Dad's Morocco Log

Dad kept this log during our trip, and agreed I could post it to this blog:

2009 Morocco Trip with Jennifer

Tuesday lunch was dates, almonds, tangerines, walnut stuffed dates, and water while setting on a park wall in the medina. 1:30 pm - stop for tea - "te de la menthe" at a woman's shelter. All of the insides of the buildings are beautifully and colorfully tiled. Many French speaking people, in addition to people speaking Berber and Arabic. Many Spanish speakers also. This afternoon I met the first Moroccan who would not accept a tip. He directed us to a place to buy stamps, a normal event for tipping in Morocco. Am sending postcards to Gloria, Joel, and Julia from each city.

This adventure really started on Saturday, October 24th. I drove to Clay and Jennifer's house to leave my car, and Clay drove us to the airport for our 9:30 pm Air France flight to Paris. While waiting for our Casablanca connection in Paris, Jennifer struck up a conversation with a couple from Dearborn with a 5 month old child. She was Moroccan, and her husband was Lebanese, and they were going to her family home in Casablanca to visit. This would be his first time in Morocco. They were so nice and she reassured us that we would be welcomed in Morocco by the people, and not to worry that we are Christian. Her husband Ali, works as a baker at Cedarland bakery in Warren, and he carried a bag of spinach pies that he gave to us. Her family would meet them in Casa so the pies would go to waste. She would stay with the baby with her family for two months, and Ali would return to the states in two weeks. Those pies were mouth watering.

Sunday, October 25th - We arrived in Casa 2 pm ish and got off the plane Nixon style, which was down the stairs to the tarmac and to a waiting bus. We laughed that we should be flashing the V hand signal. We easily hopped a cab, an ancient Mercedes diesel. At the first gas station the driver pulled in and took the taxi signs off the outside of the car, and pulled back to the shoulder of the highway. Another car pulled in behind our cab and our driver was going to transfer us to this second car. Of course we were immediately on guard when the signs came off our cab, and Jennifer was ready to heave a bag out the window. I had my door slightly open for a fast get away, but then the two drivers began to argue and we were soon on our way in the original cab. We think the plan was to have us go in the second cab while the first cabbie went back to the airport to snag another fare, but there was a disagreement over the fare split. Anyway, we soon arrived at our hotel and Jennifer dispensed with the driver, without a tip! We have by this time discovered we can communicate somewhat in French. We were shown to a nice demi suite with a street view and a queen size bed, which we quickly told the bellman would not do. He broke into a wide grin when he learned we were father and daughter. The bellman was dressed in a beautiful brilliant blue costume reminiscent of a thousand and one knights. The billowing legs of the pantaloons were cuffed tight to the ankles with gold banding as were the shirt cuffs, and the fez he wore was red orange with the omnipresent tassel. The next room we were taken to was quite close, but very adequate as it was very new and with a beautiful ocean view and terrace. This was Hotel Val D'Anfa, and is right near the corniche - the walkway along the sea front. Later we people watched on the corniche for awhile and agreed that people are just people wherever. We saw Muslim dress and western dress and tramp stamp tattoos and cleavage and kids on every kind of wheeled toy imaginable and whole families and just married or hand holding couples. Everyone just enjoying the evening. Dinner was at a restaurant that served Moroccan food and was associated with the hotel, and it was fun. All the staff wore Moroccan costumes and of course with the tassled fez, and the décor was pure Moroccan with brightly colored and patterned tiles. The floors were all covered in the woven rugs that are so popular there, and Jennifer was seated on the big overstuffed couch because she got to it first. The food was great with lamb tajine for Jennifer, and grilled fish for me. The salad(s) for one was served in maybe 12 small bowls, each with a single offering. Livers in one, stringy cucs flavored with olives and rose water in another, diced beets, diced tomato and cuc, pumpkin soufflé, etc. After dinner we walked to a nearby beach to wet our toes in the Atlantic but after first smelling, then seeing, a small drainage of wastewater, I changed our minds. Jennifer teasingly insisted we still go wet our toes, but only teasingly. Later we watched a small movie - a vignette- from our terrace.

