Spain and Morocco
Iberia and Morocco
16 December
Was that France?
It
must have been France. People spoke French, we could read the road
signs, engage in basic conversation and the driving was vastly
improved, as were the roads. Not only that, it must have been
provincial France. The people were very friendly. (as opposed to
Parisians)
We
have been driving for two days – not long days mind you – to get
to Barcelona from the Italian Riveria. French Autoroutes have very
high tolls, especially for vans like ours, so we have stayed on the
secondary routes most of the time, hence our slow progress. And, oh
yes, we got lost a few times! The weather hasn't helped our progress
either. Leaving Italy, we were hit by a series of savage storms with
heavy, though luckily small, hail. At home, hail this size would melt
as soon as it hit the ground. Here, in winter at least, it starts to
build up and freeze, even on the motorways with relatively heavy
traffic. We had a few hairy moments leaving some of the many tunnels
on the coast around Genoa, where the ice was flowing back into the
tunnels and freezing.
While
the secondary routes have been slower, they have been more
interesting. This is wine country, so vineyards and cellar-door sales
abound. Each little area has its own variety of wine that it lays
claim to and they are extremely parochial about it. The villages are
further apart than in Italy – and with wider streets that are not
crammed with parked and double-parked cars – and that eases the
tension for the driver, allowing for viewing of what is being driven
through. This is Vic Morrow country (from the WW2 TV show called
“Combat”, for those too young to recognise the label!)
Most
of this time, we have avoided the temptation to re-visit sights from
earlier trips. It has been hard, but our aim this trip has been to
focus, as much as possible, on the new, rather than the nostalgic.
So... we have been “On the Road Again”. Tonight, we are just
short of the Spanish border, in a huge, (and free) Aire de Service.
The wind is howling around the couple of lonely campervans and a few
trucks that cluster with us.
Barcelona
tomorrow. And the weather forecast is sunny!
17 December
Sun at last, sun at last!
By
this morning, the sky had cleared and the sun broke through. By the
time we stopped for our daily shop, it was positively hot in the sun.
Hannibal
also crossed the Pyrenees with his elephants – apparently he had a
thing about mountain ranges - so we expected a bit of a climb on the
free secondary roads that we take to avoid the heavy tolls. We hardly
noticed the bump! Near the coast, the mountains are easily
negotiated. Hope Hannibal knew this route.
Spanish
drivers and roads have improved significantly since our last visit,
thanks to an intensive government campaign to reduce the road toll.
Even with the few towns we had to pass through on the minor roads, it
was a rather easy and short drive into Bar'th'elona. (Note our
immediate grasp of the Catalan dialect where everyone lisps!) And for
once we found the camping ground first up.
18 December
Artists are mostly Mad!
Barcelona
was at its best today. Actually we have never seen it any other way
but sunny and warm. Our camping ground is about 20 minutes out of
town on a fast and frequent rail line. We know! We can hear the
trains all night.
Barcelona
is a special place - a cradle of modern civilization, if you believe
the local view of the world. Christopher Columbus (an Italian) left
from here on his voyage to the New World. Picasso graced the city.
And then there was Gaudi, possibly the greatest of the 19th
- 20th
C avant-garde architects. His master piece, La Sagrada Familia is
still under construction after more than 100 years - not all that
unusual, as cathedral building times go.
Several
other buildings in the city were designed by the master. We visited
La Pedrera today – a building designed by Gaudi - down to door
handles. It is part museum – of the achievements of Gaudi and of
life in the early 20th
C - part functional office complex. There is hardly a square corner
in the whole building - as you would expect. What is really startling
is that the building was constructed in 1906.
Enough
about Gaudi for now. (Can one ever get enough Gaudi?).
The
real star of the day was an early 20th
century Russian artist, Rodchenko who was featured in a special
exhibited at La Pedrera.. Never heard of him? What a shame. The man
was apparently a giant of Constructivism in Post-revolutionary
Russia. His works range across geometrical art to geometrical
sculptures to early photo collage.
Some
of the artistic phases Rodchenko passed through are worthy of
comment. Unlike many others, he was able to move from
constructionalism to neo-constructionalism without a transition
period. Yes, believe it or not – no transition period! Then 'Rod'
had his black on black and white on white periods. Not terribly
complex art works. They actually contain some grey.
