Scenes From Around Marrakech

Fountain with Koutoubia Mosque in the distance

Another fountain, same minaret.

Less artsy photo, same concept.

Top of the mosque's minaret.  No building in a 

town or city can be taller than the main minaret.

Some day they will play for Barcelona, PSG, 

or Chelsea.  Probably not, but the key is they

are playing for fun, not in a structured league.

The scientific name for this is "cool tree."

Okay, so I have no idea what this is!

I thought I would spice this up a bit.

Street scene

I have a bad feeling that donkey's luck

is going to turn as soon as November.

I'm not lion -- this was just outside the carpet store.

Kids at play

I have no idea what these are, 

but they are quite colorful.

Seller of traditional Moroccan clothes

For that Indiana Jones vibe.

I did not want to go in front of the snake.

A Full Half-Day In Marrakesh

After a pleasant (albeit expensive!) breakfast by the pool, we were picked up by Rasheed and our driver (OMG, we need to get his name again!) for our first full day of touring.  First stop was the Menara Gardens, botanical gardens established in the 12th century.  

The main attraction, the basin (fed from the Atlas Mountains), is surrounded by olive groves and orchards.  It was pleasant, albeit underwhelming for a first stop.

Our next stop was the Koutoubia Mosque, the main mosque in Marrakech.  We walked around the outside.  Non-believers are not allowed in.  That seems strange, because we went in multiple mosques in Turkey.  And it is strange.  As it turns out, it was a French law (figures!) that has stuck in Morocco.  The minaret is 253 feet high.

The area around the mosque is pretty, with fountains and gardens, and boys playing soccer.  Their game got delayed when the ball went behind a wall into the ruins section of the mosque.

The next stop was the Saadian Tombs, which have more than 200 tombs that were hidden from the world for 200 years.  The tombs date from the 16th century, but they are not the main attraction.  Instead, the splendor of the mausoleums is the reason to visit.  Rediscovered by a French aerial survey of the city in 1917, the mausoleum has beautiful vaulted ceilings, fine carvings, and tiles.  We had to wait in line a bit to see the main mausoleum, but in warm weather, it was quite pleasant (humidity is NOT a thing in Marrakech, if only that were true at home!)

We strolled around the city some more, taking the first of many random walks down the narrow streets, past shops. Having our guide Rachid (sorry, I had been spelling it based on Rasheed Wallace, which is wrong) with us was a double bonus.  First, and most importantly, he showed us where to go and filled us in on the history and drama that is Morocco.  Second, and secondly importantly (grammar error intended), Rachid's presence meant that many of the shopkeepers/sales people would leave us alone instead of hounding us to buy their goods and gewgaws.

Just walking around the city is invigorating.  Our next stop was in a cooperative that took authentic Moroccan rugs authentically made by authentic Moroccan women.  Rachid vouches for it -- there is no bargaining or haggling, and all of the rugs are top quality.  Our friends John and Lisa were in Morocco in 2015 visiting their daughter who was doing her semester abroad.  They said that we would end up buying a rug, and they got it half right.  We ended up buying two rugs.

The salesman (we're told he does not work on commission) had us to himself.  No one else was in the room where it happened.  He had his helpers bring out several examples of each type of Moroccan rug (there are at least seven-to-eight styles, and since I wasn't counting, it may have been more).  Some we eliminated easily.  Others we kept, until we were left with five rugs of various styles.  We eliminated one more (it was like House Hunters International, cutting out some options).  Down to four.  He had several other colors of the same style of one kind brought out, and we opted to keep the blue.

Two of the rugs were so very striking.  They were nothing we had ever seen before.  Both were stunning in their appearance.  The other two were more traditional rugs with beautiful designs.  We went with one of the unusual rugs and one of the more typical kind.  The rugs may beat us home!

After the rug purchase, we were dropped off for lunch at a French restaurant in the new part of the city.  The food was fine, as we had meatballs with fried eggs and cinnamon cous cous.  

Scenes From A Berber Village

Women at the cooperative making oils.

One failing of Morocco is that they are

cat people, not dog people.  This is one

of just four dogs we have seen in our

first three days in country.  I didn't pet it

because it is best to, you know, let

sleeping dogs lie.

Riffs on Morocco

(For readers new to the blog, a "Riffs" post is nothing more than broader observations about the country/location we are in.  They are just one man's opinion -- and occasionally one woman's opinion.)

Marrakesh and the Atlas Mountain Berber towns are much cleaner than expected.  I hate to say it, but we expected dirtier, dustier, and more graffiti.  Instead, there is very little litter, not much dust (except where you will have dust, such as small roads, etc.), and very little graffiti.  

Another surprise is just how green it is here.  There are many palm trees, flowering bushes, large rosemary bushes.  It is spring, so the flowers are beginning to bloom.  Again, our expectations were dead wrong – Carol and I expected semi-arid, but flying in the land was quite green.  Yes, there are areas of the country that are desert, but not around Marrakech.

