Did I really just see that? Taking the bus to work.

I have been taking the organised transport to work at ASM since September now, and sights still surprise me. At first the route to the school was a little exciting, maybe even exotic for some. Now, after 10 months of riding on the bus, I am spying more of the weird and wonderful from the windows every day.

Some sights are found every where in the world. Some, I am certain, are specific to Morocco. We start off in the villle nouvelle, Gueliz, where most of the other teachers live too. Here it is common to see mopeds carrying non-helmet wearing drivers and passengers, speeding on the wrong side of the road and men starting their day with thick black coffee while watching the world wake up. When we exit Gueliz and make our way past the medina, the sights really begin. A poor kitten convulsing in the middle of the road after being hit by a speeding car, a slender stray puppy playing with a waste paper basket while a trendy young man walks his healthy dog by, and aged homeless people taking shelter outside the unkempt graveyard. There are weathered men and women selling their wares - popcorn, colorful baskets, candy and rattan stools.

Next to the graveyard is a dried river, and graves sit precariously on the dried banks. On more than one occasion I have seen the banks being used as a toilet for the humiliated homeless. Opposite the graveyard is the 'chicken souk' selling live chickens, turkeys and rabbits, jellaba wearing men crouch down over some mint tea. Traveling on the route de Ouarzazate we come across an old large pipe that was made into a rustic see-saw for local children, Moroccan children wearing white coats walking to school and the large gated Jenna community for the wealthy.

The route to the school makes me feel sad most of the time. People look helpless. Usually domesticated animals look starved and alone. The communities look neglected. But I am an outsider looking in. I will never fit into Marrakech and I really don't think I would want to. We are chaperoned to a private school each day, teaching the wealthy and privileged, only to be visually reminded of the real world and state of affairs each afternoon, on the ride home.

Toubkal: Highest Peak in North Africa

I have never climbed a mountain before. Jeff had climbed 3099 meters to the Buddhist Mountain Emei Shan in China. The closest I had come was hiking Mount Keira behind the University of Wollongong in Australia. A whole 464 meters. Not impressive.

Jeff and I had planned to hike Jebel Toubkal, the highest mountain in North Africa and 36th highest mountain in the world, for some time since living in Marrakech. We knew it was best hiked from May, as the winter months brought masses of snow and ice, and we are definitely lacking suitable clothing and equipment. We had met some new friends, Chris from Intrepid Travel, Ellis and Alex who were working and staying with some friends of ours, Fatima-Zohra from work and Kin, a friend of a friend. We picked a hiking date, and then it was on.

We had somewhat researched the hike. We knew it began at Imlil, with a hike to Sidi Chamarouch which was home to a muslim shrine, and then on to Base Camp. We had heard from various people that serious hiking equipment was unnecessary, as was a mule and guide. We took only snacks and Alex packed his weight in Lion Bars.

When we reached Refuge Du Toubkal at 3207 meters, we were a little worried. Serious Spanish summit monkeys surrounded us and were decked out in various enviable trekking gear. We however, the self proclaimed Weekend Warriors, were seriously decked out in running shoes, sweat pants and fleece. Some of us possessed snow jackets and beanies, but that was as serious as we got. We knew we were behind the pack when our dorm room buddies arose noisily for breakfast an hour before our scheduled wake up time. I even spied some Spaniards filling their camel backs with effervescent energy boosting hydrolites the night before. Our supply of Mars and Lion bars however were energy boosting, chocolaty and delicious. 

So at 7am we began our ascent. We had cleverly dressed and slept in our hiking outfits the night before, so were ready to go after some breakfast of stale bread and jam. Our loose plans for the climb were put into perspective when we looked out of the window during breakfast to find a fellow Toubkal hiker amusingly slipping and sliding on the ice. We were definitely ill prepared. He was was wearing snow gear and hiking boots. Holy crap. We crossed the river and then literally stumbled upon the scree, being sure to avoid the ice unlike our breakfast comedy show. Climbing up the larger stones was a breeze. But as our feet and hands pounded the smaller stones, they gave way beneath us and we redesigned the look of the slope. After somewhat successfully overcoming the scree, our jogging shoes hit the snow. Luckily, we were not the first to tackle Toubkal that morning, and footprints had already been made for us. We followed them to the end of the snow and then hit more scree, but more stable this time at 3700 meters. We followed the winding dirt path and overcame various bouts of altitude sickness consisting of non-serious shortness of breath and dizziness. Hikers on their way down from summit told us how long we had left, and after 30 more minutes, we were there.

