From the Atlantic to the High Atlas

I am living in an outdoor sun-seeking girl’s paradise (yes, Mom, I am wearing my sunblock). Sunday and Monday found us basking in the warm glow of the big yellow orb next to the Atlantic Ocean in sunny Essaouira. And, just four days later, we were soaking up golden rays against a back drop of snow-covered peaks in the High Atlas Mountains. Fret not, in between I did do some teaching. But this week’s highlights were all about the sea and the mountains.

Essaouira, about three hours west of Marrakech by bus, is a sweet seaside city with a white-washed medina, an active fishing port, and a long, sandy beach best known for its wind. It attracts surfers, kite-boarders, wind-surfers, and people like us – just looking for a sunny break from the city. As COP22 excitement reached a frenzy in Marrakech, we hit the road for the coast. The bus logistics were remarkably straightforward and hassle-free. Three hours after we boarded in Marrakech, we were deposited just outside the medina walls in Essaouira. A two-minute walk put us into the heart of the medina with beautiful white plaster buildings mixed with traditional Moroccan doors. We wound our way down a quiet alley to find a place to stay. Andy, who was incredibly excited about the prospect of staying in a riad, a traditional Moroccan house set around an open-air courtyard, readily agreed to check out the Riad Nakhla. We arrived to an eerily dim lobby, where we were told they could happily give us rooms a bit later when the “small problem” with the power was resolved. We decided to cross our fingers and trust the universe to take care of this “small problem.” We deposited our bags and said we be back in a couple of hours to check in.

We got busy exploring the medina in the best way possible – completely lost. The good news is, now that we have been hardened by the Marrakech medina, there is nothing left to intimidate us about medina exploration anywhere. The merchants in Essaouira were remarkably friendly and low-key. The alleys were uncrowded. We wandered happily for hours. We remarked at the size and number of cats everywhere. The feline DNA strand being shared in Essaouira is on the verge of creating some kind of abnormal super cat. We saw well-fattened cats that looked to be a mix between house cats and bobcats. With a never-ending supply of fresh fish provided by the fishing port and the local restaurants, Essaouira is the ultimate choice in stray cat living. In a way it was a nice break from our usual Moroccan cat scavenger hunt which typically ends with us feeling guilty for not adopting a scrawny cat or ten. We felt confident that every stray cat in Essaouira was better cared for than any house cat would be chez-Borch.

Not sure what this guy was looking at, but
it was a little creepy.

Apart from the cats, we enjoyed delicious food, gallery after gallery of Moroccan artwork, and the frenetic activity of the fishing port with fish sellers gutting their just-caught supply and setting it out for sale. In addition to the world’s biggest cats, Essaouira also sports an impressive collection of enormous sea gulls which spend the afternoon hovering attentively over the port just waiting for the leftovers. We spent some time strolling along the beachside promenade and soaking up some sun. The beach itself wasn’t anything to write home about – needing a good green-up day before I would be tempted to enjoy the sand. But, the wind and the waves attracted their share of water sports enthusiasts.

Weird child with beautiful plates

Hats on a wall

The universe took care of us as we had hoped, and, when we returned to our riad, we found two traditionally-decorated Moroccan rooms with functioning electricity waiting for us. Our window provided a great view of the mosque directly in front of us (which, by the way is not a bonus when the call to prayer at 5:30 a.m. pipes directly into your room) as well as a peek of the ocean with just a little neck-craning. The roof-top terrace was the real gem, though. It was super moon night, and, as we took in the moonrise over the city and the sunset over the Atlantic, I felt incredibly grateful, once again, for this amazing opportunity.

Rooftop views from Riad Nakhla

And, as if that were not enough, we followed that sunshine to the Atlas Mountains at the end of the week. November 18^th is Moroccan Independence Day, so it’s an official holiday weekend here. We headed for Imlil, the jumping-off point for local hikes into the mountains, on a “grand taxi,” which is really an over-stuffed minibus. Andy, having done this once already last week, oversaw getting us to the bus parking lot at a reasonable hour. We ran/walked to the lot so that we could find a bus, negotiate a price, and sit and wait for 45 minutes for it to fill up and for the driver to eat a leisurely breakfast at the stand on the curb. We knew that this was part of the deal in choosing to take budget-friendly transport. So, we tried to sit back and enjoy the local color and tell our own stories about the people on the bus while we waited. Brianna and I decided that the little lady sitting directly in front of us was definitely the ringleader, and we vowed to stick with her. After we had been waiting to depart for what seemed like an eternity, she marched off the bus and had a few loud words with the driver, who promptly started the bus and left it to idle while he ate his breakfast. She continued to harass him through the window until we eventually pulled out. She kept repeating, “Imlil,” so we decided she would make sure that we made it to our destination.