The traffic is unreal.  Not because there is a lot of it. . .traffic actually moves pretty well. . .this is more about the nature of the traffic.  Cars, trucks, motor scooters, and bikes come flying every which way.  It seems like controlled chaos. . .without any control.  Occasionally there is a policeman standing at major intersections, but he is neither directing traffic nor enforcing traffic laws (we saw cars pulled over for speeding, for instance, but not by the intersection police).  

Every ride seems like we will be t-boned by another vehicle, or that a motor scooter (which are plentiful) will get hit as it is crossing in front of us.  Riding in a car in Marrakech is a thrill ride in and of itself.  Again, traffic keeps flowing, but there are not more crashes are beyond me.

Lanes and traffic lights only seem to be a suggestion, not a requirement.  The motor scooters themselves cross over to the right side of the road even though they should be on the left.  Intersections and circles work somehow, although it is all a big game of chicken.

The idea of stopping for pedestrians at a crosswalk is clearly ignored.  On the other hand, pedestrians cross the street random places.  Unlike Yangon where people crossed in large groups, here people play Frogger, crossing one at a time, stepping out halfway into the road as traffic bears down from three sides (even though it is only a two direction road, it always seems as though some vehicle is going in a direction not meant by the road).  

I joked with Carol that they probably don’t even report news about accidents and pedestrian fatalities, because those must be every day occurances.  Alas, my timing was poor, as shortly after we saw the aftermath of a motor scooter accident, with the poor driver sitting up dazed in the street.  

I asked Rasheed if Moroccans felt more Mediterranean, more African, or more Arabic.  He said they are a blend of all three.  Closer to the Med, they are a bit more Mediterranean, and closer to the south they feel more African.  With Morocco being a crossroads of history (bordering both the Med and the Atlantic), he says that Moroccans are very welcoming of other people, as so many of their customs are a blend of different cultures.

Rasheed also was very critical of Saudi Arabia, decrying the Islamic extremism of the people there.  He took great pains to focus on Morocco being much more focused on following the Koran, rather than making up rules and saying that’s as God wants it to be.  We feel very welcome in Morocco, and have no sense that we are viewed as strange outsiders.  

Our friends John and Lisa said matter-of-factly that we were going to buy a carpet, even if we think we won’t, because the carpets are so beautiful.  They were wrong. . .we bought two.

Scenes From The Atlas Mountains

It looks like Colorado.

Rasheed leads the way.

Carol is a skilled mulist. (What, that's

not what they call mule riders?)

My mule.  I had a name for him,

but this is a blog suitable for children.

Irrigation ditch/hiking pathway.

Part of Imlil, from another part of Imlil.

Part of the waterfalls.

Not our lunch, but similar!

Hi mom!

Mom complains, accurately, that

we are never shown in the pics.

Money shot.

The courtyard of the guesthouse.

We had lunch where the

folded up umbrella is.

Time to head down the mountain.

It's called a "white knuckle ride" for a reason.

(Btw, I did NOT take pictures on the steep

parts, I was holding on for dear life.

Sometimes You Kick The Mule, Sometimes The Mule Steps On Your Big Toe

As we entered the Atlas Mountains, the road started rising rapidly and twisting and turning every which way.  The river caused the entire valley to be quite green as we rose above it.  The snow was not yet in full melt, so the water was still within the main bank of the river, but it was rushing fast and hard.  And, from the currently dry banks of the river, it is easy to see how much more widely the water covers during the main melt in April and May.

We stopped in the Berber village of Imlil, which is a major tourism center.  Hikers congregate here to do the two day hike of the highest mountain in Morocco.  While hiking it would be tempting, our schedule affords us only the option to take pictures!

We were up around 3,000 feet, with snow-covered mountains up to 10,000 feet taller surrounding us.  As we stopped, Rasheed says we now transfer to the SUVs. 

Instead of four wheel drive, however, these Moroccan SUVs had four leg drive.  They were mules.  I haven't done a mule ride since Santorini in 2009, and that was easy compared to this lengthy journey.

This may come as a shock, but I am NOT a huge fan of riding four legged creatures.  Horses are my favorite (I think I've been on maybe three horseback rides all together), while camels come in last (Australia, 1989).  Mules now rank in-between.  It was fine, but my feet did not fit in the stirrups, so I felt like I was swinging to and fro, primarily because I was.  

Carol, who was more dubious about this than I was, turned out to have no problems.  She looked like a pro mule rider, in fact.  I was mostly amateur hour.

After climbing maybe 600 feet or so, to about the same elevation as our place at Wintergreen (3600 feet), we took a short hike along the irrigation channels, crossing the furiously rushing stream, and climbing up to see a beautiful waterfall spilling down the mountain.  This hike was much more in MY element.