Jebel Toubkal is not the fanciest of mountains, nor is it the most exciting. Anti-climatically, you see the weird graffitied pyramid structure before you reach the top. What takes your breath away isn't necessarily the views and the excitement, but the altitude. Regardless, we took the the time to document the evidence of our climb, snapping away in this pose and that. After downing some Mars and Lion bars, it was time to follow the other hikers back down to the Refuge. The descent was much shorter than the ascent. We scurried down the dirt and onto the snow. We had spied some tunnel sledding-like tracks on the way up and decided that we would take that opportunity to shave some time of our descent and have some fun. Chris went first and slid down 30m to the applause and cat calling of fellow hikers, waiting and watching the forms of the sliders from the safety of the rocks. We all followed, with Jeff and Alex walking back to the top for a second slide, this time, head first.

We made our way back to the Refuge, slipping, sliding and hiking. Returning to base camp with damp and dirty clothing, we filled up on more Mars and Lion bars and then got our gear together for the 4 hour sunny hike back to Imlil. Altogether we hiked 5 and a half hours from Imlil to the Refuge on Saturday morning and then 3 hours from the base to the summit on Sunday morning. We spent half an hour at the top, and then spent about 2 hours making our way back to the base. Needless to say, we were sore and tired. Everyone had their own ailments; calves, quads, coccyx, shoulder blade, ankle, feet, headaches, minor cuts and abrasions and sunburn.

Jeff on the route to Refuge Du Toubkal

Chris, Jeff and Ellis

Myself and Jeff during the ascent to Base Camp

Base Camp at 3207m

Kin, negotiating the path

Making our acsent up the scree

At the highest point in North Africa, on top of Jebel Toubkal

Jefff and I enjoying our first mountain hiked together

At this moment in time, Jeff was quite possibly the highest person in North Africa

Alex and Chris at the summit

The view from the top

Making the descent

Snow still covers the mountain in May

 

Ellis thinks 'To slip or to slide?'

Cascades D'Ouzoud, Refreshingly Beautiful

Jeff and I traveled to numerous towns, cities and medinas in Morocco on our first two visits, so when we arrived in Marrakech to live, there were not many new places high on our list visit. However, one destination kept standing out to me on our little Lonely Planet guide map, Cascades D'Ouzoud (ouzoud is Berber for olive, of which many trees surround the falls). The Cascades are only two and a half hours from Marrakech, so just a day trip. When we planned to go, other things kept popping up and different opportunities arose. However, when driving back in our little burnt orange Kia hire car from a Safi-Ouladia-El Jadida-Casablanca road trip, it was time to give the cascades a go.

 

We were not disappointed and wondered what had taken us so long in the first place to get there!

The cascades are in Azilal in the Atlas mountains. The waterfalls a 110m high and are stunning, refreshing and untainted.

You begin at the top of the falls, where you will come across Berber guides offering you a 1-2 hour hike around and to the bottom of the falls. We decided to come back another time to do the hike properly.

Descending the concrete steps, you will walk past many shops, restaurants, and if you are lucky enough, some Barbary monkeys!

With the warm temperature, it is important to cool off. If you don't want to totally immerse yourself and go for a quick or leisurely dip, you can always pay a mild 10 dirhams per person to board a raft and be paddled into the falls.

Highly recommended.

Warm smiles and Warm heads

Jeff and I bought woolly beanies before in Taghazout whilst travelling there for Christmas in 2008. They were warm and thick and made of wool straight off a sheep’s back. Jeff’s even got a little wet and smelt exactly the way I imagine a wet smelly sheep would.


Anyway, while swapping the mayhem of Marrakech for laidback Essaouira, with my visiting mum and aunt, we stumbled across Otman. He was perched comfortably on a goatskin, knitting thick colourful cotton beanies or bonnets, welcoming us with warm a smile and friendly eyes. I had heard about Otman from other teachers who escape to Essaouira once in a while. He and his father knit the beanies and sell them along Derb Laalouj near the rampart walls for 50 dirhams each. Not a bad deal at all. If you like, he will even knit you a customised beanie in an hour and a half.