The
real turning point in Rodchenko's career was probably his
realisation that there were basic colours. Seriously, he decried
easel painting as he called it and decreed that only 'pure' colours
were 'in'. His Red,Yellow and Blue pieces, which were just that, are
a true testament to just how crazy artists can be.
Finally,
in collaboration with equally MAD countryman, Malevich, he produced
possibly the most avant-garde play ever staged. Bedbug. A Fantastical
Comedy in Nine Scenes. (loosely translated from the original
Russian).
The
plot is very simple really. In 1929, the main character and a bedbug
are frozen. Thawed out after 50 years, they then tell the story in
nine bizarre and indescribable scenes of the world once communism was
fully established. What the bedbug had to do with it all was lost in
translation. To add some credibility to the whole thing, the score
was composed by a young Shostakovich. The museum ran a video of
clips from the original presentation. Truly bizarre, out there, and
sooo Barcelona!
Stalinism,
the purges, restrictions on artistic freedom and the threat of the
gulag for 'nutters' finally caught up with Rod' and he ended his days
taking propaganda photographs for the Party.
And
Gaudi? He walked under a tram in Barcelona in 1926 aged 74.
Strange
stuff, but that's what Barcelona is all about!
19 December
What is Gaudy?
Not
t.oo many people have been immortalised by their name becoming a
common English word. Plato made it with platonic; Achilles with his
heel and Caesar, for some reason, became caesarian. After the last
couple of days, we understand how the early 20th
century works of Antoni Gaudi allowed his name to be incorporated
into common language.
Even
today, more than 80 years after his death, his work is futuristic,
fanciful and yet structurally sound and always different – very
different and, of course, some of it is just plain ... gaudy!
La
Sagrada Familia Basilica is destined to be his seminal work. Since
our last visit in 2000, work seems to have accelerated on this, now
longer than a 100 year, project. Perhaps the aim is to complete the
construction in time for the centenary of the master's death in 2026?
Hope we are around to see it.
We
aren't sure if Picasso ever met Gaudi ( we need to do some research
here) but the same word can, of course, be applied to much of
Picasso's work. Gaudy!
Having
visited the Picasso museum today, we are full of knowledge about this
adopted son of Barcelona. Cubism was, of course, Pablo's big thing
and what he will always be remembered for, but the range and volume
of work the artist left us is just incredible! Everything from
traditional landscapes, formal portraits, ceramics and some erotic
doodles to Toulouse Lautrec-inspired ladies of the night comprises
the work of this master.
As
we prepare to leave Barcelona ,what can we say about this always
exciting and interesting city...
Gaudy!
But
in the best possible way!
20 December
“Road to Marrakech”
(Apologies
to Bing and Bob!)
Across
the eastern coastal plains of Spain they come - from Belgium,
France, Italy and Germany and all points north – from the
winter-dark and dismal tracts of northern Europe, through the
sun-drenched fields of Cataluna and the orange orchards of Valencia,
in their thousands, heading for Morocco for the holidays.
On
the west coast of Spain, it's the British, the French and others who
can afford the French autoroute tolls (we saw them last trip). Those
who can't, have slipped out through Germany, where there are no
tolls.
All
on the “Road to Marrakech.”
Some
are Moroccans, heading back home for a holiday that they don't
necessarily celebrate, but are happy to take, as their factories and
offices in the Christian north close down for the Christmas break.
They are easily identified by the piles of 'stuff' on the roof of
their cars. Tied up with tape, rope and plastic tarps, some of the
loads are as big as the vehicles under them. As one would load up a
camel?
The
caravan speeds off south, where it is getting increasingly warm.
Longer days and more sun!! And we, along with hundreds of campervans,
join it.
Hope
there is some room left at the Inn.
21 December
Call off the search
After
our successful train visit to the Cinqueterre, following several bad
experiences attempting to visit even medium-sized cities in the van,
we decided to do a park-and-ride today.
We
must have become fairly accomplished at interpreting station signs
and timetables in foreign languages, because we were able to dump the
van in the Sagunto station carpark today in outer suburban Valencia
(way outer suburban), jump on a train, with the appropriate tickets,
all before we were sure the train was actually going the right way
... and well inside 2 minutes!
Valencia
was yet another surprise today. And we are glad we took the trouble.
What a glorious day. Most of the three quarters of a million of the
good folk of Valencia were out and about by the time we reached town
(11:00am). Streets were jammed with families, kids and a hell of a
lot of old folk, just walking about in the 20C sun.
