Spring break commenced on the last Saturday in March, and on Sunday, my dear friend traveled from Rabat to meet up with me in Tetouan. We spent the night in Tetouan, caught a horribly graphic movie about Gaza at the Mediterranean Film Festival and then hit the road early Monday morning. Here's the breakdown of our "RiHla Tawila" through the Northeast of Morocco.
Mon. 29 Mar: Tetouan to Targuist by public bus. Transport Souhail, I will never ride your buses ever again. The bus broke down an hour down the road, and after what seemed like hours waiting at a rest stop, we picked up our journey in a half-fixed bus that could only go 15 km per hour. From Targuist, we took a grand taxi to the tiny village of Beni Boufrah. Ate a ton, then slept like logs.
Tues. 30 Mar: Hiking in Beni Boufrah to Cala Iris. Our Moroccan-cum-Basque guide Wafi taught us the words in Arabic for pretty much everything, from the hut-like bales of hay to the red poppies dotting the countryside.
Wed. 31 Mar: Trip to the local cooperative specializing in aromatic and medicinal herbs. Relaxed at a cafe in the evening and bonded with a Basque (don't you dare say Spanish) couple. Because of them, I was able to translate from Arabic to Spanish for the first time in my life. It was a tangible measure of my hard work and achievement. I was ecstatic.
Thurs. 1 Apr: Beni Boufrah to Al Hoceima by Grand Taxi. Lunch of Fritura (assorted fried fish and seafood plate) before continuing on to Melillia. More bonding with the Basques, who turned out to be great travel companions. Melodee and I found our way to the Residencia de estudiantes y deportistas and found it very much to our liking, although the complimentary breakfast left much to be desired. We had our first dinner in Spain, tapas style, and I had the pleasure of introducing Melodee to the wonderful world of Spanish cuisine.
Fri. 2 Apr: Good Friday. Beautiful weather, but almost everything was closed. We wandered for a bit and took a long afternoon nap. I had Chinese food for the first time in over 6 months and in the evening we had front-row seats to the Semana Santa procession. Melodee got some nice pictures of the floats featuring Jesus in a coffin and Mary in mourning. Lots of tinto de verano (wine) for me and caña (beer) for Melodee.
Sat. 3 Apr: Easter Saturday! Since we knew we would be traveling back to Morocco early on Sunday morning, Melodee and I decided to celebrate Easter a day early. We hid kinder eggs for each other around the hotel room (mine was hiding very cleverly in the toilet paper role) and stuffed ourselves with jellybeans. Then we got some Italian food, napped on the beach and explored the breathtaking Old City. This was one of my favorite days on the trip. We wandered the streets taking pictures, eating Dorritos and occasionally sighing contentedly. We wandered into the Museum of Melillia, were I was given a personal tour by the most precious 7-year-old boy I have ever seen. He told me all about the history of the town, explained the original uses for the various antiques on display, and even gave me a brief overview of the Boston Tea Party. My favorite moment was when he explained how to use the old phone board salvaged from the city's old hospital. "Maybe you want to call someone, say, the Wine-lovers club, for instance." I told his father, one of the board members of the city's historical society, that the future of Melillia was clearly in good hands. After our unofficial tour, Melodee and I splurged on an amazing sea-side dinner, and then danced until 2 a.m., when most Melillians were just spilling in to the discotecas.
Sun. 4 Apr: Melillia to Oujda, via (unfortunately) Nador. I will dedicate a whole post to Nador, so I won't elaborate on the horrendous experience. Melodee and I at least made it across the border, with only a few minutes of the usual questioning. At Oujda we stayed with a Couchsurfing friend, but were so exhausted we just read until we fell asleep.
Mon. 5 Apr: Another night in Oujda, this time at a "good hotel hit by hard times". Oujda is a great city, though. Half the size of Rabat, double the size of Tetouan, the city is full of life, despite the economic blow it suffered when the border to Algeria was closed in 1995. Melodee and I splurged at this amazing women's artisanal cooperative. I bought Koichi and I each mugs as well as a glass and pitcher set, all hand decorated. Our attempt to catch a Bollywood film at the nearby theater failed when we discovered the movie was American dubbed in French and that the theater had clearly not been cleaned since local Pee-On-Things Festival. We studied Arabic in our hotel room, instead.
