9. Morocco: Marrakesh, Ouarzazate, Agadir to Guelmine

Marrakesh, Friday, 29 Oct., 1982

(HELENA) I really ought to be paying close attention to the French lesson they are showing on TV here at the "camping" cafe, but I also should write this as fast as possible. I felt I should take advantage of the sun to wash a few things. That's quite a production because to hang up the clothes Dan has to climb a eucalyptus tree, and I then hand him my rags. It turned out to be an excellent idea for discouraging thieves, but Dan originally had the idea because our short line was only long enough to reach between branches, not trees.

This morning we were to meet Maureen and Shirley at their hotel at 10:00.  We set up two rendezvous places and times with them, one on Monday in Guelmine and the second on Tuesday in El Aiún. We shall see.  We want to see the Atlas and Anti Atlas mountains, but they have different priorities.  I guess that Shirley has already been there.

We spent the next five hours doing pretty much what we did yesterday afternoon, trying to explore different parts of the city by following our tourist map. We finally admitted defeat as far as finding specific buildings because those narrow, winding streets lined with reddish houses are very hard to find on an inexact map. It'd be lovely with someone who knows the city, but we refuse to engage a guide. We ran into plenty of tourists, but the life of the city seems to depend less on them than in Tangier.

Royal Palace grounds with ancient olive grove, Marrakesh

We stocked up on 500 sheets of airmail paper for the journal before heading into the Sahara.

(DAN) I don't think we ever fully described the moped situation here in Morocco.  They are very common in all of the cities, so common that many of the major streets have a special moped trail built apart from the actual street. Many times at an intersection there will be as many as 15 queued up at the outside edge. In comparison, we have seen very few actual motorcycles of any size. There does not seem to be any social label applied to them because we have seen women, boys, traditional men, poorly-dressed men, men in three-piece business suits, and dignified military and policemen on them. Here there seem to be more women riding them than in other cities. They did not seem very practical, especially when it rained.  It was rather humorous to see men in the long hooded robes go humming by, or rise up and peddle furiously so that the moped would not die in the puddles.

Street scene with mopeds

My guess is that the cost of gasoline is the cause. The only pump I came close to was selling at approximately US$6.00 per gallon. All of the gas stations are of foreign companies, Mobil and Shell the most common, with a few BP and Texacos.  I don't know if you have noticed that the “o" in Mobil is always red? Well, when it is written in Arabic, their "o", a comma, is also red -- quaint? Morocco has no gas of its own.

Another sign of multinational corporations is all of the BATA shoe stores that grace market, business, and residential areas. We did not see any in Spain, but noticed them right away in Tangier. In Bolivia, Peru, Thailand, and Morocco, (that I know of), it is the common people's shoe -- they must have an incredible third world monopoly. I wonder who "they" are[1].

Marrakesh, Saturday, 30 October, 1982

(HELENA) That little practice we developed in Spanish campgrounds of leaving our things and going to write letters as we drink a cup of cafe con leche turned out to be not such a brilliant idea in the "wilds" of Morocco. Last night, just as we left the cafe, two men came struggling by carrying our packs, one on top of the other. It turned out that the security guard had seen our packs sitting unguarded by our tent and, in order to avoid a big scene with the police had decided to take them to where he could watch them. He really got mad at us for our carelessness and told us NEVER to leave the packs unguarded. He even said we needed to either sleep with them inside the tent or pack them and take them to the guard house. He really succeeded in scaring us. It was even worse when we got back to the tent and couldn't find our flour sack of toiletries. We decided that Dan must have left them in the bathroom. Poor guy finally had to steel himself to face the caretaker's wrath to see if anyone had taken it to him. He was very nice about it and said he himself had picked it up from the bathroom.

We have a pretty intense schedule over the next few days,  so today we really took it easy: washed clothes which Dan hung up in the clever place he'd rigged by climbing the eucalyptus trees, slept, read the Time magazine passed on to us by Maureen, slept, and ate. Whew!

This evening, as we started getting ready for tomorrow's early trip, we heard the young men in a neighboring tent playing the guitar -- mostly U.S.A. music of the type Dan and I like. After we heard one of Cat Stevens' songs, Dan couldn't resist and went to join them. It was a group of about five Moroccan men and one woman.  He eventually told them that I play, so they invited me over to play a couple. It felt good to sing and play again[2]. We had to leave after a while to get ready to get up at 3:45 a.m. Definitely their preference was for music from the USA, although they sang a couple of neat Arabic songs.