So
why did we come to Valencia? Not for love of oranges, although they
are here in the millions! It was in search of the Holy Grail!
Monty
Python and Dan Brown got it horribly wrong and wasted enormous
effort. They should have
read
the Lonely Planet. The Holy Grail is here! Yes indeedy. The only
'Grail' recognised by the Holy Mother Church is right here in
Valencia. Popes have offered mass with it. It is “revered” in a
side chapel of the basilica and there are postcards for sale at the
church door. On close examination of the post card, it has to be said
that the 'grail' is in remarkable condition for a 2000 year old cup.
Not only that, it is extremely 'flash' for a wine goblet that would
have been used by peasant Galileans on a night out. One has to wonder
sometimes??
Valencia
doesn't need the Holy Grail, or any other magic to be an attractive
city. The city centre is full of wonders at every turn. We had no
tourist guide today so we just roamed about. Perhaps we should do it
more often?
22 December
Trams. Trams
Alicante
is a small dot on our map - like so many other small dots that turn
out to be rather large towns or cities. The Costa Blanca is just
another of the string of Mediterranean resort areas that ring the
coast from Turkey to Gibraltar. It's a bit like the Gold Coast on
steroids for thousands of kilometers.
Thousands,
probably hundreds of thousands of people from all over Europe own
apartments around here. There is no way the 250,000 population of
Alicante would need this many apartment blocks! North and south of
the city, along a beautiful coastline, block after block of
apartments are strung out along the coast and even up in the hills
behind.
We
are slow learners, but we have worked out, as per our experience in
Valencia and many cities before, that driving into any city of any
size in a camper is a recipe for disaster. So off on to the tram we
went, this time into the small(?) city of Alicante.
The
tram line runs along the coast and, for the 12 kms into town, we had
a great view of the Mediterranean and the beaches and resorts that
line it. What can you say about a resort town in late December when
you have it to yourselves? One thermometer in town said 28C, but it
was in full sun! Blue sky, blue water and great laid-back feel! The
highlight was the Castillo de Santo Barbara. This is a fortress
which was captured from the Arabs by the future King Alfonso X the
Wise on December 4, 1248, the feast day of Saint Barbara. Incredible
views down to the city and out to the Mediterranean make this a
“must-see”. Fortunately, the 204m height is accessible by lift,
so, why the hell not?
Trams?
Well, we are in a camping ground in a 'village' just south of
Alicante called El Campello. The park is packed with northern
Europeans who winter here, so we are on a site at the back of the
park – on the tram line! Right on the tram line! Never mind. If we
can sleep with trucks, we can sleep with trams.
24 December
Christmas Eve
Off
to Morocco tomorrow, so Christmas doesn't mean anything like as much
as it does at home. We miss being with family, although we were able
to Skype our mums and our house-sitter, Amanda, last night and
video-talk with Ben, Jennifer and Abby this morning . Hopefully talk
to James and Lizzie tomorrow morning.
Just
the two of us again. But we seem to survive together through all the
difficulties travelling this way can bring. Our main problem right
now is that we are finishing each other's sentences a la 'Chip &
Dale'. Not an original thought is to be had, probably the result of
being together for over 35 years and spending well over a year (in
total) in the confined space of a campervan in Europe (at times with
children in tow).
Our
photos of the Alhambra in Granada today are evidence of this scary
convergence. Probably 90% of them are identical. If anybody wants to
see them, that's about 150 photos taken in 2 hours!
By
the by, the Alhambra is the amazing evidence of the Islamic
occupation of this area from the 11th
to the 15th
centuries. The Nasrid Palace, the home of the Islamic rulers of this
time is unrivalled in terms of the intricacy of its stucco and
woodwork. The Alcazaba (fortress) is huge and contains remnants of
the barracks of the soldiers who protected it. All in all, truly
amazing!
Last
day in Spain for a while. We have loved every minute of it! Spaniards
have all the creativity and friendliness of the Italians, with a good
dose of the regimentation of northern Europe.
Thing
work here; trains and buses are on time; there are rules like not
crossing double lines ...and people abide by them!
What
adventures await us in North Africa?
25
December
Almost
Morocco
Tickets
in po
Spain
has been great. Although we have been here before, there were still a
lot of new places for us to see, hassle-free (almost) roads and good
drivers. The weather has been fantastic for this time of the year,
with mild, sunny days, followed by “crisp” nights and mornings.