A young couple that appeared to be European or American camped for the night under a carport that seemed to be for the use if the employees of the hotel. We first noticed them when she emerged from the small van (It was one of those paisley painted, peace sign, hippie vans) tugging her clothes into place. Maybe she had just changed. Walking under the carport she met the boy drying dishes. Together they looked as if they were stowing away in the van the paraphernalia from having dinner. In went the dishes, plastic bags of food, chairs, the folded table, etc. This all took maybe 20 minutes, then they primped a bit and hand in hand off they walked. We checked in the morning and the van was gone so we invented several different exciting endings for their story.

Monday, October 26th The Atlantic was beating the beach with big rollers, and it was fun to see from the safety of our balcony. The van was gone so we went down to breakfast where there were lots of the ever present Germans. The coffee and breads are good in Morocco. We caught a petite taxi for a 10 DH ride to the train station with a detour to Mohammed V Mosque, the biggest in Morocco. The cabbie waited for us while we took pictures, but when we were ready to go the cab stalled and wouldn't start. What to do? I pushed it with the driver and another Moroccan guy until it started, and we were on our way. At the station we carted our bags around with us awhile waiting for the 12:30 PM train, and we found a nice little sidewalk café for tea.

This place is gritty. I would like to find a shop selling black and white photos of street scenes, because I think the grittiness might be captured. There are many places to buy paintings but they are to romanticized and don't capture the earthiness.

The train ride to Tangier was six hours with a change at Sidi Kacem. We were in a 2nd class compartment, but after the train change just in seats the rest of the way. This was fun because we met some interesting people. There was the man who directed us to the right train and that we ended up setting across from. The girl Nadia who left her phone number with Jennifer, and made Jennifer promise to call her for help if we had any trouble. After she had gotten off the train she came back on the platform and tapped on the window to wave goodbye and motion again to call her. These Moroccan people are enough to just make me question why we Americans maybe aren't more like them.

La Tangerina, the prettiest Riad in Tangier based on the view of the Straits of Gibraltar from the roof top terrace. A taxi driver was waiting for us when we arrived at the train station, and what a welcome sight he was after the long train ride. It was late and it wouldn't have been fun to fend for ourselves. The wheezy old Mercedes chugged its way up to the medina, and further up the hills to where the driver stopped in front of nowhere. He got out and a light came on at a door and he banged the knocker and the door opened. We were at La Tangerina on a street barely wide enough for our car, and the top of the walls on both sides was 30 or so feet high. We went into a nicely furnished entry with an office to the right and were registered by Fouzia. After the usual sorting out of languages we were shown up 43 steps to the room. This place looked so-so but for the terrace where we were soon served tea. We couldn't see past our immediate surroundings due to the complete darkness, but the tea was good. This is where we were served breakfast the next morning, and we had the most wonderful view of the straits. So now after tea we're ready to go find dinner. Now reader, you must know that all of our guidebooks and in all of our research about Morocco we have been cautioned to completely ignore all offers of help. Moroccans are well known for hospitality, but also for separating tourists from their Dirhams. As soon as we left the door of La Tangerina we were accosted in a very friendly manner by a young man with a big hearty "HELLO" It was all down hill from there; we thought. Inside of three minutes we had tipped him and were climbing the stairs of a restaurant. We had been bulldogged, and lassoed. What we found at the top of the stairs was luscious food in a most beautiful Kasbah setting with customers singing to the Moroccan string band, and we later joined in clapping to the music too. We had struck it rich for one meal, and broke every rule. Jennifer even agreed, and although we didn't know how it happened, we were glad it did.

Tuesday, October 27th. The Fouzia curse struck this morning when we found out that even with all of Jennifer's methodical planning, we didn't have a reservation at la Tangerina for tonight. After some confusion and many phone calls a room was found for us at Hotel Continental down by the seaport. One of the La Tangerina guys took Jennifer's bag, and with me behind them, he led the way to the new hotel. After settling in we had the whole day to spend exploring and checking out the medina. We had the lunch on the park wall, visited the American Legation museum that was quite interesting, and learned Morocco was the first foreign power to give diplomatic recognition to the new America in about 1780.
The French still very heavily influence this country. The second language is French, and Renault and Peugeot cars are very popular, but the most popular seems to be the............. You guessed it. Mercedes!


