About Morocco

Nightingale songs in a blossoming orange garden...
Morocco was a dream of mine almost 20 years ago - I kept imagining the sentence: “And that time we were in Casablanca…”
The first try was not successful, but it showed us the magical Istanbul. We already had two goals - Turkey and Morocco. Turkey settled permanently into our hearts, but we kept chasing the magical Morocco. After many attempts to get there, the day after the visa requirement for Bulgarians was lifted, we put together a trip.
That is how one spring our two-week journey through those lands began. The air providers that flew back then were predominantly Italian or Spanish, and we settled for the option via Milan. The Casablanca airport greeted us with a massive passport control cue, that took three hours of our time. Three hours, during which everyone tried to go before the rest with various arguments - a mother with three children, sick people, diplomats. In the end we survived that obstacle, we met up with the local guide that drove us to the freshly renovated from the most recent terror attack central hotel. It turned out that we had a week in Casablanca before the rest of our group arrived - Canadians, for whom Morocco had also always been a dream. The first memory from the city is the Hassan II mosque on the shore, majestic and visible from everywhere. The white houses and the cozy southern chaos, that you either accept or reject. Then came the walks on La Corniche and the Anfa neighbourhood, where Churchill and Roosevelt rewrote modern day history by changing the course of the war and changed the world.
Sunsets in the ocean during a low tide is when you see all the beauty in the world.
The adventure continued through Rabat, Meknes, Fes, and then to the South - towards Marrakech. The Canadian family - a mother, a father, their two daughters, and the two of us were driven in a van by a driver that spoke 5-6 languages. It turned out that the man came from Agadir - the Moroccan Sunny Beach, and his seasonal performance had left feel traces on his girlfriends.
And we drive through deserts and mountains and we clash with the local reality. During those years Morocco was still a main part of the route of the Dakar rally, and we kept being overtaken by jeeps with gas tanks on the roof. Our driver Ahmed kept telling us every evening that his favourite place to park is the desert - because you can park everywhere. Somewhere around Fes a second Moroccan joined the team. A strongly spiritual Muslim with a prayer hat and a scar on his forehead from praying. Strongly oriented towards trade. Because commission is holy in that world. We learned the tactic in Fes, after a visit to the famous leather houses, where you would not survive without a pinch of mint under your nose.
But while we were in Fes we ran out of beer and my partner, after having two McDonalds coffees got on a cab in search of a small shop with a back room, selling alcohol. After a brave three-hour journey, he was met at the hotel lobby by our clever driver who asked why we didn’t just say what we were looking for.
After this experience we had no issues, and in exchange we listened to Ahmed’s theory about men’s take on life and women. The short version goes something like this - Why eat couscous every night when you can change the meals.
A crossing through the Atlas mountain followed and that brought us to the palm forest surrounding Marrakech.
Marrakech is magical with its colours and energy. A fairytale you are not sure you want to keep living, but also not sure you want to leave behind. All characters featured in fairytales are present - knife swallowers, flame artists, mediums, monkeys, snakes…and we are in search of a money exchange office, as we have run out of the local currency.
The central square in Marrakech Jemaa el-Fnaa is something that is really worth seeing at sunset.
The next morning we dove into the souks and medinas - amongst mules, loaded with skins, empty Coca-Cola crates, and mountains of herbs we were looking for something we could take back home and keep as a memory. We come across a real trashy shop selling gnawa hats. And the seller, in addition to looking like he came from another universe, is obviously on a few cigarettes amongst other things. At the door I see the shadow of our "broker" Rashid, who is waiting to see if there will be a deal to go for the "commission" or to move on to the next shop.
And we take the gnawa hat, but we don't have enough dirhams, and we promise to come back to pay extra. This does not stop the broker who follows us for the commission. The nerve…
Jemaa el-Fnaa is getting full this evening - like right out of a fairytale, lively and bright. Today we are leaving with traditional henna on my hand, dates, more magicians and enchanted cobras, plus a couple of boiled snails…Just like in Jimmy Page and Robert Plant’s music video.
The following day, after we had already gotten to know the medina, we returned to our intoxicated seller from before to settle our debt. He could easily be a character from Star Wars. He has no recollection of the previous day, but we insist… In the end he gets a couple more dirhams.
And we continue our trip ahead though the Tizi n’Tichka pass, almost 2500 m high, where the hills are lined with Berber carpets, all the way to Ourzazate - the Moroccan capital of the film industry. At the local carpet shop they tell us how Brad Pitt bought a 10,000 Euro carpet a week ago and how cheap that is. We give them a crooked smile and let our Canadian companions wonder at their Arabic creativity.
There are natural Tuaregs on the roads, with scarves with painted ends, and we get some ourselves - we still have them at home to this day. And at Beni-Mellal we ended up sleeping at a blossomed orange garden, with nightingales singing at sunrise. A true dip with Scheherazade.
The Milanese airport and the Milanese rain come as a bit of a shock after two weeks of fairytale in the Sahara.
Of course we start things off with Page and Plant.
Tinariwen, originally from Maui, but very accurately describing the energy in those lands.
Another Moroccan story from Page and Plant.
To wrap things up we have Morrocan singer Hindi Zara.
June 2020
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