We
have covered some klms in the past few days, but they have all been
interesting drives. The mountains of the Sierra del Baza and Sierra
Nevada were spectacular, with snow-capped mountains, semi-desert
colours and interesting villages, some built into the cliffs.
From
Malaga, on the coast south of Granada, down through the Costa del
Sol, it is just wall to wall condos for hundreds of klms. Who lives
in all these places? We never see anybody. The resorts are
spectacular in a way, but a travesty in another. This coastline was
once beautiful!
Today,
we by-passed the British enclave of Gibraltar. Why the hell can't
they decide who owns what bit of what country? Never mind, we got to
hear some news in English. It's always a bit of a shock when we
happen on English-speak radio, but nice to understand what's going
on in the world, or at least what is going on in the UK – AND we
heard the Queen's Christmas Message!
It
is a 40 minute ferry trip to Ceuta tomorrow, the Moroccan frontier to
negotiate, then on to the Atlantic coast. We don't have an enormous
amount of information on travelling in Morocco, but what we do have
is mostly positive, with warnings to expect a bit of a 'culture
shock'. We keep thinking of Vietnam and Cambodia where we also
experienced a culture shock and loved every minute of it.
26 December
Into Africa
From
the Mosques of Larache the call to prayer echoes through the streets.
For us, it coincides with beer o'clock, so we will look forward to
evening prayers.
Our
travels over the years have taken us to Europe, Asia, North America
and, of course, Australia. Africa is a new adventure for us. Of the
inhabited continents, just South America left?
Arriving
at the Spanish enclave of Ceuta was really no different to any other
of the many ferry ports we have graced with our presence in the fast
few months. It wasn't until we got to the Moroccan frontier that we
knew we were in Africa, rather than Europe.
Chaos!
No signs, no system to anything, nobody really knowing what to do,
not even the locals. We were lucky. Having been amongst the first few
vehicles off the ferry, we were at the front of the queue at the
border. Guide books warn against touts who offer to “help” with
the formalities and we are always cautious of anybody wanting to
'assist'. This time we probably did ok out of the deal. Two older
locals attached themselves to our van and provided all the forms and
even helped fill them in. Yes, they expected a tip. But, for 2 euros,
who cares? They were pleasant, welcoming and got us through the maze
with fewer problems than we would have had on our own. After a very
cursory customs inspection, (drat we could have loaded up with cheap
beer!) we were on our way.
Now,
everybody's expectations of a place are different. Our expectations
of Africa, particularly North Africa, are of rocky dusty plains with
palm tree oases dotting the horizon. Rommel and the Africa Corps
probably have a lot to do with this image? What a shock! Not a rock
in sight. Instead, we saw rolling green hills, with intensive farms
and sheep grazing in the valleys and towns and villages not
dissimilar to those on the other side of the Straits in Europe. A new
freeway greeted us for the first part of the trip, then roads that
were mostly well surfaced, if a little narrow. Traffic was so light
that it was far easier than driving in Italy.
Not
to break with a tradition of always getting lost, we drove right into
the middle of the fairly large town of Larache in search of the free
camping spot that we had found on the internet. Again, we have been
in far worse central town and city streets but, with no idea where we
were, we were just driving aimlessly. Then we met a French lady in a
camper who was looking for the same van park. She consulted a couple
of locals and, eventually, we followed her to our home for the night.
With
the van parked and secure, we took off on foot in the mid afternoon
sun to experience Morocco.
Interesting!
Goats
and sheep in the streets of a large town no longer phase us, nor do
donkey carts and unmade side-streets. What was different amongst all
this was the housing. Blocks of brand new apartments lined the
streets where goats and donkeys roamed and kids played soccer on an
impromptu hard dirt pitch in the midst of a building site. The
obligatory satellite dishes scanned the heavens and people, well
dressed in a mix of traditional and western dress, strolled in the
dusty and rubble-littered streets.
Some
of the traditional dress is extremely interesting. Remember Obi Wan
Kenobi from Star Wars? He was one of the touts who met us at the
border! Then they were everywhere. Some in 'traditional' Obi Wan'
brown and others in many other colours - purple, red and white being
the most favoured. The women's outfits are equally interesting.
Younger women wear a scarf but not the full face cover. Along with
this, they are likely to sport a pair of tight designer jeans and a
form-fitting shirt. And probably heels! Nasty on the dusty paths?