Tues. 6 Apr: Oujda to Taza by train. Melodee politely talked to the women we shared the car with. I looked out the window and wished I were in Japan, where trains are for sleeping and talking is taboo. Aside from just being grumpy, I wanted to relax on the train, and the one woman in particular had several obnoxious habits, such as cracking gum, drinking abandoned drink boxes, taking up an entire seat, asking obnoxious questions and being otherwise unintelligible. Once we arrived in Taza, there was some drama with out hotel room which I would rather forget. Neither Melodee nor I were in great spirits, so we took it easy, got a good meal and went to bed early.
Wed. 7 Apr: Very early. Much earlier than we had intended. Somehow we had set the alarm clock an hour behind, and I didn't realize it until after we were both showered the next morning. I did a double take as I looked at my wristwatch, then stuck my head out of the hotel room to ask the maid to confirm the time. 8 a.m. We had intended to wake up at that time, but instead left the hotel shortly after 8 and had a nice, calm breakfast served by a nervous and timid waiter who giggled giddily when I spoke to him in Moroccan Arabic. The train to Fez that morning was much more pleasant than the one the day before, although our cabin mate did continue to speak to me in Spanish and French even though I told him that I only spoke Arabic. I even gave him the option of Standard or Moroccan. Somehow this was confusing for him, because he kept going in Romance. And I kept pretending not to understand. The things you do to learn a language! One of Melodee's friends met us in Fez and we stayed with his family. Fez is very tough on "fake guides" who try to show tourists around and then charge a ridiculous price. They are so tough, in fact, that our friend couldn't show us around the town for fear of being accused of being a "fake guide", fined and possibly arrested. Luckily his brother/friend (?) was an official guide (for Italians!) so he showed us around in a mix of Arabics and "Romancified" English. Fez was an amazing whirlwind, and I hope to go back someday. It was definitely the best night on the Moroccan part of this trip.
Thurs.8 Apr: Fez to Taza, via a CTM bus. We had considered spending an extra night in Fez, but both Melodee and I were ready to get home. The bus ride was (thankfully and relatively) uneventful. Melodee "fired" all of the culturally insensitive tourists, and had me in stitches in the process. She made some good points though. What's the point of wearing legwarmers with a low-cut top? So your legs are cold but your chest isn't? And as my roommate Mary had previously pointed out, why wear a scarf with a tank top? The experience made me feel very old and very isolated. I wanted to go over and say, "Excuse me, young people, can you explain this to me? Is this the new cool thing in the western world?" Also, 100 dirhams to the guy who can explain the Spanish subculture of dreadlock-mullet-heads. And has half the Spanish male population converted, or do they just really happen to like Morocco?
There's no place like Morocco, and being that it's home for now, there's no place like home.
Mon. 29 Mar: Tetouan to Targuist by public bus. Transport Souhail, I will never ride your buses ever again. The bus broke down an hour down the road, and after what seemed like hours waiting at a rest stop, we picked up our journey in a half-fixed bus that could only go 15 km per hour. From Targuist, we took a grand taxi to the tiny village of Beni Boufrah. Ate a ton, then slept like logs.
Tues. 30 Mar: Hiking in Beni Boufrah to Cala Iris. Our Moroccan-cum-Basque guide Wafi taught us the words in Arabic for pretty much everything, from the hut-like bales of hay to the red poppies dotting the countryside.
Wed. 31 Mar: Trip to the local cooperative specializing in aromatic and medicinal herbs. Relaxed at a cafe in the evening and bonded with a Basque (don't you dare say Spanish) couple. Because of them, I was able to translate from Arabic to Spanish for the first time in my life. It was a tangible measure of my hard work and achievement. I was ecstatic.
Thurs. 1 Apr: Beni Boufrah to Al Hoceima by Grand Taxi. Lunch of Fritura (assorted fried fish and seafood plate) before continuing on to Melillia. More bonding with the Basques, who turned out to be great travel companions. Melodee and I found our way to the Residencia de estudiantes y deportistas and found it very much to our liking, although the complimentary breakfast left much to be desired. We had our first dinner in Spain, tapas style, and I had the pleasure of introducing Melodee to the wonderful world of Spanish cuisine.
Fri. 2 Apr: Good Friday. Beautiful weather, but almost everything was closed. We wandered for a bit and took a long afternoon nap. I had Chinese food for the first time in over 6 months and in the evening we had front-row seats to the Semana Santa procession. Melodee got some nice pictures of the floats featuring Jesus in a coffin and Mary in mourning. Lots of tinto de verano (wine) for me and caña (beer) for Melodee.
