Morocco: The unabridged version

Warning: This post contains vulgar language and might make you feel uncomfortable.

Upon arrival at the Marrakesh airport, we did everything we were supposed to: asked the information desk for a map and how to get to the Medina (old town) and how much cab fare would be. When we arrived to the taxi-stand, the first driver gave us a quote 3 times what the ride was worth. Because Kira and I were two females with large bags, we were literally swarmed by taxi drivers that seemed to be competing with each other and with us at the same time. We eventually got the price down to a little less than twice the amount it should have been. I originally expected this experience to be something like my trip to Cairo or Istanbul. After leaving the airport, however, I quickly realized Morocco, specifically Marrakesh, would not be similar to any city I had been before.

Driving to our hostel, seeing the dirty, overcrowded, streets and sidewalks (that Kira reminded were not nearly as dirty as those of Kampala, Uganda, where she had just studied abroad) selling literally ANYTHING one could think of (bed frames, toasters, shoes, tissues, fresh-squeezed OJ)I started to feel like all the meticulous research I had done about how to act, what to wear, and how to get around in Morocco started to seem frivolous.

Most of the streets in Marrakesh are about 20 times more full than this one

Something to mention about all the taxi drivers in Moroccan is that they have no idea what they are doing or how to get anywhere. Before getting in any taxi, there is a fight about the price and a discussion about how to get to the destination. Oh, and don’t expect to get where you want to go in a cab without a map, because taking a taxi in Morocco is a team sport. 

A Moroccan boy could tell we were confused when we got out of our cab, so when we asked him how to get to Hostel Auberge Douzi, he walked us! I was so excited to experience some of the Moroccan hospitality I had heard about previously. When we arrived to the hostel, a 40 second walk away, our ad-hoc guide looked at Kira and I… expectantly. It was the unequivocal I-just-provided-a-service-now-where’s-my-compensation look. The money fight lasted about a minute, us telling him we were giving him enough, him telling us he doesn't have money and we finally gave him about a Euro. And so, a half hour after arriving, I realized Moroccan hospitality is bogus; it may even be a cover-up.

We realized this illusion of Moroccan hospitality was very common in the streets. One particular trick was tried on us about ten times. We would be walking somewhere (usually the square) and a man would tell us "no you can't walk that way; it's closed off. Here, let me help you". At first, we would try to walk a different way (we learned after the first couple times these were lies), and they would start following us and/or asking if we wanted a guide. We begged them to stop following us, that we didn't have money for a guide, and they insisted they didn't want a lot of money or that they were not guides, that they just wanted to help. Most men would follow us for a while; it was difficult to get rid of them. We eventually were told to ignore these men completely, which worked nicely. A select few men, however, got extra angry and decided to say some extra-vulgar things to us. Moroccan hospitality is not my thing. 

On the walk to the main square, while dodging hoards of residents, tourists, bikes, moped, and motorcycles, Kira and I received an impressive and varied repertoire of cat-calls. I guess it’s really hard to resist a girl fresh off a RYANAIR flight in blue jeans and a tent size long-sleeve, up-to-the-neck sweater. My ankles were slightly exposed, so maybe I deserved some of the comments that some men yelled and some creepily whispered:

“Nice ass”

“Big ass”

“Hey lady I like your big/nice ass”

“I want to f*ck you”

“f*ck your mother, f*ck blah blah f*ck your ass”

Oh, and I got a butt squeeze, followed by a “f*ck you” by one particular Moroccan man! Lucky me.

While I wasn’t exactly afraid due to recent events that took place at Djemma el-Fna Square, it was definitely something I couldn’t avoid thinking about.

In the square, on the of the more normal things we saw

Terrorism killing innocent people and seeping into our thoughts aside, Djemma el-Fna Square is generally a ridiculous and fun place. Full of snake charmers, henna-artists, beggars, and vendors, it is somewhere a tourist could easily spend the entire day. We spent part of the day walking around some of the most important mosques in the area (yes, around; non-Muslims are not allowed to enter the mosques in Morocco) including Koutobia Mosque, the oldest, largest and most important mosque in Marrakesh. Not being allowed to enter the mosque because we were not Muslim made it a very short visit, however.

The next day we went to Fes, Morocco and since we love getting up before the sun, we decided to take the 5AM train. We arrived a little at noon, napped  for a while, and had a delicious and cheap Moroccan feast with Moroccan soup, couscous, vegetables, mint tea and fresh oranges with cinnamon (which Kira and I are a little obsessed with now). Having roasted vegetables was SUCH a refreshing change from the vegetable-less life I am used to in Madrid. 

