Heba and Aly wanted to go to a small town 400 kms south of
Casablanca before heading to their conference in Marrakesh. In true
Sarah-style, I hadn’t read anything about Morocco prior to getting on the flight,
so I was keen on anything. Pallavi did some research beforehand (I’m way too
lazy) and recommended that we all get a car to get to Essaouira. Aly and I were
set to be the drivers. Why? Aly has an actual international driver’s license
and I’m white. They joked that even with my Missouri driver’s license that a
car rental place wouldn’t refuse me my white privilege. Also, I can drive on
the right (rules out Pallavi) and I can drive a stick shift (rules out Heba).
Score for my driving skills!
Now, driving in Morocco is, as Aly described, like Egypt +
+. It mostly follows the standard road rules 80% of the time, but there is room
for interpretation. I’ve seen how they drive in Cairo. No way was I
volunteering to get behind the wheel until I had a feel for how Moroccans
drive. Now that I’ve seen it, I can say that it’s only slightly scary, but it
certainly allows room for error. For example:
- Accidentally in the left lane and discover it’s a left turn only lane? No problem! Just keep driving straight.
- The driver in front of you isn’t taking the left turn fast enough? No problem. You can turn left just by passing him on the left…or the right…. Or both if there are two of you.
- Need to get to a place with a no entry sign? No problem! It’s just a little farther down the road anyway. The other car will understand or get the heck out of the way.
Just like Grandy says, it’s not who is right, it’s who is left.
Today, I couldn’t avoid driving in Casablanca any longer. We
had the car and needed to get Aly, who was staying with his friend. Channeling
Grandy, I got behind the wheel, and started driving with great trepidation. I
made it to the friend’s house just fine I have you know. Ye of little faith. I
only didn’t see one person and braked severely when Pallavi told me to ‘watch
it!’ A little whiplash is good for your health. Keeps you limber.
We all piled into the car and started driving the 400 km
drive. Aly and I took turns. Morocco countryside is beautiful. It reminds me a
lot of the south of the US, where there is a lot of agriculture but where the
land is flat and arid. Brown soil/rocks surrounded us on either side.
Kilometers of plains stretched on either side of us with mountains dotting the
distance. As we passed small towns, we passed men wearing ‘cowboy-like hats’
riding donkeys, hauling all sorts of different things. We passed more donkeys
pulling carts from here to there. The countryside is littered with red-clay
built small structures and fences. It’s gorgeous.
We finally got to the town and checked in to our riad. A
riad is like a bed and breakfast. Ours was super cute and traditional. We sat
down and were immediately offered tea. I accepted, saying, “they say it’s not a
real riad unless you’ve been offered mint tea.” I have never had tea with so
many mint leaves sticking out of it that you a) felt you were drinking a tea mojito and b) needed
to drown the stems so you could drink the tea without it poking you in the
nose.
We then stepped out to explore the town. The town is an old
military town set right on the Atlantic. Again, it has a robust medina filled
with stalls. There are faces poking out from windows about the narrow lanes
everywhere we go. Locals all ride bikes like madmen through the mazes. Fresh
bread, eggs, meat, olives stand in every stall. Stray fat cats dart in and out
of everything, everywhere.
We went to the harbor, saw a fat cat try to grab a fish off
a vendor’s cart, picked our selection of fresh seafood and had an amazing
dinner. We then went to the one place in town that had music and drinks. We got
our seats and got free entertainment by a group of 20 women.
- Who were they? Speculations abounded. Bachelorettes? Birthday?
- Where were they from?
- Why were they singing in French, but standing on tables? That’s very un-French.
- Why did they bring water-guns to the bar and are now shooting them at the waiters telling them to put them away?
I couldn’t take the suspense anymore and went to ask them.
What’s the answer?
Dutch Sorority Sisters.
Now it all makes sense.
Tomorrow, Heba and Aly go ahead to Marrakesh and we stay on
to explore.
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