While my mum and aunt looked for their favourite coloured beanies as great gifts for family and friends, I had a chat with Otman.

Jellaba wearing Otman began making beanies at just 12 years old, alongside his father as a family business. He used to make them from sheep’s wool, but found that customers were complaining of the intense heat and itchiness that the wool produced. As well as fabricating bonnets Otman is also studying French. Many Moroccans speak French very well, but are limited when it comes to reading and writing the grammar intense language. Otman is currently 22 years old and he told me he would really like to study English, but at the moment there are no English language centres in Essaouira. Not a bad business idea I thought...

My mum and aunt had selected their beanies and Otman helped to finish them off, by adding extra tightness around the edge and stretching some where necessary.

With his friendly, calm and inviting manner Otman is sure to delight more tourists with his colourful and practical wares. With emails and business cards swapped, we were on our way with a bagful of beanies and snugly warm heads.

Yes, I have been to Morocco, how can you tell?

I did it. I finally did it. I have wanted one for a while and was wondering how long I could resist the urge. I held off for 9 months. I knew which design and color I wanted, and the price point. So I bought one.

Guide books tell you that you are really out of the ordinary if you leave Morocco without a carpet. Other teachers at my work have bought carpets. My friends visiting from Australia bought carpets. Even my mum is the proud owner of a Moroccan cactus fibre and cotton hand woven carpet. So it was my turn. I found the desgn and colors I wanted and was intrigued to find that my particular carpet was made out of camel hair. Definitly not as silky smooth as the cactus fibre, or as soft as the sheep wool, but as strong and sturdy as a camel itself.

Jeff and I had visited the same carpet sellers house on our Moroccan trip back in 2007. We were backpacking then and although we loved the carpets and wanted one badly, we could not afford one or bear to carry it around with us. So upon walking through the mud bricked entrance of the berber house, I knew this was it.

Carpets are everywhere in Morocco. But how do you know if one is handmade? Well, let me tell you. Look at the ends. One end will have tassels, and the other, knots to show how the carpet weaver tied the fibres to the loom to begin the weaving process.

My mother was first. She was taken withe a saffron dyed cactus fibre and cotton carpet. Very silky smooth and bright, with the all seeing eye embroidered in the middle.

Then it was my turn. I played coy to get the price down. Then when the seller would go no further, we shook hands on the deal. A handmade, one of a kind, bright, berber, camel carpet all for myself!

Saharan Sunset and Sunrise

I had been to the Sahara desert before, in 2007. Unfortunately, the photographic evidence was lost, along with the contents of my bag, on an overnight train from Madrid to Barcelona. So this time, I took as many photographs as I could. My mother, aunt and I went on the same trip as Jeff and I had previously done 3 years earlier. I was surprised to find that we stayed at the same hotel, stopped at the same photographic vantage points, and even slept in a campsite in the desert very, very close to where I originally stayed.

I love the sand dunes. I especially love them when the sun sets and amazing shadows are cast upon the monstrous dunes. I love the texture, the ripples, the color.

We rode our camels for about 45 minutes from the Kasbah Yasmine in Erg Chebbi to our campsite. From there, a stroll up the sand dunes led to views of an amazing sunset. We ate delicious berber tajines, drank sweet, minty mint tea (Mum - Tastes a bit like Colgate, don't you think?), and attempted a tune on the goatskinned drums.

Then it was wakey wakey time at 5:30am for a camel trek to a stunning sunrise and back to the kasbah for a breakfast of msemen (Berber crepes) with honey, olives, sweet bread and fresh orange juice.

Our guide Mohammed, with a Saharan Salamander

A colorful sunset over the dunes

The setting sun

The moon still in the sky at dawn

My mum watching the sun rise

Dawn on the dunes

Our camels wandering off for the morning feast

Mmm, Moroccan Strawberries

I love eating fresh, seasonal fruit. Mandarin season is now over. So mandarins out, strawberries in.

At the moment, strawberries are going for 10 dirhams a kilogram. I think the Aussie dollar is at $1 for 7.5 dirhams. So needless to say, strawberries are cheap!