Wednesday, October 28th - Hotel Continental, overlooking the port of Tangier - Awake at 7:30 am. Jennifer still asleep. A good hot shower and dress, and throw away yesterday's underwear and socks because they're too heavy to carry around, and I want to make room for a few souvenirs. Jennifer up to shower, then down to petite de junaire (breakfast) on the rooftop terrace. Real good coffee, as usual. A short walk down to the port, marred by one belligerently begging boy out of a group of otherwise nice boys. The other boys hushed him up and hustled him away from Jennifer, and apologized to us in French. We caught a petite taxi to Le Gare (Train station), which seems to be in a new city center being developed with all new roads, buildings, and a brand new McDonalds. This is right at the beach on the Tangier harbor and we watch the ferry to Spain come in and out as we wait for McDonalds to open. It is shady here and in 10 minutes we can get a mid morning coffee. One more hour to wait for our train to Fez.

Now about Aziz whom we meet on the train. Like all Moroccans, he fell to trying to accommodate us in every way. He told us all about Fez; we must have a guide, and he will arrange it for us, and now he's on the phone and now he's off and he has a guide arranged for us. Just like that! Oh? you're going to Marrakech from Fes? You must have a driver. He'll arrange it. He's on the phone, and now he's off, and the driver is arranged. And oh, it's his brother! We can't just ride the train because it's too long a ride, yadda, yadda. Yadda, yadda we thought, so we're not trusting this guy who just has every little thing we need taken care of before we even know we need it. Then the kicker hits! He invites us to his farm in Fez for lunch on Friday, the holy day. We'll meet his children and his wife and she will cook for us. Now we really know we're dealing with someone who wants to do us in somehow. This is too much. It's early in the train ride and the other Moroccans and he are talking and we're all talking and a smelly Russian guy joins us and more talk and everyone is happy that we're taken care of. Except us. We know this is all just a caper to somehow take advantage of the tourists. But we don't tell anyone we're American. We say we're Canadian. Who wants to harm a Canadian? Also, earlier in the trip we found sometimes a bit of backlash toward Americans. Makes no difference to Aziz and he's still going to be our savior, and Jennifer and I are talking quietly in the corner going over all of this to see how he's going to get us. But he's still being just the nicest, kindest person, and Jennifer and I are giving eye signals back and forth and still thinking this is all a scam.

We finally tell him we'll accept the use of his guide because we'd already about decided we would need one. We didn't see how we could get hurt in the middle of the medina in the middle of the day. We'd just see if a guide would really show up. Toward the end of the ride we finally told him we'd go to his farm, and the arrangements were made to meet at the appointed time and place on Friday. Yeah right.... He'd really show up... Yeah.

Thursday, October 29th Sure enough, at 9 am Siad calls for us at Riad Dar Seffarine, and said he was sent by Aziz and would guide us for the day for300 DH. Siad is an older gentleman, nicely dressed in western style, and English speaking, and he knows every nook and cranny in the medina. We visited the co-op leather shop where goat and sheep and camel hides are tanned in pigeon poop, and the leather turned into beautiful pieces. Jennifer looks but keeps quiet and isn't a buyer. I should try to be more like her, but it's just not in me. I couldn't resist bringing home slippers for all the girls, and a colorful vest for myself. Next we were on to the co-op rug shop where J. again kept her mouth shut, and I kept my wallet open. The two rugs were shipped home and they are still beautiful. Siad is just relaxing and visiting and drinking tea all the time while we shop, and I'm sure he's calculating his commission too. But he was a good guide and good company. In the old days a Moroccan man could take four wives he told us, but now has to have permission from the other wives to take another. Siad says "the game is over" We had lunch in a place Siad knew but that we'd never have found, and we visited a beautiful ancient mosque. We picked up anecdotes about daily Moroccan life and had a grand day with Said. So what the heck? Is Aziz legit?
Later after parting from Siad we talked more about the coming day at the farm and decided for sure to meet Aziz. Jennifer bought a box of candy in the food souk for his wife, and also gathered up all the chocolate she was carrying to give to the kids.

Friday, October 30th - 4:50 pm Goodbye to Fez. We are on the train to Marrakech in a 1st class compartment with air conditioning and no other passengers, yet.