We pulled out of the lot with a full bus by U.S. standards (meaning every seat was full), but, as we drove out of town, the bus really started to fill up. We picked up people and baskets and bags wherever we saw them waiting on the road. Eventually there were people packed into every nook and cranny of the bus with children wedged on laps and the money-collector hanging off the bumper. As we started up the mountain with its switchbacks, hugging the edges of drops into oblivion, the little boy squashed in the aisle next to me started turning green. Ladies began fanning him and unzipping his jacket. A plastic bag came out, and I looked away – selfishly praying that this packed can of sardines was not about to start smelling like a bag of vomit. I breathed deeply and attempted to find the positive in the situation. I decided I was thankful for all the warm bodies surrounding me. I figured they would provide extra padding if the bus should just roll off the edge of the road. Just as I had come to terms with the realization that my fate was completely out of my own hands, and I had decided to let the universe (and that feisty little lady) take care of me, we came to a halt in the town of Asni. This was not Imlil.

Imlil street

The bus driver told everyone to get out. This was the end of the line. The feisty lady got feistier, got some money back, and disappeared. We shuffled off the bus and onto another that was allegedly going to take us the rest of the way to Imlil. First, however, we needed to idle for another 15 minutes next to the exhaust pipe of neighboring bus. Just as I was about to keel over from a carbon monoxide headache, someone decided it was time to get on the road. The next part of the journey was similar to the first. We packed people in at every turn. Brianna and I sat awkwardly squashed across from a woman with an adorable little girl. We shared some homemade cookies, and, lacking any vocabulary to warn them that they contained peanut butter, I watched anxiously to make sure no one stopped breathing. They both seemed content, and we happily smiled at each other until we, at last, arrived in Imlil and unfolded ourselves from the seat and stumbled into the fresh air.

 The mountains were right there – hovering over us with their snow-capped peaks and rugged rocks. Imlil is a little mountain town where you can get a last meal and rent climbing gear before you take off on your adventure. It’s the starting point for the trek up Toubkal, North Africa’s highest peak at 14,000 feet. We were just out for a day hike, so we simply enjoyed lunch on a rooftop terrace, where we could take in the views, before setting off up a steep path past donkeys and carpet vendors – looking for our own bit of mountain peace.

Odd child found along the trail

The views were fabulous from the start. First, we enjoyed the contrast of the towns tucked into the desert brown and red colors of the hills with the stark white snow and the clear blue sky. Eventually the towns disappeared, and the river bed down below became a lush green oasis. We could see goats grazing in the patches of green. Sure-footed donkeys and their drivers lumbered past at remarkably fast speeds. We followed the sun in the direction of the looming peak of Toubkal. We stopped for a Coke at a mountainside shack, where cold water from the spring cooled the drinks. We climbed for nearly three hours, finally reaching our first patch of ice, before deciding it was time to head back down and beat the sunset. Surrounded by high peaks, the sun goes down early, and darkness and cold arrive quickly. We covered the last of the steep downhill before losing the warmth of the sun, and we were serenaded on our hike through the river bed by a couple of girls singing happily as they followed the same path. 

Our singing companions

Dusk arrived as we made it back into town, and we opted for a cushier shared taxi van with four other hikers to take us back to Marrakech (fearing we may have missed the last bus of the day).  Chilly and tired, we all conked out in the taxi and remained blissfully oblivious to whatever kind of dark-mountain driving antics that may have taken place. We arrived back in Marrakech unscathed and were soon absorbed by the throngs of people crowding into the main square for Moroccan Independence Day celebrations. The mountains were but a fading memory. There was nothing to do, but embrace the energy and the crowd, eat ice cream, and get swept up in the celebration. Happy Independence Day indeed.

We found snow! Now we can go down.

And just a few more from Essaouira...

Bri pots a ball in snooker

Medina wall meets the ocean

Bri contemplates life

Andy versus the Atlantic

Essaouira fishing Port

Bad Vibrations

How many men does it take to figure out
how to get a giant palm tree onto a flatbed?