Because there are NO street signs in Morocco (not an exaggeration) we never really succeeded in finding the things we were searching for by ourselves, the Jewish quarter in Fes being no exception. After we failed in finding that area, we ran into some pretty crazy markets filled with a lot of scarves with gross stains on them.

The famous "Blue Gates" in Fes, the entrance to the old city 

We returned to our hostel for our guided tour lead by the hostel owner, which was definitely the highlight of the trip. We went to a Quranic school first, where the 4-year-olds sang “twinkle, twinkle little star”. Then we went to a rug-factory, to the famous tannery (where I bought my first leather bag ever!), to an underground oven where they bake Moroccan pita, and through some of the tiny (TINY: like 2 feet wide) side streets in Fes. Our guide pointed out all the supports built by UNESCO (because Fes is a world heritage site) used to keep everything in the city intact. 

UNESCO supports in Fes

University of Al-Karaouine in Fes

Mint to deal with the smell of pigeon poop at the tannery in Fes

Men making doors by hand in Fes

If you go to Morocco, especially Fes, and you are not as poor/cheap as me (wtch you are not, I assure you) GET A GUIDE or go with a group. It is absolutely worth it. Although our guide described everything as "our hospitality in Morocco", at the end of the tour, he made it very clear that we should give him money. I guess Moroccan hospitality isn't free. We never knew we had to give him money, so we each gave the equivalent of 5 Euros each and he basically angrily stormed out of the hostel. We added it to the list of our failures in Morocco.

AMAZING hostel lobby in Fes

Adorable breakfast at our hostel in Fes

And then there was the Moroccan Hammam (bath). Before it, we bought special scrubbers and soap, then our hostel owner’s mother (grandmother? Old lady friend?) brought us through a series of streets to the hammam. Of course, we were charged twice as much as we thought we would be for a bath and massage. We walked in, and, because of the many women and children walking around with only underwear on, we decided we should go all out and strip down to our underwear bottoms. I was very grateful to be with someone I knew so well, since we saw quite a lot of each other boobs. We walked into the bath, which was unsurprisingly very hot and steamy. In all honesty, it looked disgusting and dirty, but I figured it was as clean as Water Country, since the water was consistently being drained and new water being introduced.

            We were assigned a woman that would give us our massages and we were told to sit down next to a balding and VERY disgusting woman with possibly the most amorphous body I have ever seen (to be fair, I haven’t seen THAT many topless women in my life). It became clear very quickly that this was not a tourist Hammam. More than half of the women in the hammam stared at Kira and I and our bathing suit bottoms. I don’t think the fact that mine had multi-colored polka dots helped in our attempt to blend in.

            It was somehow decided that I would go first, so our “masseuse” gave me a tap directing me to lie down on my back, took my hand scrubber and starting scrubbing my body harder than I have ever been scrubbed in my life. My mind reverted immediately to being jostled and shaken on the beach while my mom applied a thick layer of sunscreen to my body. The only difference was this rub-down HURT. It hurt a lot. I started laughing hysterically as she scrubbed my stomach and… ahem… the area above stomach and under my neck, in order to keep from crying. She slapped (literally slapped) me so I would turn over and as I spread my arms out, I got a very unwelcome handful of old-lady boob. I never thought I would get to second base with a 40 year-old Moroccan woman, but I guess there is a first time for everything? After the scrub, I received a brief massage (too brief in my opinion) and my new girlfriend washed and conditioned my hair, something that I had not experienced since I was 5 years old.

            When it all ended ended, I was relieved and felt a little more dirty than I did when I entered. The Moroccan bath was undoubtedly the most uncomfortably  “real” experience I had during my year abroad.

            That night, Kira and I walked around Fes, tried to ignore men yelling that we had “nice, big asses” and went to a very classy rooftop bar called Mezzanine where we enjoyed some over-priced drinks on their roof-top terrace.

            We took an early train to return to Marrakesh the next day, met some horrible cab drivers, I freaked out and yelled them, and we arrived again at our hostel. Our last day, we went to the Bahia Palace, the Badi Palace, the spice market, and to the square again (we couldn’t resist getting a huge meal for the equivalent of 5 euros).

Badi Palace

Delicious healthy Moroccan food. My favorite part of the country

Although both Marrakesh and Fes are fascinating, colorful and bustling places, the men in Morocco overshadowed the many happy memories I will have in the future about this trip. I have always been able to separate my personal travel experience from my opinions about a country, but after dealing with the useless cab drivers and disrespectful men in Morocco, I have failed in my attempt to separate the two. That being said, if you are a woman and you want to go to Morocco to have a vacation (meaning a relaxing/easy/comfortable experience), think twice, because you probably won't get it.