So this morning we're at the hotel Palais Jamal at 11 am as planned, but there is no Aziz, so now I'm telling Jennifer this is all a ruse so let's get out of here. She's not budging so we wait. And we wait. Ten more minutes I say. And now Aziz is coming across the parking lot waving his hat to get our attention, and here we go. After the customary kissing all around, we hop into the ever present ancient Mercedes taxi for the short ride to his farm. The farm is two hectares of red clay and rock and Aziz is proud to have it, and it came to him and his brother from their father. The brother has a house a short walk from the house the family of Aziz lives in. Aziz lives in town during the week and here Friday to Sunday, but his wife and three kids live here all the time. They have two dogs, and pigeons that are sold in the souk for food. The old Mercedes chugged up the long rocky driveway on the side of the hill, and we were deposited in the front yard. Aziz told us to wait while he want back to Fes to make his noon prayer, and he told his wife we were there, and his son to bring us tea. He got in the cab and left and we made ourselves comfortable in a small bamboo cabana overlooking the city. It was nice for the first hour! His wife Hakeema came and introduced herself, and the son served the tea, and we looked at the buildings made of mud and straw over bamboo frames. The main house is washed in blue, and the small building is whitewashed. We took pictures, talked about our impressions of Morocco and the Moroccan people, enjoyed the view of the city, and waited for Aziz to return. Two hours! Where is he? What is he up to? Why did we come here anyway? What have we gotten ourselves into? Jennifer is calm and relaxed. I'm ready to get out of here. "Let's walk down the driveway and to town". She says he'll be back soon. Yeah right! Putt, putt, putt........ Here he comes up the hill on his motorbike with a big smile. We're invited into his house and shown to the windowless room used for dining with the low table customary in Morocco, and introduced to a sister-in-law, and a woman friend of the family. The wife brought in a big chicken tajine and spoons for each of us to be used only with the right hand, and we all ate from the tajine. The food was good, and everyone talked and ate and visited, and enjoyed the baby of the sister-in-law. The child ate a bit and promptly fell asleep. We were served grapes on the vine for dessert, but Jennifer shortly realized they were washed in local water so called a quiet stop to eating them. We left with pictures all around and many hugs and kisses and walked down the driveway with Aziz so he could hail a car to give us a ride back to Fes.

We were in the house of this good man, eating the midday meal on his Sabbath day, and we had suspected he had plans to do damage to us. Surely, God, Allah, and the prophet Mohammed, are not happy with us. So now we know who Aziz is. He's a common man with a big heart living according to what he believes his religion tells him to do, and enjoying it. He made our trip more rather than less. We are enriched because of him. We're sorry we didn't trust him and weren't truthful about our nationality. I'm a little ashamed that I didn't have the courage to proudly be an American.

9 pm. Still on the train. After leaving Aziz we spent the afternoon doing some shopping and then got a cab to the train station for the seven hour ride. Right now we have two quiet men in our 1st class compartment, and Jennifer is stretched out snoozing. Fez has been great, and so was Tangier, and so was Casablanca. Someday I'll have to confess to Aziz that we're American, and hope he will forgive us for lying to him.
Now Jennifer isn't feeling so good and has taken to the corridor to get some air. Car sickness? The grapes?

Saturday, October 31st. 12:20 am. We're in Marrakech in a brand new sparkling train station. We're booked into a Ibis hotel right next door so we walk over and check in, and go right to bed. Jennifer didn't sleep long as a bit of the revenge of the grapes soon hit her, but that will be her story. Up at 8 am and down to breakfast for me while Jennifer hung out getting ready. This hotel isn't old Morocco, but sparkling new like the train station. Immediately I noticed most everyone speaking English, and this was to be a typical hotel buffet breakfast with coffee dispensed from a push button Nescafe machine. I ate dates, and a mandarin, and Moroccan cold cuts, and an English muffin-like crepe with honey, and took Jennifer yogurt and water. Our Riad breakfasts in Tangier and Fez were prepared by Moroccan cooks who worked in the house and the coffee was superb tasting Italian. Riad Seffarine in Fez served it in a rooftop breakfast room where all the guests met and exchanged travel stories. One morning we shared breakfast with couples from Belgium, Australia, Switzerland, and a woman from California with a French boyfriend. He was prettier than she was.

We got back to the train station around 10 am and Jennifer started bargaining for a petite taxi to take us to the medina. The driver started at 80 DH, but tough old Jennifer worked him down to 25. A guide grabbed us as soon as we left the cab in Square Djemaa el Fna, and it's a good thing too because he knew exactly where we were going and had a cart for our bags. The last small alley we had to go through was full of construction rubble with timbers to duck under and more to climb over, but when we got through and turned to the left, there was the door to the Riad. Unbelievable!

