A Trip to Morocco

The trip began at 10.00, Friday morning with all of us piling into the Yamaha Popular Music School minibus—which is owned by a fellow from the church—for the hour and a half drive to the port of Algeciras (near Tarifa for those who like surfing). The hour-long ferry ride was really not very bad, although we weren't allowed outside, which was a bit of a bummer. The day was a bit chilly and misty so we didn´t actually get to see Morocco until we were just about to land in Tanger.

Morocco is a land of dust, street-peddlers, poverty, culture, colour, and action. For Morgan, this was his first visit to a third-world country—or developing nation, if you prefer—and one of his first comments was that he felt out of place. In a way, we were all out of place, especially when compared to how at home we had come to feel in Spain during our few short weeks there. For [Mark]—who tried to look on the bright side by finding a cool mountain and palm tree—the experience was not entirely enjoyable.
[Mark]'s difficulties began within a few hours of our arrival, after we were settled into Hotel Solazur, and we sat down on a short wall overlooking the beach and began to enjoy our hard-won spoils, namely, cool Moroccan bread, a little tub of Nutella—ah... delicious... did you know that Hasselnuss is German for Hazelnut? I did—and some Laughing Cow Cheese—you should all try it, it is spectacular, especially with saltine crackers. No sooner had we sat when a man who had introduced himself to us earlier that day as Muhommad came and began to discuss our names, intentions in Morocco, country of origin, and other platitudes with us. He offered to show us the way to the Souk and Medina or anything else we wanted to see. We politely refused. Soon thereafter, a man arrive peddling a small leathern wallet for only one Euro! One Euro! Well, [Mark] took the deal, but no sooner had the man exchanged the wallet for the one Euro coin than the man claimed it would be better for [Mark] to pay in smaller coins but, searching through [Mark]´s handful of change, could find no better option and eventually handed back the Euro and, taking his wallet and one or two of [Mark]´s coins, walked off.

Not the best introduction for poor [Mark] and when Muhommad returned soon thereafter and asked us for a donation for helping us around town and [Mark] was guilted into giving him the Euro... well... that pretty well cemented his opinion of the majority of Moroccan people. Others of us were dealing with other things, however, in the form of the scrutiny of many pairs of eyes.

For the guys, we all shared the impression that we were being looked at suspiciously in not an entirely friendly manner. In Spain we blend in somewhat—some of us more than others—but in Morocco there's no hiding the fact that we're foreigners. For the girls it was different, they received so many leering stares that even us guys, who are often oblivious to the responses of other guys, noticed. The culture is rather apparently chauvinist and while, knowing so little of the culture I cannot pass judgment, women seemed itemised.

Religion was obviously a large part of life in Morocco and, as opposed to Spain—a rather secularised nation—, seemed to have a direct, daily effect on people's lives. Five times a day—including at 05.45—the call to prayer blared from loudspeakers mounted on Minarets. Some of us did not, at that moment, quite agree with the sentiment that "it is better to pray than to sleep," although in saner moments we wholeheartedly agree. However, we did meet a few nominal Muslims and a few strict Muslims and a few Spanish Catholics—including some Sisters of Mercy, Mother Theresa's order—and a few people who work in Granada and knew Kevin and Wendy—please hum "It's a Small World" quietly to yourself. Overall, a great experience.

Anyway, those are just a few of my observations and experiences. The sum is much to much for one post, but I may write a few stories later. Pictures say more, though, than my unskilled scripture so we'll try to get some up pretty soon.
- Daniel