It has been a week played out to the background noise of jack hammers and jackasses (sorry kids for breaking my own rule, but there are times that call for this kind of language). While the United States does its best to self-implode on the other side of the Atlantic, the building next door to us has literally crumbled to the ground.  We wake up every day to the reverberations of a jack hammer just on the other side of our bedroom wall. The whole building vibrates and groans throughout the day, and, from time to time, we hear the sound of a massive wall crumbling. It’s a little disconcerting to say the least. City living has its perks (like the late-night snack runs to the store just around the corner, the never-ending choices of yummy food, and the endless street theater). However, waking up to a jack hammer is not one of the perks. Although, the construction site itself does provide for a good deal of entertainment on a daily basis. We watch groups of men gather and discuss the best way to maneuver trucks and trees out of our narrow street. The parking helper, the night watchman, the security guard, and the neighbors all seem to weigh in on the decision making. Sometimes there is lots of yelling and excitement, and we rush out to the balcony to make sure the building is not caving in. We can only speculate what the plans might be for the soon-to-be vacant lot next to us. Our best guess is that a new apartment building will go up, and we will have construction noise to greet us every morning.

The noise from a jack hammer, however, pales in comparison to the noise coming from the U.S. I really thought Tuesday would finally bring a break from the political madness. Sadly it has only gotten noisier. Meaner. Messier. Tuesday night the American Corner in Marrakech hosted an election-streaming party complete with Uncle Sam hats, bumper stickers, buttons, and life-sized cardboard cutouts of the candidates. I spent a full day learning enough about the electoral college to pretend I knew what I was talking about, and then I spent an hour at the party trying to educate Moroccan students about how it works. We had a Coke and Pepsi challenge to simulate an election. Coke won the popular vote. Natch. Then (with the help of Brianna and Andy to strategically rig the voting) Pepsi won the electoral college contest. It was entertaining to watch the passion involved and the slow dawn of comprehension on the faces of Coke voters when they realized that the popularity of their favorite beverage did not translate into a win. Oh, the irony. When the questions started coming in on Wednesday and Thursday, I simply had to reply, “Remember Coke and Pepsi?” Nuff said.

Despite the unpleasant din all around, we have spent the week squeezing in as many Marrakech moments as possible. I got my first braille lesson from a student who I am tutoring in English. My guess is that by the end of the year I will have learned more braille and Darija from him than he will have learned English from me. Brianna and I helped at a Scavenger Hunt for English students at the Menara Gardens where we quizzed groups of students on random bits of English trivia when they found their way to our spot in the garden. Our favorite question, “What is the color of the last ball potted in snooker?” required translation for these two Americans just so we could figure out what we were asking.

Scavenger hunt in the Menara Gardens

We visited the Marrkech Photography Museum and the Museum of Boucharouit (a museum paying tribute to the “poor people’s” recycled rug art of the Berber mountains) in the medina. In both we learned lots about the culture of the Berbers and life in the High Atlas Mountains. We also visited a very cool exhibit on the history of the Djemma el-Fna, Morocco’s famous square of entertainment, where we learned the stories behind some of the performers.  Another day, Andy and I visited the Bahia Palace and Saadian Tombs in the southern part of the medina in our effort to make sure we see everything that Marrakech has to offer. We enjoyed all that we have become accustomed to finding in Moroccan museums and palaces - lots and lots of Moroccan tile, beautifully carved ceilings, and cats dosing in the sunshine.

Boucharouit rug was cool, but I really
want that tub.

Snakes and monkeys and henna, oh my!
Medina Life

Saadian Tombs

Saadian Tombs

The sunshine does persist, but the weather has taken a distinct turn toward winter. When I ride my bike to the university for my 8:00 class, I can see my breath and need to bundle up. Mid-day, warm temperatures return, and then it cools off again as soon as the sun sets. In many ways, the change is welcome even for this sun worshiper. For instance, I can run during daylight hours without dying from heat stroke, and the “modest wardrobe,” covering knees to elbows, is much more bearable when the sun isn’t withering my soul. Rain and cooler temperatures have also resulted in clear blue skies, which have revealed that we are, indeed, surrounded by towering snow-covered mountains. It is beautiful. For the first month that I was here, I never glimpsed a mountain through the smog. Now they are up close, personal, and calling. There is something amazing about sitting in a desert garden, surrounded by palm trees and cactuses, while staring up at snow-covered peaks. There really is a possibility of some skiing this winter.

Amazing Atlas Mountains finally coming into view

These seasonal changes in our little world are happening as the rest of the world has their environmental eyes on Marrakech. The city is hosting COP22 this week, the International Climate Change Conference, and it has been busy primping and preening for the affair. The streets are decorated from head to toe in the red and green of Morocco’s flag. There are lights on everything. Gardens have been manicured. Fountains have water in them and are running at full tilt. There are police officers at intersections directing traffic, and there is security everywhere. At night, the Djemma el-Fna is bursting at the seams. Restaurants are full. Taxis are full. Parades, exhibitions, and presentations are happening all over the city both day and night. The atmosphere is festive, and the city is crowded. We’re trying to enjoy the festivities while they last, but we’re also looking forward to a return to normalcy.

