Morocco
17. December 2003 - 9. January 2004




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Flew down from our town Bergen in Norway via Oslo and Frankfurt. Our plane landed on the coast in Casablanca. From there we went inland to Fès, down to Essaouira on the coast, east again to Marrakech, over the Atlas mountains to Zagora and the Sahara and back again to Marrakech. Route map.





First impression of the country was a lasting one through the journey; stark contrasts of old and new, trash and magnificent beauty, jumbled together in chaotic patterns. Casablanca was an easy enough start, almost Europe, just a tad more exotic. It had a handful splendid old houses and a brand new one, the mosque of the current king, Hassan II. Still under construction, having the last touches done when we was there. The worlds third largest religious monument they boast and it sure is big. Very big. The tower is 200 meter high! About the only interesting thing in the city. So we went to the mosque, was properly awed and headed off to Fès.

The medinas, the old fortified towns in Morocco, are what the country's cities are about. Not much to mention from the Ville Nouvilles the French built outside the medinas. In older time the walled cities was a good protection from invasion and still is. They do a good job at keeping out westernization from the centuries old traditions! Though, 21st century is unavoidable even in the most remote places. Typically a mobile phone chime in an alley as an old wizened woman slowly goes about with her doing sporting bold Adidas socks. Such bizarre anachrony's asides it's the place to go for authentic urban culture and when it comes to medinas Fès have the ultimate. A time machine going back a few hundred years!


As you see in the pictures we where being taken well care of by the local carpet, clothing, leather, wood, magic and spice pushers as well as only new faces in a foreign country can be. Didn't help that it's a big city with almost no tourists when we where there. We joked about Ali Baba and the 1.3 million thieves! About half of the population in the country don't have a regular job. Their way is to make money from whatever opportunity comes around, a tourist is obviously a golden one. Got a bit ripped off by the salesmen, hassled by loads of people and finally scared off when a so called friend all of a sudden turned into a furious hustler in the dark streets of a big foreign city. Getting smarter by every small incident we made two basic assumptions. Never buy anything without checking the price in at least five different places first or they will rip you off. The second proved to be depressingly true; any people approaching us is in it for the money, if we go up to someone it may be real friends. Normal people don't talk with strangers. If they do, it's almost surely to try to gain something of it. Especially if you don't speak French! Berbers have a keen sense for language, often speaking 4-5 languages. If they have learned English it is way too often a vocabulary based on the need to get cash, not the most interesting prospect for a conversation.

Looking for a more quiet place for Christmas we headed down the coast, first by train to sleep in Safi and then further south by buss. Transport provided a seldom opportunity to photograph people. Most don't like it and it's custom to pay people for not being themselves while the tourist snap a shot. So in the cover of public transports a few real life scenes could be taken.

We tripled our sleeping budget to 600 dirham (€60) a night in Essaouira for nothing but the most exquisite apartment!

A few days later we moved to a less decorated but seaside place in the same city to hear Atlantic waves splash outside the window. Christmas passed with enormous lack of Christmas, just as we hoped it would be. Essaouria was a small relaxed place with a dominating fish harbor, long beach and a prime example of an ugly hole in the ground toilet in the buss terminal.

More buss, this time jam packed with people and prehistoric suspension and engine. This increase in the poor state of machinery seemed to repeat it self for every vehicle we got into! The old man was another victim of Kung Pho To practice, this time shot from the hip. Only worth trying if you're very sure the flash is off.

Crawling a few hours inland from the coast landed us in Marrakech. Marvelous! Armed with hindsight we entered another former capital, prepared for the worst. Not so. As nice and calm as anyone can ask for in a big city and almost inexhaustible in wonders. Historical attractions hidden behind impossible to find a way through alley mazes, dead silent areas in big houses and parks and an endless rackle of people and life in the streets. The souqs, markets, occupies a big neighborhood, selling most anything one can possible ask for. From picture frames made by old bicycle tires, live turtles and chameleons, long quarters selling one thing only like shoes, woodwork, metals and western plastic trash to art in any perceivable Arab, Berber or African manner and endless amount of spices, meat, vegetables, sweets and other food.




The city is placed in a vast valley between small mountains in the north and the majestic Atlas in the south. Perfect to sit in shorts only, licking the African sun, with the snow covered peaks glimmering in the distance. Remember, this was our Christmas holiday!

Our world centered around Djeema El Fna, the big square leading into the souqs and the rest of the medina. Snake charmers, henna painting women, musicians, spice and orange juice peddlers dominate while the souqs bustle with life in the daytime. When the sun sets the place wakes up and suddenly there's a hundred food stalls grilling and making all sorts of delicious food while story tellers, bands and magicians keep hordes of local people entertained in the rest of the square. Fun to walk around in, great to watch from the panorama view cafés and a fantastic place for a good meal.

