SpainMorocco

It was an action packed day that we spent with our waif-like guide dressed in a yellow robe, Mr. Habib. He was a cool old dude at 70 and made our group of 8 feel more like we were just strolling around town with our buddy, rather than on a voyeuristic tourist tour. He conducted the guided tour in English and Spanish. I asked him how many languages he spoke and he added Italian, German, French and Japanese if he has to. Most of the tour was quick and to the point with very little time to soak anything in. There wasn't that much to soak in. Even the much anticipated camel ride lasted for about ten seconds, just long enough for the camel to stand up walk around in a very tight circle and then sit back down again for the next tourist. You could tell the camel hated his job. We then made a quick dash for the Atlantic Ocean and then back in the car kids we are going to walk around the kasbah and the medina. On the way there we drove through some of the nicer real estate in the area but it was still looking run down even though it was the location of the national palace.

Once we are back in town the taxis drop us off in the medina, which is the old part of town, and we walk down the narrow streets with our guide. Without a guide it would be tough to just wander through this maze of tiny shops and apartments. It makes navigating the streets of Spain look easy. Mr. Habib led our little group on a backyard excursion. We would occasionally pick up a couple of guys trying to sell jewelry to one of us in the group. These guys were relentless and simply would follow you everywhere. Scooter and I have gotten use to this traveling through South America, Asia, Africa and India. The key to shaking off an annoying tout is never make eye contact once that happens they have an opening and will not let up. In fact Scooter has gotten so good at it he thinks he is invisible. It may be the way you carry yourself or the projected thought pattern that says, "There is no way I am going to buy something so don't even waste your time." It was funny while everyone else in the group got harassed he kept claiming, "Look I am invisible." Not one single person tried to sell him anything. When a couple of the guys got to be a pain Mr. Habib would step in and with a brush of the hand they would disappear. You don't get to be a 70 year old cool guy tour guide without gaining some power. He was fun just to be around.



The major activity in the small narrow streets was sewing. You would think that the sewing machine had not been invented yet because everything was done by hand. Sitting inside each first floor room would be a group of guys sewing. Yes, guys sewing. The speed in which they ran the needle in and out of the fabric was phenomenal. It was like watching a human sewing machine. To feed the thread and give it the necessary stitch/crossing pattern a young boy would be standing in the street some 15 feet away feeding the thread. His primary purpose was to cross the thread being held in his left and right hand back and forth at the same rate the guy inside was manually sewing with his fingers. This combination created the human sewing machine. Imagine what these guys could do with a good old fashion foot pumped Singer Sewing Machine. It appears that tradition is keeping technology outside of the medina and there is nothing wrong with that.

The medina has within its old walls the Dar el Makhzen (royal palace), Souk el-Dakhil (market) and the Kasbah (former center of government). It was all very interesting. When it was time for lunch, Mr. Habib ducked into a little alleyway and into a large totally tourist Moroccan-decorated restaurant. You know the look, big pillows and red fabric everywhere. A band also played each time a new group of tourists came in the door, it was festive, and we were hungry. The tour groups arrived in waves and except for our group no one was under 60. That probably explains the belly dancer who also was not below the age of 60 but had the wisdom not to show any belly. A total tourist joint but the food was good and our next stop was an authentic Morocco rug store. They are into the non-pressure sales and every time a sale is made Mr. Habib gets a cut which is why our entire package tour today including the boat ride cost less than actually buying the round-trip ferry ticket. One of the guys in our group purchased a rug. Scooter congratulated Mr. Habib on the sale and it looks like every tourist gives Mr. Habib a hard time about the commission based on his response. Mr. Habib quietly responded, "Why do you think I do this?" The next stop is another room full of tacky stuff not worth carrying home unless you like tacky stuff.

Mr. Habib then had an unscheduled stop for us at the spice market. We dropped inside another doorway and found ourselves in a place full of jars. Our host, who, I guess is supposed to be a pharmacist of some sort, quickly put on his lab coat. The guy started his sales pitch and quickly had us sticking things up our nose and rubbing things on our hands. This was fun and we all purchased something with the big seller being the magic herbs that cured hangovers and stopped runny noses. Throughout our trip around the world we had encountered many references to the Spice trade with the Far East. It caused a couple Holy wars. Forced the Spanish and Portuguese to find a sea route around Africa to carry boat loads of the stuff yet we had know idea what spice was causing such a big deal. It was easy to rationalize the quest for gold, gems and other precious metals as reasons for traveling huge distances across the globe but what was this spice thing all about? We had hoped that our spice pharmacist would have the answer to our questions. Scooter felt the word Spice was a politically correct way of talking about drugs such as Opium. It certainly couldn't refer to pepper or ginger. Our local spice pharmacist didn't seem to understand the question at first but after a little prodding he gave us an answer. It turns out that Saffron was the reason for so many trade routes with the Far East. It was used for cooking and spicing up boring European dishes.

The official language in Morocco is Arabic, but the tourist trade speaks French, English, and Spanish. The Islamic culture appeared to be in full swing although we had only time for a peek, Morocco looks like a good country to explore further. We spoke to a few recent visitors who really toured Morocco and they spoke highly of the experience. It has all the right ingredients, interesting culture, oceans, mountains and deserts, reasonable prices, and good food.

The only major disappointment was the shopping. There is just a lot of dusty junk, ugly jewelry, chipped pottery and rough rugs. Spain's souvenirs are also the tackiest stuff we have seen-plastic fans, painted shawls, mass produced pottery. I could go on to describe the collectors spoons, shot glasses, mugs and bad postcards. What Morocco needs is a good public relations/advertising agent to update and upgrade its souvenir selection.

Back to Europe, continent hopping, the ferry was late and we still had a two hour drive to Ronda. Shannon and I were determined to have good seats on the return ferry because it was going to be packed. Mr. Habib told us where to stand when the ferry arrived and then we ran in front of 300 people to be first on board. I am sure Scooter and Wes were not too impressed but we saved them good seats anyway. It was dark when we returned and we knew we were missing some great mountain views on our drive to Ronda.