That would just about sum up this entire week: seeking a return to normalcy. Inshallah. 

COP22 comes to Marrakech

Carrying the weight of the world was too
much for these guys, so they had to take a selfie.

  

Today there are no words

On a day when there really are no words, the only thing I know to do is write. America, who are you? What have you done? At 2:30 a.m. I went to bed in Marrakech, fresh off a U.S. election streaming party and education event, feeling good and feeling guilty. Feeling good because I sensed that we were on the verge of making history; feeling good because the divisive, hate-filled election season was nearly behind us; feeling guilty because I couldn’t keep my eyes open to watch the anticipated coronation and celebration.

This morning I turned on my phone to see the face of our next president glaring at me. What have we done? I am in shock, and I am far away. Some will say that is exactly where they wish to be. They’ll talk of Canada and Mexico tightening border security today. The mass exodus that so many threatened will no longer be a joke. From afar I will monitor Facebook comments throughout the day as the United States wakes up and comes to terms with reality. The sadness I feel will wash over a nation as it has washed over me. Or, at least that is what I would like to think. Yet, we are the nation that voted for this change. Half of America is going to wake up satisfied and jubilant this morning.

Obama said the sun will rise this morning. Indeed, it has. I wonder if this is the sunrise he anticipated. From Morocco, the harsh light of the desert sun is shining an unfavorable light on the nation I call home. Tomorrow morning I will be faced with hundreds of students who basked in election enthusiasm with me last night, who took selfies with cutouts of the candidates, who tried hard to understand the electoral college, who watched the television as results started to come in, who sported red, white, and blue, and who put their faith in the capacity of the American people to love more than hate. Tomorrow morning, these kind, warm, welcoming, intelligent, curious students, who are also Muslims, will look to me with questioning eyes. Why, America? I will have no answers.

Goats Gone Wild

Guardian of the motor bike

Marrakech is working hard to spruce itself up for COP22, the UN Climate Change Conference, that will be hosted here next week. Flags are popping up all over the city. Gardens are being groomed, trash is being raked from the bushes, streets are being swept, everything is getting a fresh coat of paint, and there are even police officers controlling the wild traffic. It’s festive, and there is a sense of excitement in the air for the international visitors who will all begin arriving in just a few days.  It will be interesting to see how the city settles back into a sense of routine after the celebration ends and everyone goes home.

And, of course, we are watching another circus from afar – the one unfolding in the United States leading up to election day. Both of these events will factor into my job over the next two weeks with environmental events on the local calendar and a U.S. Election streaming party planned for Tuesday night at the university. My job there will be to educate attendees about the U.S. election process, in general, and specifically about how the electoral college works. You can bet that I will be spending the next three days trying to figure that out myself. Stay tuned for pictures of me with life-sized cutouts of both candidates (in my neutral job role), but know that inside this Vermont girl’s feelin' the Bern. The rebel in me is considering a subtle tip of the hat to my man – maybe a white, crazy-haired wig or just a quick fly-by from a pigeon. Sigh.

In the meantime, we have been busy soaking up Morocco around my class schedule. The beauty of being in Marrakech is that, with a free few hours, we can head out and visit one of the many sights, parks, or shopping areas that we have yet to see. It’s like living in NYC. There’s always something more to see and do, and having the time to actually do it is a gift. I’m still pinching myself every day.

This week we visited the Quranic School, Ali ben Youssef Medersa, which was built in the 14^th century but remains a beautiful monument to Islamic art. Brianna imagined herself a student in the cell-like dorm rooms, and we took advantage of the photo opportunities that the beautiful tile-work and plaster provided.

The Spice Market Square

Halloween takes Marrakech by storm.

Next came Halloween and the unexpected enthusiasm of Marrakchis for the occasion. Brianna has joined a local community service club, which was putting on a Halloween Party at a local English language school. Sporting rose-colored glasses and a scarf tied around her head hippie-style, she oozed 60’s flower-child peace, love, and happiness. Assigned to the face painting crew, she arrived early to help set up for the party.  The festivities for all ages were set to begin at 6:30 p.m., so Andy and I strolled over at 7:00 to check things out in hopes of getting some pictures. We arrived to find a street packed with over 1000 students who had been closed out of the over-flowing party.