The psychedelic tiling on the roof terrace and the worse than disturbing choice of colors in the sleeping room above is courtesy of hotel Afrique. No wonder we developed a very bad sense of humor down there. Time flew and suddenly it was new years eve. Spent it in the big market, was a total blast with many thousand people around us, all celebrating a fairly abstract thing for them. Chanting "we want Christmas, we want Christmas!" and setting the square into a frenzied hooray when three small fireworks went off, the Arabs turned out to be good companions even for this foreign party. Champagne on the roof terrace in the African night provided a brilliant start on the new year.

A few days later, another road, this time over the tempting peaks down to the desert south of the mountain range. The roads so far hadn't impressed much but now the motorcyclist in me started to make it self painfully present! At a stage I got all dizzy and started babbling and laughing loud for my self how fantastic it would be to get out of the ugly bus with the so-so driver and get leaning the right way into those impossible corners! A combination of the vast loneliness of Norwegian roads and the go-cart track roads of the Alps, with gut clenching falls outside the puny road side fences.

Ended up in a dusty, fly filled little nothing town in the Drââ valley, Zagora. Found a supposedly famous sign showing the way to Timbuktu, 52 days, by dromedar! Impressive enough, but not nearly good enough to warrant a stop and it's almost the only thing to see in the town. Excepting the local market day, it was a treat with sheep, donkeys, groceries and all sorts of sellable objects. By the locals for the locals, with only a few tourists walking cautiously around. The skin was darker down south and it felt like it could have been anywhere on any dusty marketplace anywhere in the continent. Definite sense of being in Africa! The town was in a long palm filled valley fertilized by a river going far into the desert with some dunes scattered around.

Went to the edge of Sahara and a small music festival that had been going nonstop for four days since new years eve. So good to dance again after weeks without proper music, especially in the soft sand! Also accidentally found a way to set the camera shutter longer than two seconds, now up to 15. Almost like a spy cam, the desert pictures with the tents and the car lights are in the middle of the night with moonlight and the stars glimmering in the sky! Climbed some small dunes and felt Saharan sand between the toes in the moonlight.

Another look at the 9-10 hour buss ride through the Drââ valley and over atlas mountains. This time the opposite way, to spend the last days of the vacation in the easy going Marrakech. To make the PMS(Parked Motorcycle Syndrome) even worse some Paris-Dakar bike came zooming past right as the milk chocolate eating kid behind us puked in the middle passage of the bus. To make the ride easier we had an hour in the middle in Ouarzazate, where Katarina got into the kitchen of a restaurant to make food!

Back to the ultra cool guys at stand 65 in Djeema El Fna, with the stunningly original name Ali's, who had the best mint tea and kebabs. Period.

Regarding names, no surprise there. Mohammed. Ali. Ahmed. Loads of Ahmeds! Mustafa. So on from the list of officially approved names. Ruling out all the traditional Berber names, going for an Arab only society. The now dead king, Mohammed V, was the main man with the current king Hassan II closing in on him. They use the old and proved trick of mixing religion with power, claiming direct ancestry from The Prophet. Given any place worthy of having a street it was bound to be Boulevard Mohammed V. If there was two streets, the second biggest one was Hassan II. Invariably! It's a sort of free society. Only a couple of years since people disappeared courtesy of the police. It's still considered a crime to speak badly of the royalty but it's not a population driven by fear anymore. Still, pictures of one of the kings was on display in every shop and the ubiquitous illuminated billboards left no doubt who was the current one.

All in all we had a very good time, with moments of fury and seemingly bottomless annoy over the incessantly hassling people, a bit of sickness for each and one of us and loads of loads of vivid impressions. The pictures stand on their own, hopefully bringing the positive message that they have an impressive level of esthetics. Along with a lot of rubbish as well, not incidentally modern achievement trash that no animal eat and humans can't use. Anything that could possible be used to any purpose was recycled, it's amazing how inventive they can be! Much of the magic places and the fundamental principles for today's handcraft was built 500 to a thousand years ago. At a time with mathematicians, smart thinkers, great architects, wild wars, explorations in the far east, endless amounts of riches, concubines, flying carpets and 1001 nights. Morocco still keeps up a lot of old traditions, hope it stays that way!

Three weeks was enough and we wanted to get home. That said, I'd love to go back. The rail, buss and Lonely Planet way of doing things put us in the middle of the tourist leeches all the time - must be a far different experience to find our own way around. That and the fact that the roads and pistes looked like dazzling fun on a motorbike made it a definite place to go ride. Inshalla!

My sister Katarina, her boyfriend Phil and me on the left

Cheers!

Andreas Nordenstam Jan. 2004
www.bergenteknomafia.com

PS: you may also enjoy my motorcycle trip report from the Alps.

To chat, discuss something, make a point, correct any accidental errors I've made or even maybe get an answer to a question, do not hesitate to make contact! andreas_NOSPAM_@bergenteknomafia.com (remove obvious antispam bit)

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