Marrakesh - Ouarzazate, 31 October, Sunday

(DAN) We got up at 0400, broke camp in an hour, and made it to the bus on time. They have an enormous, 15 terminal, clean bus station -- very modern -- but things are run in the good ole 3rd World way. We checked in our baggage but were "taxed" $1.60 for the effort of taking them out to the bus. Although the average Moroccan is much taller than the Bolivian, there is no knee room in the buses. Then we waited around half an hour after leaving time in case somebody else showed up.

Once out on the road, though, it was very beautiful. The nearly full moon was out as we rocketed along and we could see the Atlas Mountains rising out of the plain. The sun rose just as we entered the mountains. The near side of the mountains appears to get a lot of rain as there was a lot of vegetation and there were large pine plantations. Once across the pass, it got progressively dryer until it was open desert by the time we got out on the plain. There were no attempts at cultivation until we got to the vicinity of the town which had some non-river source of water (oasis).

Atlas Mountains between Marrakesh and Ouarzazate

Back to the bus. About 7 o'clock we drove into a small town that could have been Yolosa or Unduavi (actually Carrasco)[3] and stopped for coffee and bread. One establishment was selling anticuchos[4]. Then, in Ouarzazate our plans began to fall apart. We had been told that there was a 15:30 bus that went from Ouarzazate to Agadir, which we were going to catch. We had no more gotten our bags off the first bus when another bus left. We were told that it was the Agadir bus and there would not be another until morning. We needed to keep moving because of our dates with Shirley and Maureen, so we decided to look for another mode of transport. I simply asked a bystander where one got trucks to Agadir. He, a young man, said there were no trucks, but yes, another bus company. He actually took me a kilometer over and another back just to show me, and ended up inviting us to stay at his house, that is until the next bus left at 3 a.m.

We decided instead to try to hitch a ride, so walked out of town to a gas station. The place we picked turned out to be just across from the Gendarmerie, but they did not object, in fact gave us tips on which vehicles to look for, etc. After about half an hour we had one car stop and honk, but pulled out again. The friendly policeman said that the car had left because of the policemen and that we should move farther out. We went 500 meters farther out, stopped by the shade, stuck out our sign, and did just that for 4 hours.  Finally at 17:00 we went back into town to look for a place to settle down until 0300 hrs. On the way back into town, again we were invited to spend the night at a home. Again we turned it down half-heartedly. There were no park benches, so we settled down on the steps of the post office. We were there perhaps a half hour when a couple of young men stopped and asked if there were any problems. We told them we were simply waiting for the bus. 

They insisted we spend the time at their house….

(DAN), 30 years later we can assume that our loved ones will not worry about us, so it is time to tell our worst experience in Africa.  Because of our good experience with my Morokish bath friend, we regretted when we turned down the first invitation to stay.  So when the next set of people invited us, we accepted, though there was something less likeable about them.  We ended up at the house of one of them, who as I recall, worked as a cook for the army.  However it was not his living conditions (far better than a Bolivian military cook) but the fact that after supper he showed us the room where we could sleep, and announced to me that he would very much like to sleep with Helena, as if to ask my permission “Je voudré couché avec ta soeur” if you pardon my French. 

By then it was dark, late and we really did not have anywhere to go.  Fortunately his friend had disappeared so we only had only to deal with one person.  I pretended that I did not understand him, and kept repeating. “Je ne comprend pas, je ne comprend pas”.  I quickly developed an even stronger gringo accent and informed him that we were really tired, and pulled the curtain across the door, besides, we “still did not understand”.  I lay down across the door and placed both of the packs between Helena and me.  He did not give up quite yet, trying to explain with gestures what he wanted, and what was his due, I suppose.  I still “didn´t understand”, and as I recall he went red in the face trying to explain what he wanted.  Finally he left us alone.  At the back of our minds was the possibility that if we really got him mad, all he had to do was tell the police that we had drugs on us and under Moroccan law it was 15 to 20 years in the klinker.  Our guide book had some cautionary tales to this effect.  It particularly worried us that he had military connections, in a military zone.