What would the prophet think?
At
last, our years of studying French has come in handy. It seems most
Moroccans understand French to some degree, even our version! This
was no help, though, in finding even a small 'supermarket'. Looks
like we will have to learn to shop like the locals, in the open
markets, unless we want to live on canned tuna for the next week or
two!
27 December
Back door beer
After
our free night in Larache, we took off early for Rabat, the capital
of Morocco, planning to camp in the twin city of Sale and catch one
of the small local boats across the river to the Medina (old city) of
Rabat. Aside from a little, Italian style, driving on the outskirts
of Rabat, the trip was most pleasant. Great roads with light traffic
and different and unexpected scenes at every turn. Intensive farming
under square miles of plastic glasshouses dominated the scene for the
first 100 klms. Strawberries, flowers, and vegetables, all out of
season for Europe. Very profitable.
People
seem to emerge from behind every tree and bush along the road side as
we drive by. This is very open country, but you never seem to be out
of sight of someone. Women and kids traipse along the edge of the
motorway. Kids cross four lanes of motorway with their dogs. Hooded
'Obi Wans' glide from out of nowhere. And then there are the
shepherds - sitting under trees or perched on rocks or fences, they
gaze out over their scrawny, but obviously precious, flocks. What
goes through their minds for all those hours?
Most
villages and towns are relatively new and fairly clean, with power,
water and, of course, satellite TV. There were exceptions in the
poorer areas and on the outskirts of bigger cities like Sale and
Rabat. Some of the slums were terrible, but there is much rebuilding
going on and things in most areas are looking much better for the
future.
There
will be no prizes for guessing that our plans to camp just across the
river from the Medina in Rabat would be foiled. This time, we
actually found the campsite, or where it had been! Seems the camp is
a casualty of the development boom in Morocco. It is being turned
into a flash marina complex and so no longer exists! On the advice of
a security guard on the 'ex-site', we took off for the southern
outskirts of Rabat. No go there either, so on to our current spot in
the unlikely-named resort town of Mohammedia, on the outskirts of
Casablanca, one of the many clusters of condos that line the
Mediterranean and now, North African coast. Moroccans can't afford
these places. Foreigners are invading, here, mostly the French it
seems.
The
foreign invasion in this area did help us today though! A
supermarket. With beer and wine! Oh, and yes, food as well. Terrified
that the wrath of Allah might prevent us from buying alcohol, we had
almost taken the pledge.
Others
must be even more worried about the prophet or his ministers, as
there was a discreet entrance from the back of the car-park of the
supermarket - for those who wished to partake of the forbidden joys
of the demon booze. We ran into some of these sinners during our walk
along the rocky Atlantic coast behind our camping area later this
afternoon, quietly consuming their purchases away from prying eyes.
The good news is that these guys obviously aren't fundamentalists and
there seem to be a lot of them!
Another
change for us, wrought by Africa. We now flush our van toilet with
mineral water. How classy is that? Due to the doubtful nature of
Moroccan water, we decided to top up our drinking water tank with
store-bought water. The batch we put in tonight was mineral water.
The only outlet of this water we can't control is the toilet. It must
flush from this tank. So, mineral water flushes!
28 December
On the Marrakech Express
Not
really, but we saw the train to Marrakech and a mighty flash train it
was too!
Where
do you start to comment on a day like today? Let's start at the end
just for fun.
The
mini-bus loaded with ourselves, three Swiss adventurers, who were off
to Mauritania overland and the Moroccan mini-bus driver, ripping
through the dark centre and suburbs of Marrakech, down streets
crowded with donkeys, hand-carts, buses, Mercedes, farm utes and
thousands of people. We were on our way back to our very reasonable
(very good by Moroccan standards) camping grounds on the outskirts of
Marrakech. It was only 7:30pm but it had been a long day.
We
had made record time on our drive from Casablanca south-east to the
once Royal capital of Morocco. Record time was due to the fact that
it was all excellent motorway with very light traffic. It is the wet
season here and we are probably seeing the countryside at its
greenest, and it sure is green, with dark brown stone villages and
farm compounds settled in the rich valleys.
Casablanca
was far too big for us to deal with in the van and we had read that
the only reason people went there was because of the Bogart movie of
the same name. So we drove around it and took a photo of the highway
exit sign!
