Sparse Moments: Marrakech to Casablanca to Chefchaouen

Sunday, March 8

I was in Marrakech before, in 1972, when I was a baby of 19. I remember Jemaa el Fna, the huge square, hot and deserted in the day and coming to life by night with Senegalese dancers, snake charmers, magicians, and drummers from the Sahara. I remember food stalls opening up, the scent of grilled meat and garlic, the shouts of the cooks to come eat their food.

I remember the souks, one entrance in particular, where slats overhead made striped patterns on everything below. Back then, we used that entrance every time we left Jemaa El Fna. The image is baked into my memory, the striped shadows, the cloth, the men in their fez caps snoozing against their bags of grains.

I did not find the stripe-shadowed entrance to the medina. I think the slats have been replaced by carved wood. Jemaa el Fna has sprouted permanent fruit stands that I don’t remember being there, but the grilled-meat stands still spring up after dark, and of course, the performers. I’m realizing how fuzzy my memories are. And how it’s not possible, really, to go back

Anyhow, today was the day we had to travel to Casablanca to meet with our booked tour. Travel was easy: we took an Uber to the station, bought our train tickets, and rode the three or so hours in a very comfortable compartment. The landscape was nothing spectacular, just green rolling prairie interrupted by the occasional town. The only excitement was when a young stowaway ducked into the compartment and insinuated himself under the seat. The Moroccan business man who was the only other person in the compartment didn’t seem surprised, and none of us were about to make a fuss. The kid was silent and still, and still there when we got off at our stop. Our driver from the tour, Amal, met us at the station and took us to the modern, bland, 4-star hotel that was to be our home for the night.

Casablanca, but it could be Nanaimo. Meh.

We met up with our group in the lobby in the evening. We are just five! We’d expected twelve when we saw that the trip was fully booked, so this was a pleasant surprise. After going through all the orientation business, Meryem took us to the home of a local for a home-cooked dinner of a variety of delicious appetizers followed by a dish of stewed chicken and artichoke.

The streets were really busy on our way back to the hotel, as everyone emerges from their day of fasting to celebrate, or shop, or do whatever it is they do. We retreated to our hotel beds.

Monday, March 9 — Casablanca to Chefchaouen

Breakfast was a buffet in the hotel, which included, if we chose, a whole bunch of breads, pastries, and sweets, some cheeses and mystery meats, fresh orange juice, and boiled eggs.

We all met with our luggage and piled into our luxury van to drive several blocks to the Hassan II Mosque. When built, this was the second largest mosque in the world, after Mecca, when it was built (1986-1993), but has been since surpassed by at least seven larger mosques. It can accommodate 25,000 worshippers inside. Our guide, the same man who hosted us for dinner last night, described in great detail the construction and the materials used (all Moroccan.) He explained that visitors can enter the mosque only between prayer times, but that it’s otherwise closed except to worshippers. We learned that the square minaret is unique to Morocco because Morocco is the one Muslim country not invaded and therefore influenced by the Turks and their round-minaret design.

Hassan II Mosque

The length of the interior

One of many doors that look out to the sea

It was evident that our guide was passionate about his religion and its practices. He explained in detail that in Morocco, all people are regarded as equal regardless of their faith, saying that Muslims, Jews, and Christians were neighbours of equal value, and that each faith respects the other. This was a theme to be repeated by several other guides in the days to come. How much of this is idealism and how much is true in the day-to-day, I can't know.

Leaving the complex, following our guide.

After our tour of the mosque, we drove to Rabat for a walk through the main street of the medina there and a quick visit to the mausoleum of Mohammed V (about which we learned nothing, having no guide with us and no lit to read).

Pulses and grains

And other essentials

Meryem buys us the biggest, sweetest strawberries we've ever had

Balconies on the outside of a building indicate a Jewish quarter. Muslim houses face inwards towards a courtyard, with no windows on the outside.

On guard outside the mausoleum. Our crew: self, Milica (pronounced Melissa), Bettyanne, Sue, Vicki

After having lunch on the patio of a modern restaurant by the river, we drove and drove and drove, only stopping for a pee break at a roadside restaurant which will be burned into our memories as the place where the proprietor and a worker were having a fight over whether the chairs were clean or not. Oh, and it was an introduction, for some of us, to squatters. There were some toilets, as well, which was a good thing, because there were some among us who were not about to squat. We paid a few coins to the bathroom ladies (they’re everywhere, I’ve discovered) in return for 3 squares of toilet paper and a tissue for drying our hands.

The last hour of driving into Chefchaouen took us up into the Rif mountains on narrow winding roads. We arrived at a blocked road and walked the last 10 minutes to our accommodations. There has been record rainfall in the last few weeks here, washing out many roads. The previous Wild Women tour to ours could not get to Chefchaouen at all.

Our deluxe ride

Walking to our accommodations

The reason for walking

We checked into the beautiful Dar Echchaouen hotel, then walked down into town for dinner. The dinner was mediocre compared to what we’ve been having. I’d been trying to figure out how a tour includes meals in the price, when menu prices are so varied. Today, our lunch was pretty much chosen for us — some big salads and two pizzas — and tonight, we were allowed to choose from one particular page of the menu. I’m guessing this is how they control costs, but I’ll know for sure as the tour goes on.