Sat. 3 Apr: Easter Saturday! Since we knew we would be traveling back to Morocco early on Sunday morning, Melodee and I decided to celebrate Easter a day early. We hid kinder eggs for each other around the hotel room (mine was hiding very cleverly in the toilet paper role) and stuffed ourselves with jellybeans. Then we got some Italian food, napped on the beach and explored the breathtaking Old City. This was one of my favorite days on the trip. We wandered the streets taking pictures, eating Dorritos and occasionally sighing contentedly. We wandered into the Museum of Melillia, were I was given a personal tour by the most precious 7-year-old boy I have ever seen. He told me all about the history of the town, explained the original uses for the various antiques on display, and even gave me a brief overview of the Boston Tea Party. My favorite moment was when he explained how to use the old phone board salvaged from the city's old hospital. "Maybe you want to call someone, say, the Wine-lovers club, for instance." I told his father, one of the board members of the city's historical society, that the future of Melillia was clearly in good hands. After our unofficial tour, Melodee and I splurged on an amazing sea-side dinner, and then danced until 2 a.m., when most Melillians were just spilling in to the discotecas.
Sun. 4 Apr: Melillia to Oujda, via (unfortunately) Nador. I will dedicate a whole post to Nador, so I won't elaborate on the horrendous experience. Melodee and I at least made it across the border, with only a few minutes of the usual questioning. At Oujda we stayed with a Couchsurfing friend, but were so exhausted we just read until we fell asleep.
Mon. 5 Apr: Another night in Oujda, this time at a "good hotel hit by hard times". Oujda is a great city, though. Half the size of Rabat, double the size of Tetouan, the city is full of life, despite the economic blow it suffered when the border to Algeria was closed in 1995. Melodee and I splurged at this amazing women's artisanal cooperative. I bought Koichi and I each mugs as well as a glass and pitcher set, all hand decorated. Our attempt to catch a Bollywood film at the nearby theater failed when we discovered the movie was American dubbed in French and that the theater had clearly not been cleaned since local Pee-On-Things Festival. We studied Arabic in our hotel room, instead.
Tues. 6 Apr: Oujda to Taza by train. Melodee politely talked to the women we shared the car with. I looked out the window and wished I were in Japan, where trains are for sleeping and talking is taboo. Aside from just being grumpy, I wanted to relax on the train, and the one woman in particular had several obnoxious habits, such as cracking gum, drinking abandoned drink boxes, taking up an entire seat, asking obnoxious questions and being otherwise unintelligible. Once we arrived in Taza, there was some drama with out hotel room which I would rather forget. Neither Melodee nor I were in great spirits, so we took it easy, got a good meal and went to bed early.
Wed. 7 Apr: Very early. Much earlier than we had intended. Somehow we had set the alarm clock an hour behind, and I didn't realize it until after we were both showered the next morning. I did a double take as I looked at my wristwatch, then stuck my head out of the hotel room to ask the maid to confirm the time. 8 a.m. We had intended to wake up at that time, but instead left the hotel shortly after 8 and had a nice, calm breakfast served by a nervous and timid waiter who giggled giddily when I spoke to him in Moroccan Arabic. The train to Fez that morning was much more pleasant than the one the day before, although our cabin mate did continue to speak to me in Spanish and French even though I told him that I only spoke Arabic. I even gave him the option of Standard or Moroccan. Somehow this was confusing for him, because he kept going in Romance. And I kept pretending not to understand. The things you do to learn a language! One of Melodee's friends met us in Fez and we stayed with his family. Fez is very tough on "fake guides" who try to show tourists around and then charge a ridiculous price. They are so tough, in fact, that our friend couldn't show us around the town for fear of being accused of being a "fake guide", fined and possibly arrested. Luckily his brother/friend (?) was an official guide (for Italians!) so he showed us around in a mix of Arabics and "Romancified" English. Fez was an amazing whirlwind, and I hope to go back someday. It was definitely the best night on the Moroccan part of this trip.
Thurs.8 Apr: Fez to Taza, via a CTM bus. We had considered spending an extra night in Fez, but both Melodee and I were ready to get home. The bus ride was (thankfully and relatively) uneventful. Melodee "fired" all of the culturally insensitive tourists, and had me in stitches in the process. She made some good points though. What's the point of wearing legwarmers with a low-cut top? So your legs are cold but your chest isn't? And as my roommate Mary had previously pointed out, why wear a scarf with a tank top? The experience made me feel very old and very isolated. I wanted to go over and say, "Excuse me, young people, can you explain this to me? Is this the new cool thing in the western world?" Also, 100 dirhams to the guy who can explain the Spanish subculture of dreadlock-mullet-heads. And has half the Spanish male population converted, or do they just really happen to like Morocco?
There's no place like Morocco, and being that it's home for now, there's no place like home.
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