While
on the subject of highways, it has to be said that, as embarrassing
as it may be, there is no question that Morocco has a far better
highway infrastructure than Australia. Major cities are linked by
European standard Motorways and even the secondary roads are well up
to the standards at home.
There
is a certain 'unevenness' in the development of Morocco, and probably
many other developing nations. Some people here, even many, are doing
fairly well, thank you, but others, particularly the rural poor, are
still miserably poor.
Former
colonial masters, France, Spain and Italy are investing heavily in
North African countries like Morocco. Question their motives if you
will, but the end result is an increase in general living standards
that will eventually flow through to some level, even to the very
poor.
While
we are in the subject of highways and infrastructure, we stopped at
an Aire de Service (Motorway stop) for lunch today and heard
Australian accents at the table behind us. Turned out to be Doug
Murray (ex-ABC Rural Reporter) and now Channel 9 Extra presenter and
his friends. We had a nice chat about our respective travels and were
invited for drinks with Doug and company in their hotel in Marrekech
- an invitation which we probably won't take up. No disrespect to
Doug, but as we found out in the course of our chat, he and his
friends had flown into Casablanca with pockets full of Australian
dollars and were mortified that the Moroccan banks wouldn't exchange
them. When we respectfully pointed out that they could have stuck
their Visa cards in an ATM and taken local currency out, they replied
that they didn't have debit cards. Faced with this level of naivety
and eccentricity, we probably will just pass up the offer of drinks.
So.
How did we end up with the Swiss adventurers in a Moroccan mini-bus?
Given
the aforementioned excellent state of the highway network, we had
arrived in Marrakech just after lunch. The only way into town was by
mini-bus so we booked one. Just as we were about to leave, two 4x4s
arrived in the dusty camping compound, complete with – you guessed
it – three Swiss adventurers. After a short wait for them to park,
we all piled into the bus headed for the Medina of Marrakech.
Just
over three hours later, we were all together again. In the interim,
we spent the time just wandering in the almost hot sun, through the
maze of markets (souks) and the squares that are the life blood of
this amazing city. In some ways, what we experienced is probably how
life has gone on here for hundreds of years. Trade is now partly with
tourists from all over Europe and the rest of the developed world.
Two or three hundred years ago, these same streets were filled with
camel trains from across northern Africa, coming to trade at this
ancient cross-road.
All
we did this afternoon was roam about and take in the atmosphere.
Tomorrow, we'll see the sights. The Swiss boys will be off 'to the
right 12 times' to find the desert - as per our mini-bus driver's
instructions.
29 December
Watch that African Sun
Our
driver suggested an early start today, so we hit the road to the city
again at 9:00 am. It was New Year's Day today on the Arabic calendar,
so public offices were closed. But that was just about all that was!
Traffic was a little lighter to and from the city, but there was
still plenty going on in the Souks and squares of this exciting city.
We
started the day being conned into a visit to a carpet warehouse by a
guy who crossed the road with us after we got out of our mini-bus.
These touts are good! He 'had' us until we arrived in the maze of
alleys that led to his sponsor's shop. “No pressure to buy, this is
just a visit... etc”. We have heard it all in many languages, but
we still fall for the initial contact. What we have worked out is how
to escape while not offending. So we bid our initial contact 'Happy
New Year!' and then were left in the maze of alleyways that make up
the old city of Marrakech. This is another part of the game – so we
have heard – that, abandoned, the victim needs directions out,
which are happily given – for a price! Not this time, Sunshine! We
carry a small compass and with that and a bit of luck, we were back
in familiar territory in a couple of minutes. No harm done and yet
another experience to remember, embellish and bore family and friends
with! And, oh! It was good – a very slick operation, but all
completed with good humour – all part of the game.
Today
we saw the remains of some of the dynasties that have ruled Morocco –
the tombs of one dynasty that had been covered over by the next, a
palace that had been systematically looted by that same, vengeful,
dynasty and another palace, which showed what the first would have
looked like; very ornate by modern standards, but you have to admire
the skills of the workers who created such incredible buildings.
We
also did the “tourist thing” - lunching on tajine and couscous,
while overlooking the major square of old Marrakech, where snake
charmers, acrobats, water-sellers, musicians, monkey touts,
donkey-driven carts, story-tellers, etc all compete for attention –
and money!
Wandering
through the fascinating souks, with people latching on to you if you
so much as pause, can be disturbing but, aware that this is the
source of their livelihood, we have found that good humour works
well.