We did not sleep a wink and at 2:30 in the morning snuck out and headed out for the bus station.  Our “host” detected our flight and came after us on a motor scooter and kept blocking our path with it in a very menacing fashion.  He kept repeating to me what he wanted and I kept saying I didn´t understand until (and we don´t know whether he had looked up a dictionary or asked a friend during the night) he came out and shouted in English “I want to f… your sister!!!” 

Well, you know in cartoons when characters pick up their feet and they turn into blurred wheels… That was us, including the 30 pound backpacks, and, thank heaven, the next thing we knew we were sitting on the bus, out of his reach but not out of the reach of the police. 

To this day I cannot think of another situation I have been in that I was more relieved to get out of.  Finally that bus pulled out and headed into the desert night. .[5]

Ouarzazate - Guelmine November 1, 1982.

The bus ride was again fascinating. This time we crossed some mountains and spent the morning riding down the valley between the High Atlas and the Anti Atlas ranges.  All through the Atlas we saw isolated Berber villages. In this valley there were many small villages, all with some small or large fortress set against the mountains. I think it was one of my favorite places to date. Helena and I are despairing of having a good account of this trip. We are afraid to take pictures of people, we are never able to stop to take pictures of the scenery, and we are at a loss to describe all the beauty we are observing. I guess one just has to see it.

Berber town in the Anti Atlas

All through this valley there was much small-scale irrigation.  In the last 100 km before Agadir we got back into large-scale agriculture, especially enormous drip-irrigated orange groves.

We were particularly unimpressed with Agadir. It suffered an earthquake in l960 and is all new. On top of that we were assaulted again by would-be guides.

(HELENA) We arrived there at 12:30 noon, and the next bus for Guelmine , where we had agreed to meet Maureen and Shirley, was to leave at 16:00, so we decided to try hitching for a couple of hours. Dan stood out on a traffic island pivoting to catch the eyes of drivers from two directions, but nothing happened for 1 1/2 hours. We returned to the bus stop just in time because we bought the last seats on the bus except one. I went to change money, leaving Dan in the unaccustomed position of waiting for me. I went to four places before they'd accept "travelers" and when I returned, Dan was fidgety because he'd had to have the bus wait. They actually wanted to leave early!

We were amazed at how many mountains there were after leaving Agadir.  Nearing sundown we stopped for supper.  The three buses we've been on have really taken advantage of the meal-time stops. The whole trip between Agadir and Guelmine lasted only four hours, but still they had to stop for their tea and supper. Oh, I forgot to mention that between Ouarzazate and Agadir several men got off when we stopped and went to bring their wives tea, complete with platter, glasses, and little teapot. I was the only woman who got off there. (Dan had found a "marvelously" clean bathroom which I couldn't pass up.) That tea (always mint) is a big part of life here. You'll even see a group of men crouching beside a bus, with their little tray in between them. The most common sight is to see men drinking it at outside cafe tables with all of the chairs facing the street. There seems to be no time of day when you don't drink the tea (always in glass glasses), and it is delicious.

During our trip to Guelmine , Dan and I formed an admiration society for the ayudante[6]. In the first place his appearance was classic from his yellow turban to his beard, to his blue work-coat. He did everything so efficiently. He'd deal with luggage on the roof, he'd write out tickets for everyone (including those that got on midway), keep exact accounts and even controlled the behavior of the passengers:  he looked disapprovingly at someone who tried to whistle along with the radio, and even kept someone from spitting on the bus. Impressive!

I didn't really expect to see Shirley and Maureen in Guelmine but we got there 10 minutes late, and there they were. We all went to the same hotel (as always, Shirley had shopped around and gotten the cheapest to be found), had tea together and later bread and cheese. Dan and I were SO glad to get to bed since we'd had six hours of sleep one night and two the next.  Even I must admit that it was nice to communicate easily with someone.

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[1] (We subsequently saw BATA in every African country on the rest of the trip)

[2] We had considered carrying a guitar with us, as an aid to hitchhiking, but it would have been the proverbial last straw, given our already heavy packs.

[3] Two stops on Bolivia’s world renowned Road of Death

[4] Shishkabobs

[5] At that time, and for many years after, Ouarzazate was our least favorite place on earth.  It seemed to be the end of the world in more ways than one.  Since that time it has become a major center for filming movies that require desert scenes, including, according to Wikipedia Asterix & Obelix: Mission Cleopatra, The Gladiator, The Mummy movies, The Man Who Would Be King, Kingdom of Heaven and Babel.

[6] Driver’s assistant essential to all Bolivian public transport