Sunday, Nov. 1st My pension check should be in my bank account now so I'll get some DH from the ATM today. Jennifer has been pretty much supporting us and all of our fun. We are staying in Riad Andella and like all good riads the roof top terrace is the place for breakfast and social gatherings. Jennifer was abed most of yesterday so I did some initial exploring and found it to be second class to the medina of Fez. Maybe after today I'll change my opinion. Our room is on the second floor and is very cozy (small) Highly decorated French doors close it off from the balcony if you choose, and a curtain also hangs at the opening. We leave the doors open for ventilation and just close the curtain. Our bathroom can also be closed off from the rest of the room with a curtain. No door! We all know of Muhaddad with the machine gun and Abdul with the RPG, and Aziz from Gitmo. We know them from TV, and newspaper, and whatever. Now Jennifer and I know them as the man Abdul, who when he discovered that Jennifer was suffering, brought several doses of Smecta. We know Nadia, that you reader, meet earlier in this tale. We also became acquainted with many other Faisils and Abdellas who made our travels more comfortable and interesting.

After the 8:30 rooftop breakfast we hit the streets for touristing. Because this is our last stop hauling bags we bought souvenirs to take home. Moroccan ashtrays for the smokers. Hats for the boys. Girl things for the you know who's. We also made a tea and pastry stop for us. Back to the riad at 3ish for a little siesta, and then to the street again at 4:30. We have pockets full of DH now with the ATM action from both of us, and dinner is a food stall in the souk. We ate interestingly of lamb kabob, rice, the delicious Moroccan bread, and Fanta and water. I ate a little sparingly because it's beginning to be my turn for the stomach curse. Jennifer brought packs of Gatorade powder from home and we have been putting it in liter bottles of water for drinking. She says the Gatorade will replenish the electrolytes we loose with the sickness so we have to each drink one liter per day. In the clear plastic bottles it looks like wine and a waiter in the food stall freaked out thinking it was wine and shouting "you can't drink wine in here" It was a tense couple of minutes until they understood it was not wine. We walked around the medina a little after eating, but soon went back to the riad and to bed, to nurse our stomachs.

Monday, Nov. 2nd Riad Andella, we are up early to prepare for our trip to the desert. Christoph attanged an early breakfast for us, then we took our bags down to the lobby where they would rest until our return. We only will take what we think are the necessities for three days, in one small backpack between us. We met the other travelers in front of Hotel CTM in the square and Mohammad, the guide, asked how we were. We replied we both were bothered with the stomach but were controlling it, and the ice was broken with the other travelers. Four others were to be in our group and two of the women chimed in that they too were in the control mode, and were so glad to hear they were not the only one's. We had good laughs all around at ourselves. As it sometimes happens ( en challah) ( god willing) we were fortunate to have six strangers come together as a travel group and each of them added to the pleasure of the whole.

We rode in a three year old Hyundai van with 31 year old Brihan driving. He wore his eyeglasses up on his head except he brought them down to see through when going through the innumerable police checkpoints. His father has two wives, and although he is my age, still works full time as a driver to support them in two separate households. Our guide Mohammad was a soft spoken man wearing western clothes but the first evening he came to dinner wearing the traditional hooded jalapa that men wear in Morocco, and he never wore western clothes again on this trip. He is a linguist and enjoyed entertaining us with little brainteasers that he patiently explained in as many languages as required. In this group that could be English, Spanish, or Japanese. How is a camel put into a refrigerator? Open the door and put the camel in and close the door. How is an elephant put in the refrigerator? Open the door and take out the camel and put in the elephant and close the door. Ha, ha... He took great enjoyment from these types of things. Our fellow travelers: Hortencio, the Spanish fellow with his Polish wife Aga. He takes 20 photos of everything and she's just afraid of everything. She was blondish and sweet and Hortencio was her daddy. There was the annoyingly (Jennifer's description) cute Remi. She wasn't annoying at all, but wore false eyelashes that would beat you to death if they hit you. They were absolutely straight and black and looked very much like what we saw later on the camels. She was on of the sickies, along with Aga. She left home at the age of 15 to come to Eugene, Oregon, to be an exchange student and her father told her to not come home dragging a blue eyed child. Youri is a patient and kindly 50ish Japanese mother who all day long in the van cradled her 23 year old daughter Remi's head in her lap to help her through the miserableness of puking at every hydraulic (pee) stop. Youri entertained us with stories of her travels, especially to Dubai, and of her life in Japan. We drove all day through the very rugged High Atlas Mountains, with the Middle Atlas to left and the Anti Atlas to the right. The very idea of fighting a war in these mountains leads me to believe that Afghanistan is a useless pursuit if those mountains are comparable to these. We spent the night in the High Atlas at Chateau De Veux, a hotel arranged by Omar the tour operator, whom we never met. It was just so-so, but right by the river that formed a gorge so it was quite cool and with the sound of the river to sooth us through dinner and the night.

