Morocco musings

We have arrived at out hotel near Barcelona Airport and will remain here until tomorrow (Friday) morning, when we embark on the twelve hour flight to Singapore and then spend a further few hours reaching our destination of Borobudur, Java, mid-afternoon Saturday. So there won’t be much to report over the next forty-eight hours. However, there is time to reflect on our two and a half weeks in Morocco and mention a couple of highlights of that amazing adventure.

Morocco is a country of contrasts; contrasts between the modernity of cities such as the capital Rabat and other iconic towns that have played such important roles in the nation’s history – Casablanca, Meknes, Fes, Marrakesh, Essaouira – and the smaller, less advanced but nonetheless thriving towns and villages on both sides of the Atlas Mountains. But size and modernity do not rule out observance of the traditional ways of living. No matter how big or modern, you are likely to see a donkey or a mule, laden with skins of other produce, picking its way through the city streets, the souks or the medinas.

It is difficult to pick out the most memorable moments when we have seen so many wonderful sights and experienced so much beauty and diversity. Every mountain road, every town and village, was different and they all have their special features that will live in our memories. However a couple of things do stand out.

Elizabeth: “For me, the stand-out experience was when we walked out of our hotel in Merzouga (appropriately dressed in our kaftans and head-scarves), mounted our camels and with just a few loping strides we were actually in the Sahara Desert. The long slow ride was magical; the colours of the desert in the twilight were unexpected and almost overwhelming in their beauty, the silence was absolute and we could have been a caravan of Bedouin nomads crossing the sand, as they have done for centuries. Then to dismount and clamber up to the top of a tall sand dune and witness the sunset, in silence, was an extraordinary experience; sitting up there, with our small camel train squatting on the sand below us, watching the colours change as the sun slowly disappeared over the distant mountains, and then the camel ride back to our hotel, in the moonlight and, again, in silence. This was a truly magical experience, one that I will never forget.”

John: “One morning, in Fes, we went for a walk through the old medina. As we ventured deep into the narrow alleyways, we found ourselves in a lane that would have been less than two metres wide, with towering walls either side, narrowing as they rose. There was no artificial light, so the only lighting was the sunlight that filtered down. People were coming and going, all in traditional garb of kaftan and headscarf, or old western dress. Suddenly, from behind us came the call of ‘balak, balak’, which means ‘stand aside and let us through’ – a call we had quickly learned to obey! Coming up behind us was a small caravan of three donkeys, each loaded high and wide with animal skins and urged on by an old man in kaftan and headscarf. We had to press ourselves hard against the wall and even then the pile of skins brushed against us as the caravan passed. There we were, amid the noise and smells, the clip-clop of the donkeys’ hooves and the calls of their driver ringing in our ears, and I realised then that this exact scene would have played out – unchanged - every day since Fes was established on this site twelve hundred years ago. I truly felt like I was experiencing history in that moment. For me, it defines Morocco.”