Strawberries can be found by the crateful in the supermarket chain Acima, street stall vendors and roaming vendors. I have bought and tasted kilograms from all three sources and they are all as delicious as each other.

I love living in a country where produce is seasonal and tasty. I love indulging in fresh fruit, knowing that it hasn't crossed continents or oceans to land in my mouth.

Which fruit will be in plentiful and cheap supply next?

Go and Get Plucked

I had been putting it off for too long and knew the consequences. Pain. Agony. Watery eyes.
Nice, shapely eyebrows come at a price. So it was time for my first visit to a Moroccan Esthetician for an eyebrow wax. My friend had been to Salon Smira before and liked it for its cheapness and smooth results. So off I went to the small Salon in the building next to mine.

Salaam alikom. Eyebrow? Shcccccct (finger pointed at eyebrow).
Oui. Eyebrows. No problem.

So I sat in the chair, head reclined in a small red pillow. Then came the unexpecteed. Tweezers. Ok, I thought, a bit of a tidy up before the wax. But the plucking did not stop. Ouch. Ow! My eyes were clenched shut and watering, my toes curling and feet squirming. Just say it. Say 'wax' I kept telling myself. No! This is how they do it and this is what you get for neglecting your brows. It can't get worse than this. It felt like 15 brutal minutes passed by. Then came the scissors - snip, snip. Oh my.

Look in the glass.

Hmm. Not bad. Not bad at all. Really good actually.

Ok, sit back.

Oh no. Here we come again. Beauty comes at a price. Especially in Morocco.

The Pitter Patter of Kitty Feet

Marrakech is full of cats. For the vast amounts of cats roaming the streets, I am surprised I have not seen more of the dead variety (just one laying in a garden and one, ironically, laying outside the walls of a graveyard). We have a couple of cats living in our building, just like any other apartment block or restaurant. There is a black one who liked to hiss and bear its teeth and also liked to sit on our washing machine. There is also a lithe grey one that likes to dart down the stairs as we are walking up. You see, cats are not really our friends. So we were more than a little surprised to open the door and find two kittens, less than a day old, on our door mat. They were extremely newborn and abandoned. The placenta and blood was nearby;  but no mother was insight. We followed the blood trail downstairs, but still no mother.

Kittens must be born everyday in Marrakech, with no vetenary care and no human contact. But I felt some ownership for these kittens on our door mat. We waited inside for the mother to come back. Perhaps she just needed a rest. However, after some internet research, I knew that the kittens would soon die if they were not kept warm and fed every two hours. So I made a little shelter out of an old kettle box and some kitchen towel and carefully placed the kittens inside. Every five minutes we checked for the mother. Still, she had not come. I went downstairs again and found the mother resting in the sun in her usual place. It was the grey cat that likes to dash down the stairs. However, she was not lightning quick, but sore and bloodied.

I brought the kittens downstairs and left them there for their mother. Later, when we left our apartment, the grey mother leapt out in front of us, spooked by the openning of our door. She dropped one of her kittens but picked it up quickly. I was relieved to see the kittens being taken care of.

I spotted the mother for the first time in over a week today. I will keep an eye out for the kittens too.

A windy time in Essaouira

We were in desperate need of a weekend retreat. A fellow teacher was having a visitor for the weekend so it was decided that we would take the 3 hour bus ride across to Essaouira and join them. Essaouira is a coastal town of about 70,000. It was originally a trading port and called Mogador, which now refers to the island off the coast. The medina is UNESCO World Heritage listed and Orson Welles filmed 'Othello' in the medina in 1952.

The beach is expansive and very windy. There are not many waves, but the conditions are perfect for kitesurfing and windsurfing. Jeff and I previously had a go at windsurfing in Essa back in 2007. I had a great time and would love to try it again when the weather heats up a little.

So this time, we relaxed with friends in a huge apartment/riad deep into the medina. We ate delicious fresh seafood and relaxed in the sun. Essaouira is a very pretty and clean destination in Morocco. I love the white walls and bright blue doors, windows and balconies. The locals are friendlier and the air is fresher. A perfect destination to escape the hustle and bustle of bursting Marrakech.