absorbed cultural traits from Europe and the Middle East but without forfeiting its own heritage and personality.  To this point, many European guide books now include the country in their contents.  The Rif Mountains in the Morocco's north mimic neighboring Spain's Andalucia not only in geography but in language as well.  Alpine communities will find themselves at home in the High Atlas, where peaks surpass 4km.  Beachgoers who have visited Portugal's Atlantic or France's Mediterranean will draw similarities when vacationing on Morocco's coastline.  Morocco may have been heavily affected by powerful empires to its north and east, but it has not been consumed by them.  It remains an unique part of Africa with its nomadic Berbers, timeless desertscapes, and thriving French-Muslim populous.

Thanks to its famous namesake movie, Casablanca has long been Morocco's most famous city.  Unfortunately, I felt the romance ended with the film.  The largest city in the country is more dedicated to commerce and industry than cafes and piano bars.  It is a fast-paced, modern-day metropolis with just a few attractions to offer newcomers.  There is a small medina (old city) and beach promenade, but the Hassan II Mosque is the primary draw.  At the ripe, young age of 10 years and with a price tag close to $800 million, this is the crown jewel of mosques, the St. Peter's of the Muslim world.  Only Mecca and Medina can boast larger capacities, each over 100,000, but none other rivals its decor and sophistication.  Its French designer used the latest materials and techniques to create a building that was beautiful, functional, and durable in the harsh sea climate.  The two-story front doors are a titanium alloy.  Its elaborate chandeliers hail from the Venetian glass-blowing island of Murano.  The 1000-ton movable roof is made from hand-carved Moroccan wood inlaid with handmade mosaic.  And at the top of its 210-meter minaret, the tallest in the world, is a green laser shining towards Mecca, viewable from 30km away.

Originally, I thought I'd spend several days in Casa.  Learning of its business-oriented atmosphere was just one reason why I changed my plans and left earlier.  The other four reasons came close to midnight on the day of my arrival.  On the last train from the airport to the city, my coach was occupied by five other people: one local and four German backpackers.  At our final destination, one of the backpackers asked me in French if this was indeed the last stop.  The next thing I knew, I was invited to join them at their hotel.  Once again, traveler's luck seemed to find me when I needed it.

Sebastian, Philipp, Max, and David were students on a 10-day holiday from their university in Switzerland.  As my Moroccan experience would only be a few days longer than theirs, I accepted the invitation to join their traveling band.  After one day in Casa, our next destination was one of the country's three imperial cities: Fes.  While its ville nouvelle is quaint and worth visiting only with spare time, it's the medina that deserves a traveler's attention.  It dwarfs Casa's, and in truth any other, as it is the largest medieval city in the Muslim world.  We five wound through the narrow streets sampling cheap eats and waving off incessant merchants.  A few times we found a medersa, an ancient Quranic school, or mosque to peek inside, but largely our sightseeing was focused on everyday life and the overall atmosphere rather than specific buildings or places.  One such notable place still part of everyday life, is the tanneries.  Fes has long been known for its leather, and with a visit to any producer comes an invitation to see them.  Here, a visitor gets the rare glimpse at leather's life cycle from heffer to handbag.  The producers are more difficult to avoid than find, but should one seek them out, he only needs follow his nose.  The tanneries' sights are fascinating, but they cannot sensually compare to its smells.  It is something only decades of chemicals, animal hides, and human sweat can produce.  It's worth a whiff, just don't inhale too deeply.

After three rainy, chilled days in Fes, I split from my German companions.  They were headed south, where we'd reconvene, but first I had some exploration in the north to attend to.  Chaouen, a.k.a Chefchaouen, is a small mountain village in the Rif not far from the Spanish controlled enclave of Ceuta or the more infamous city of Tangier.  It has long attracted two main types of visitor: the hiker and the smoker.  From Chaouen's outskirts, there are an abundance of trails ranging in difficulty from the casual stroll to the technically challenging, depending on one's level of fitness and herbal intake.  Officially, this region is known for its high quality woven textiles, but they aren't what fill the guesthouses.  Equally viable and long-lived are its kif (marijuana) and hashish industries.  Despite police claiming its decline, I maintain any person with a bag in hand or over a shoulder will be approached before he/she finds his/her accommodation.  This isn't a problem, however, as the locals are respectful of either "yes, please"s or "no, thank you"s.  However, it is important to learn the local slang. Else, it becomes a bit awkward when someone invites you in for 'chocolate' and brings out a pipe and small bag of what is noticeably not a confectionary.

In Marrakech, I reassimilated into the German backpackers union, and together we explored the largest of Morocco's imperial cities.  As with Fes, we weren't so much site oriented as we were ambience driven.  We did visit the notable Palais el Badi, once named 'The Incomparable', but its skeletal remnants barely hinted at what was.  For ambience, there is no greater concentration than the central medina square of Djemaa el-Fna.  On any given day, this UNESCO World Heritage site will be crawling with a healthy fraction of Morocco's tourist population.  However, it will also be heavily numbered with locals, and not just those selling goods to visitors.  It has long been the vital pulse in the city's heartbeat.  For centuries, long before the age of tourism, Djemaa el-Fna has buzzed day and night with snakecharmers, acrobats, storytellers, musicians, comics, and heaps of food stalls.  Freshly squeezed orange juice costs less than 40 cents, dried fruit and nuts are no more than a couple bucks per kilo, and a dinner consisting of delicacies such as snail soup, fried sole, or boiled goat's head will be no more than ten dollars.

Had I the power, I would have granted my new German friends a few more days in Morocco.  However, had I done that, I might not have seen the Sahara.  Due to their schedule being more hurried than my own, they saw the country's highest mountain range and some of the world's greatest desert during my stint in Chaouen.  On their final day, they wisely influenced, although unintentionally, my travel decisions as they had done from day one.  With my last two days in Marrakech, I joined a group on a rushed-but-better-than-nothing trip to the Sahara.  Our journey through the snowy High Atlas was brief yet long enough to raise concern that we had not brought enough warm attire.  As we returned to moderate desert temperates in Ouazazarte, our anxiety subsided.  However, minutes after our Saharan sunset in Zagora, the camel caravan commenced and the warm, rosy curtain opened on a delicious but cold celestial panorama.  At our camp, all was well again with the addition of clothing, a steaming chicken and vegetable tagine, and Berber campfire band.

Most of day two of my Sahara trip was spent returning to Marrakech, which made it quite long, but even after arriving, I was not done traveling.  My flight departed from Tangier in less than 48 hours, and I was determined to have one full day in this international port.  After a restless overnight bus ride, I found myself alone on the city's main drag an hour before sunrise.  I easily killed those 60 minutes and then proceeded to the beach for the day's heralding.  I had hoped for a beautiful show but not the one I got.  As dawn's early light crested over the eastern horizon, it spotlighted what has become a favorite memory of Morocco.  On this normal Saturday morning, the sandy shores of this urban beach were completely littered with people playing soccer.  Pitch after makeshift pitch, young men imitated their favorite superstars as they faked, passed, and scored.  I watched for hours extremely content at how my day had begun and how my trip had concluded.