Tuesday, Nov. 3rd Up early for showers that were very hot but with just a trickle of volume. Had to hold the sprayer at the of the tube to get certain body parts wetted and washed. When in Rome...........! A group breakfast of good coffee and crepes and honey and diarrhea medicine all around, and Mohammed herding us to the van to get moving. We have discovered that a teaspoon of ground cumin washed down with water is somewhat effective for the stomach problem. Give it a try. All day long driving through those terrible mountains and on to a flatish rocky dessert. Muhammad gave us this poem.

A man was walking in the desert and thought he saw somebody.
He walked closer and saw it was a ghost.
He walked even closer and saw it was a man.
He walked still closer and saw it was his brother.

Muhammad is a philosopher as well as a linguist. I admire his gentleness.

We made a tourist stop at a beautiful oasis and were guided by a local man wearing a beautiful brilliant blue jalapa. The women of the village were working the fields harvesting alfalfa by hand, and we ate dates fresh from the tree, and picked pomegranates to take along. There was an old Kasbah constructed of mud that is now deserted because the people have moved across the river to a new village that has electricity. Here it is said water is life, but because the river starts in the mountain, isn't the mountain life? About 3ish in the afternoon we turned off the paved road for a final, rough, 14 K, ride across the desert on a two track road to the Auberge and a Berber camp of tents. We were welcomed as always and offered sweet tea and given a few minutes to explore and use the bathroom. Soon we were being hurried to get to our trusty steeds and mount up. Jennifer has kept me laughing by telling me about a George Carlin skit about taking a little bit of shit, then another little bit of your shit, etc. It really fit our situation. I plan to find it and save it for future enjoyment.

The Camel Trek - The Moroccan part of the Sahara isn't very big, measuring just 28 K x 7 K, but the dunes are true Saharan in magnificence. Our caravan was 28 camels with a big group of Dutch and German, and our own small party of six. The camels stink and constantly fart and burp wetly. The caravan was broke into three pieces, each with a cameleer leading and one bringing up the rear. One of the Germans fell off his camel so we had a short stop while he remounted. It was a butt crushing ride of 11/2 hours to the camp of Berber tents, but it was a fun experience with lots of picture taking and kibitzing among us. Our cameleer was regal in his stride with his orange turbaned head held high and dressed in one of the brilliant blue jalapas and taking strides seemingly as sure as the camels. These are nomad peoples that have traded that life for a life of catering to tourists. We arrived at the camp just as darkness was starting to fall and the cameleer told us to go quickly to the top of a dune for pictures of the sunset. We all set off but I soon determined it wasn't for me. When was the last time you climbed a sand dune quickly? The reason for the "go quick" instruction soon became clear as darkness on this side of the dune was settling very fast. I could see from the sky that it was lighter on the other side but I hoped the climbers realized they had not much time for seeing their way back. I was maybe 3/4 of the way up and Jennifer had disappeared over the top with the rest so I just waited for them. And I waited.... and waited. I'm conjuring everything that could go wrong up there in the dark, and I'm waiting......... and planning what to do if they don't show up soon. Surely the cameleers will come soon to get everyone down before full dark, and I'm waiting. Finally Jennifer appears and gives a big hand wave and what a relief it was. It's not quite totally dark yet but I still want her safely down here with me. We sat in the sand for awhile watching the activity in the camp with the camels being bedded down and the tents being readied for us with blankets and sheets and when all of our party was down we all went into camp to set on the carpeted sand and wait for our outside, under the stars, dinner. Hortencia was busy photographing the camels while Jennifer and Remi schmoozed the camp cats and we all just enjoyed the time. The chicken tajine for dinner was the best meal we had the whole time in Morocco and it was followed with pomegranate for dessert, and then shortly to bed because it was getting cold This was a primitive camp with no electricity or running water or modern toilets so the whole desert is a toilet. That's how it was explained to us, so that's what we did.