Marrakech
is not in the desert – to our surprise. But it can be hot. Even on
this mid-winter's day, the fairer of our party managed a good dose of
sunburn.
It
is Africa after all.
30 December
What a road can mean
All
we did today was drive – firstly from Marrakech back to the coast
at Casablanca, on to Rabat and then east again to Fes.
All
but a dozen klms of this almost 600 klm trip was on motorway quality
roads, equal to, or even better than, those in Europe, and way better
than anything in Australia. But where did these super highways come
from, in the midst of this beautiful, but still-developing country,
where fields that line the highways are still tilled by horse or
donkey-pulled ploughs (some made of wood) and donkey carts are the
main form of transport in rural areas? Towns and cities are close to
western standards in their core, but roam to the fringes and the
shanty towns are pitiful.
The
highway seems to be almost a protected tunnel for the developed world
to access the wonders and, probably, the resources of Morocco. As we
flew along it today, every 3-4 klms there was an overpass that
allowed villagers on either side of the highway to continue to travel
to their local towns unimpeded. Here and there along the road, locals
sit and watch the world they are not yet part of fly past at 120 klms
per hour. The privileged, like us and wealthy city Moroccans, might
just as well be behind glass.
Shepherds
wander with their flocks on the verges of the road, where their
charges can access the lush grasses shaded by road cuttings. Despite
the obvious chasm that exists between these two worlds, the locals
wave and smile as we cruise past.
At
the moment they live in a world that most just want to drive through.
But will the road make a difference?
European
investors aren't stupid. They helped build these roads because they
can see the potential of Morocco. Everywhere we have been, we have
seen rich agricultural land a plenty; land that can grow food far
more efficiently than further north in Europe The trucks that
dominate European Motorways aren't here yet, but they are coming.
Just up the new motorways and 40 minutes away by ferry is one of the
wealthiest concentrations of people on the planet.
For
the poor farm kids leaning over the rails on the overpasses with
their donkey carts, waving and smiling, while peering into a world
that is currently far beyond their reach, the future looks much
better just because of these roads.
And
hell they deserve a break!
31 December 2008
New Year's Eve in Fes
Breaking
with our usual rule, we accepted the offer of a guide today to see
Fes, reputed to have the oldest original Arab Medina. We generally
shy clear of guides for two reasons: one, we like to have our own
adventures and move at our own pace and two, we don't like to be
conned! On both accounts we lost out to some extent today, but on the
other hand, we did see parts of the city we would never have found
and the guide was a pleasant young guy who arrived with his Canadian
girlfriend in tow. An extra advantage was that he had a car, so taxis
were not going to cost us either.
Fes,
on what was a dismal rainy day, our first in a long time, was not as
attractive a city as Marrekech. But what it lacked in beauty, it more
than made up for in intrigue, adventure and exposure to the raw life
of big city Morocco. Our guide was true to his word in not pressuring
sales in the places we 'happened across' on our ramble through the
back streets of the incredible maze that is old Fes. There is no way
we could have found our way around by ourselves.
Somehow
we have become hardened to third world living conditions. People
survive here amongst rotting garbage, piles of building rubble and
suspect sanitation in the middle of a crowded city of more than 2
million people. Some areas we went to in the old city today had no
running water. Taps on the streets provided water that kids toted
back to their houses along muddy streets. Somehow they all seem to
stay clean and happy and that's probably why we didn't 'freak' at
meeting donkeys and horses on lane ways so narrow that we had to
press ourselves against the wall to avoid being squashed by skins on
their way to the tannery, and lord knows what else, strapped to the
backs of these sad-looking animals.
This
is life for hundreds of millions of people in the developing world.
It's rough, but it's not hopeless, at least here in Morocco. As in
Vietnam and Cambodia, every street level opening, no matter how
small, has some small enterprise. Furniture making, pottery, the
making of new cd players out of the bits of old ones – these are
all part of the thousand ways of working to survive.
Our
visits to carpet makers, ceramic works, tanneries and jewellery shops
today were all part of the routine employed to extract the tourist
dollar gently and courteously. Despite our resolve not to buy
anything, we, of course, did - not a lot, but probably just enough
for our guide to get his kickback.
Having
contributed, last year, in much the same way, to the economy of
Vietnam, today we did the same in Fes. And it was most enjoyable and
just one little contribution to hurry along the development of
wonderful people in this fantastic country.
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