Imlil is a village scattered about the mountain.  The main part is on the main road, but there are houses that are one thousand feet higher up.  It is quite the vacation spot for foreigners and Moroccans alike.

Carol had a problem with her knee, so she limped throughout the hike.  But, she did enjoy the waterfall views.

After the short hike, we headed back to the mule drop-off point, to a stunningly-situated guest house and restaurant.  The tables are all situated on the rooftop, with stunning views of the snow-capped Atlas Mountains (Readers: okay, we get it -- there is snow on the mountains!  Writer: But, it's Africa!).

We enjoyed a multi-course meal of salad, lamb tagine, and then chicken with vegetables and cous cous tagine.  Dessert was a plate of fresh fruit.  It was all delicious. Even the air temperature (ie not cold) water tasted good.  (Regular readers know I prefer cold water, but this being Morocco, I will live with room temperature water.  The sacrifices I make!).

As we sat there, enjoying our lunch in the cool mountain air, I quipped to Carol -- "Okay, this is so amazing here, we DO have to go to Afghanistan!"  To her endless credit, she just laughed.

After strolling around a little (Carol's knee felt better), we hopped back on the mules to go down.  Going down is actually harder than going up, as it was, you know, pointed down, and so was I.  My face must have been pale (meanwhile, Carol was rocking it!), because my mule "driver" (he led by a rope) kept looking at me nervously, and at some steep points held my wrist.  

Carol sat up straight and didn't sway much.  Meanwhile, I was swaying like a top.  At one point my guide said something to Rasheed (on the mule behind me), and Rasheed asked if I was okay.  I guess my guide wasn't buying the smile I had plastered on my face.  It was fine, but honestly, I don't have to do it again.

At the bottom, I finally slid off the mule onto the ground, as four or five Berbers tried to give me advice by gesturing in gestures that I didn't understand, nor care.  

I landed safely on my two feet, only to have the mule step on my big toe.  It throbbed the whole way back.

Don't get me wrong, the mule ride was fun, and definitely worth it to go up to the restaurant and waterfall.  The views were spectacular.  On the other hand, I'm pretty certain that was my last mule ride of my life.

Warning, If Pictures of the Dead Heads of Goats Will Freak You Out, Skip Past This Post!

Scenes from the market:

Minion Heaven! (Buh-nan-nas!)

Most of the stalls were just covered in tarps, 

but there were a few stone structures.

Going past the grilling stations always

smelled good.  We did not try anything,

as the warnings about street food

in Myanmar are not easily forgotten.

From our two and half days so far, it appears

stylized Yankee hats means the Bronx

Bombers are the most popular sports team

in Morocco.  I'm betting two things -- MLB is

NOT getting a cut of these, and that people

think the hat refers just to New York City.

Biggest carrots I've ever seen.  

And all organic. Or so they say!

Orange you glad I posted this picture?

I think this is goat.  Unless it is lamb.

I warned you.

@100%Goats are a great follow on Twitter.

@Deadgoatheads would NOT get as many followers.

This is a. . .well, heck, I have no idea!

Dates!

This was the only seafood I saw for sale.

Doesn't mean there weren't other stalls, but

we did not pass them if they are there.

Warning: Do Not Eat!!

Olive this picture.  Do you?

This Market Doesn't Souk

So, I'm already at the point where I'm skipping around in the blog, rather than writing in sequential order.  Yesterday (Tuesday), we went to the Atlas Mountains, and I still have yet to write about Monday's day out and about in Marrakech.  Marrakesh is a cool city, but I will get back to that hopefully tomorrow.

I have heard so much about the Atlas Mountains, but I did not know what to expect.  We could see them in the distance from our hotel room, but going there was pretty amazing.

On our way there we first stopped at an outdoor market in a town of 15,000 people.  Perhaps the name is Ait Ourier, perhaps it is something else.  I will check the name (and spelling) with our guide Rasheed today.

Like in Myanmar, I think the rural markets are more interesting than the urban markets.  We buzzed through the market, passing fresh vegetables, including the largest carrots I've ever seen, dry goods, spices, and then finally into the meat section.  They were not just carving up huge pieces of lamb and goat, but they also sold goat heads.  Eyes, hair, and all.  That was a bit surprising!

At busy points, Rasheed would turn and tell us to guard our pockets.  The dirt paths through were muddy, although I do not know when it last rained.  I did my usual market run and shoot with the camera -- we moved quickly, so I really did not have time to frame my photos.

The drive between Marrakech and the market village was uneventful yet interesting.  Just outside Marrakesh (yes, I am deliberately flipping between the spellings!) there is a suburban development of Moroccan McMansions -- huge homes on small tracts of land.  There were also olive groves as far as the eye could see.

The views of the 13,000+ feet high, snow capped mountains became more and more impressive as we got closer.

After we left the market, we stopped at the edge of the town at a woman's cooperative, where we tasted some of the oil products from nuts that the women were making.  Carol also bought some skin care products that they had made.