Face-painted and costumed kids pressed at the
gate and walls of the school in hopes of coercing someone into letting them inside. We stood at a distance and just watched the scene unfold – hoping the gate would hold and no one would decide to scale the wall. Eventually the police arrived with flashing lights and whistles to clear the street and send everyone away. Disappointed princesses and superheroes spread out onto Marrakech’s city streets to spook the rest of the unsuspecting population. In the meantime, oblivious to the excitement on the street, Brianna painted and painted until the party finally ended inside and she was exhausted. It was a Halloween to remember for all of us.

After tying myself to a chair to get my planning done for the week, we took off for an overnight adventure to the coastal city of Agadir. Brianna was ready for some much-anticipated beach time, so we headed for the Atlantic coast. Despite the fact that it has been extremely hot in Marrakech and we have a small pool in our apartment building, we have never seen a soul swimming in it. Reluctant to be “those American neighbors” who shock the hood with their scanty bathing suits, we have been waiting to see what proper bathing suit etiquette is. Alas, the pool remains empty, and, as of late, it has gone rather green. So, the beach escape was particularly alluring with the prospect of anonymous sun-bathing in a bathing suit far from judging eyes.

Agadir Promenade

The drive to Agadir confirmed that most of Morocoo is, indeed, a desert. The landscape alternated between sandy yellow and dark red dirt. It was pretty in a southwestern way. We skirted the Anti Atlas mountains as we headed south west and eventually popped out into the industrial coastal city of Agadir. The entire city has been rebuilt since 1960 when it crumbled in an earthquake, making it a slice of Morocco that looks nothing like Morocco. The buildings were white and uniform looking. The coast is populated by resorts on a beautiful promenade which ends in an industrial port. Agadir is a popular beach destination on the Atlantic because it sits out of the perpetual wind that churns up surf and sand along much of the coast. We enjoyed two days with beach time in bathing suits – although it still wasn’t completely comfortable. We sought interior chairs and umbrellas, in a bank of sunbathing chairs, in order to provide some sense of “cover.” The beach scene was a mix of tourists in bathing suits and local women fully covered. For me the biggest treat was finding that the morning brought hundreds of exercisers to the promenade and beach. For the first time in over a month, I felt like just one of the crowd as I ran along the promenade in the wind. Instead of worrying about my short sleeves and getting hit by a car, I got to just relax and do my thing. It was a welcome change.

Agadir's Beachside Promenade

Agadir's cats sense a weak soul and try their best to get adopted.

We visited the kasbah at the top of the hill overlooking the city and appreciated the sunset over the Atlantic – an odd perspective when you come from New England. The kasbah is crumbling – a result of both its age and the earthquake, but it seemed to be a popular hangout for young Moroccan couples and camel owners hoping visitors would opt for a romantic camel ride. Despite its rundown state, it did provide a pretty perspective of the city with all of its night lights glowing down below.

Rather than drive straight back to Marrakech, we headed north along the coast in search of Morocco’s famed argan cooperatives and the goats that process the seeds. We were treated to some beautiful views of surf-side villages and sand dunes meeting the water along the way.

The desert meets the Atlantic.

We eventually turned inland toward T’manar in search of the argan region and its celebrated wrinkly trees that produce the fruit needed for argan oil. The landscape eventually changed from palm trees to argan trees spread about the dry and rocky countryside. They appeared spindly and grayish-green. We knew we had truly arrived when we rounded a bend (on a very bendy mountain road) and were greeted by a tree teeming with dozens of goats up high in the branches. Yes, goats in trees! We had seen it on a postcard but hadn’t quite believed it. But, there they were, standing atop trees, munching happily on the dry leaves and pointy thorns. It was an odd sight. The next time we came upon a loaded tree we stopped the car and got out and took pictures. The friendly goat shepherd was all too happy to accept a few dirhams in exchange for lots of photo opportunities with his herd.

Goats in the argan trees

As we got closer to the city of Essaouira, the road was dotted with argan cooperatives where women grind the argan seeds into argan oil which can be used for both cooking and cosmetic purposes. We stopped at one to get our argan education and left with a supply of oil and soap to keep us sleek and smooth for a little while (as well as another dose of kitten love for Brianna).


Satisfied in our argan mission, we pointed the car back toward Marrakech, and, once again, Andy practiced the fine art of dodging dark objects on the road as we negotiated the final miles home. Although there were fewer donkeys and horses than we had seen the previous week on our return from the mountains, there was no shortage of motorbikes without lights and darkly-dressed cyclists and walkers darting into traffic to keep things interesting. Safely back in Marrakesh, we are ready to see what the next week brings.

Breaking the argan nut

Removing the argan seed

One more goat pic, because they are just so ridiculous!