Wednesday, November 4th 8:20 pm On the terrace of Riad Andella in Marrakech drinking a small, cool beer and looking out on Square Djeema el Fna and Koutoubia mosque. We returned from the desert at 7 pm and after the short walk from the van we washed up and went to the souk for dinner. We shared a lamb brochette and bread and olives, then went to another food stall so I could sample boiled sheep head in tajine liquid. Jennifer passed on the sheep for fear of being sick from it. In the morning we'll see how I am. The heads are roasted then boiled as needed in a vat of liquid full of heads. As a head is taken out another is added so heads are always ready and the liquid is constantly being enriched. Umm good. All the flesh is removed from the bone and chopped and served with the liquid and the whole thing is eaten with torn chunks of the bread. This day started with a 5:30 wake up call from our cameleer. The drill was to dress, pee in the sand away from the tent, and go to another tent for a breakfast of tea and bread, and boiled egg and mandarin and olives. Note - no washing up or teeth brushing. Our poor party of six was looking bedraggled, but still up for the camel trek back to the Auberge. We all milled around after breakfast waiting and watching the cameleers strike camp and taking photos of the happenings and our new acquaintances and sunrise over the desert and generally enjoying the morning scene. The camel ride back was fun but most everyone complained of a sore butt- me included. The desert is majestic, and full of wildlife, insects, and other small creatures that need to be found to be seen. When our caravan arrived back at the Auberge and we were deposited, we quickly made straight for the bathrooms, but were rushed by Mohammad to get to the van for the long day drive back to Marrakech. We started out at 8:30 am. I was so happy to come back to the riad. It really felt like coming home. When Christoph opened the door to us, he welcomed us back and the warmth felt so good. It had been a long day. The desert and camel trekking is truly for the young and strong, and at my age, were I not a life long health club person I would not have been up to it. In the days of real caravans it was 52 days from Zagora to Timbuktu.

Thursday, Novenber 5th A good sleep last night. We both took long showers before bed to wash off the desert. Brushing your teeth after two days is just about as good as it gets. Jennifer is controlling her Marrakech express with a 3 prong regimen of Smecta, carbosyline, and ground cumin washed down with Gatorade. I seem to be all right with just the morning and evening dose of carbosyline. We're keeping our fingers crossed and our butts tight. Hammam Les Colours de L Orient. Jennifer is having her hammam finally while I wait in the courtyard and write. She has wanted the hammam the whole time here in Morocco so is now getting it along with a message. It's not for me so I drink tea and catch up on this journal. Now we have just left restaurant
Dar Eessalam where we made a stop for hydraulics and tea. The décor was stunning as it is a restored 17th century palace, and we found out that some scenes from the movie "The Man Who Knew Too Much" with Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day were shot there in 1956. This morning has been relaxing with a leisurely breakfast and stroll though the medina, but we're ready to go home so are just whiling away the last few hours in Marrakech. For dinner we went to a vegetarian restaurant that Jennifer spotted, and it was good, and reminded us of a leftover from the old hash days of Marrakech. People have started addressing me as Ali Baba due to my three week growth of beard. We'll go back to Riad Andella later to pick up our bags then catch a cab to the train station.

On the train back to Casablanca we witnessed some decidedly un-Moroccan behavior by a young man and a companion who boarded the train with us in Merrakesh. They took seats facing us but the other boy spent most of his time roaming the train, so the first boy guarded his seat. The closer we came to Casa the more crowded the train became yet every time someone asked to use the seat the boy said it was occupied. The crowd kept building and building and people were standing in the aisle and a man was setting on the arm of my seat where I made room for him, and still the boy would not give up the empty seat. The other boy would from time to time come and set for a minute or so but then would be up again and gone, and the boy still would not give the seat up. Curiously none of the Moroccan crowd did anything about it. It was really, really, badly crowded when a young girl that had been standing with her father said something to the boy and he finally moved a coat out of the seat so she could set. This display of rude behavior was the complete opposite of the polite, caring, and helpful actions of nearly everyone else we came in contact with. It made me sad, and to wonder if the game really is over as Siad said, in more ways than one.

Friday, Nov. 6th Casa. Last night was spent at Hotel Ibis near Gare Voyager so we could walk to the train station this morning for our 4:30 am train to the airport to fly home.
This wonderful vacation has come to an end and we're ready to go home with our souvenirs and memories.