Day 185: Attending a Henna Ceremony in Fes

Fes is an interesting city in that it has a really elaborate medina; however, to be honest, if you know what main square you are headed to, and just follow the signs, it's actually quite easy. The medina has much more of a Prince of Persia medieval feel to it. You are constantly walking through narrow lanes, watching for donkey trains laden with bricks or people with wheelbarrows, crossing underneath clay ramparts. It looks really cool compared to the other medinas we have explored. The people in Fes, though, are a bit crude. We have had more men catcalling and saying inappropriate things to us in this city than we have in any other throughout our travels - and this was while we were wearing jeans and a nice long sleeve top (our backpacker chic).

We've also discovered that people in Morocco love India. Pallavi is experiencing the same kind of celebrity that she did in Indonesia. No sooner do people see Pallavi and learn that she's from India then they reply with "Shah Rukh Khan!" Or, my personal favorite, they then just call after her as she passes them on the street, "Hey India!" I never realized how big Bollywood actually is as an international enterprise until now. A few months ago, Pallavi had cued me in that for collective cultures, Bollywood is more relatable, especially when it comes to inter-family relationships.

Speaking of families, today wasn't about exploring Fes and the medina. Today was about attending Nadia's cousin's wedding eve henna ceremony. We had been invited and went to her house to celebrate. In Morocco, the night before the wedding, the women get together and they hire somebody to put elaborate henna on the bride and then more simple henna on the other women. The bride puts on this velvety green dress, with lots of jewelry, and a crown, and walks into the main room behind two unwed girls who carry two large candles. There is also another family member who carries a tray laden with a bowl with two eggs and incense, a silver rose-water container, and some green velvety thing that looks like a Moroccan top-hat (but isn't) that holds sugar. The bride then sits on this throne of pillows that the family creates for her and the family starts the sing. The family sings the entire time that the henna is being applied to the bride's hands and feet.

This family is so incredibly welcoming. They put henna on both of us as well. I've never had henna put. I've never even seen it put! Usually, there are women trying to sell you henna in the square, so I try to avoid any eye contact or curious glances to avoid their attention and sales pitches. It is pretty cool. This girl who applied it really had great talent. Pallavi says that they apply it differently here than they do in India. It is much thinner here, which allows them to make the design more elaborate. They just put henna on the first digit of all fingers on my left hand, then a vine down from my index finger to just past my wrist. I must say that it suits me!

The family also let us play their instruments and got us up to dance with the crowd. It was full of fun. In fact, it was so much fun that we have shifted our plans to move from Fes by a day so that we can attend the wedding! What does one wear to a Moroccan wedding? We already wore our backpacker chic. Guess shopping for wedding clothes is one way to get a Moroccan souvenir. 

Day 184: Fes

After breakfast, our riad owner gave us a few instructions and information about how to operate successfully in Fes: 

1. Don't trust anybody. 
2. Just accept you are going to get lost and embrace it or you won't have any fun.
3. There is some sort of color coding on top of the gate that you can follow to find your way. 

With that advice and a short guided tour of how to get to his place from the closest main gate, he left us to our devices. Our own devices saw us quickly 200 meters to the closest cafe where we sat and had a coffee. Remember that we had met some Moroccans who were heading towards Fes on the train when we went to Meknes? Those same Moroccan girls had told us to give them a call when we get to Fes. 

We gave one of them, Nadia, a call while we sat at the cafe. I asked what her plans were for the day. She said, nothing, she had reserved the whole day for us! She then asked where we were. We said, "we have no idea. We are in a cafe, near a gate, and near a protest! (which was true. We just saw the riot police walk towards the protest and immediately back from the protest, without disruption to the protest)." She then asked to speak to our waiter, who gave her a more precise location. Finally she told us, "don't move, I'm coming to you!"

We had a tea and waited. When Nadia finally came, she promptly invited us to lunch with her family at her house. No sooner had she come than we were taking a taxi back to her house, where we had a proper lunch and met a whole group of family. Her father, mother, uncle, aunt, sister, brother, and more! 

Nadia's cousin is getting married in two days, so the family is filled with celebration. At some point, there was a huge group cheer going on in the family room. I figured that it was some football celebration for a goal. Nope! Nadia told us that her family says this cheer every time something happens that gives them reason to celebrate! The cheer even ends with the Arab 'youyouyouyouyou' at the end (which Nadia showed us how to do. We need to practice it more at home in the bathroom mirror before we feel comfortable enough to take it on the road.)

While we waited for tea, Nadia's sister came up with some food. In French, she asked if we wanted tea. We politely said no thank you. Her response: why?? We had no answer to that! At least not one that we could say using our broken French of 'merci' and 'enchante.' We also have learned that Moroccans have big families, for our standards. Nadia is one of 8 kids. The poor couple from who we bought the rubs had 10 kids. The riad host in the desert was one of 9 kids. We then asked Nadia what a big family is for them. She replied, 13 kids. 13 kids! I think 3 is a crowd sometimes. Geez. 

We spent the whole day with Nadia and her friend Wafa, who had joined us for the day and who we had also met on the train, they took us back to the old medina in Fes and showed us around, and her mother invited us to both partake in the cousin's pre-wedding henna celebration tomorrow and to attend her wedding the day after that. Wow! What do you wear to a Moroccan wedding? We don't know yet if we'll be able to attend, but we're just so flattered that we've been invited. 

We told Nadia and Wafa that Moroccans are the most hospitable people we've met. They have gone out of their way to greet us. Every Moroccan you meet on the street will ask you where you come from and then tell you, "welcome to Morocco." Our riad guy gave us green plates because we offered him a mint! Musicians at our hotel in the desert played music and shared their wine with us just because we were there. We can't wait to see what unfolds next. 

Day 183: Volubilis

The extent of the Roman Empire never ceases to amaze me. Here, in Morocco, they established one of their most remote outposts. This is the land of Carthage. They only were able to hold the land for 200 years before the local Berber tribes drove them out. Yet, they still were able to leave behind this ruined city and all of its olive presses for us.

Getting to Volubilis is a small adventure. It's more of an adventure because, unlike many places, there isn't a lot of information on how to get here. There is basic info: Take a bus to this pilgrimage town (where one of the prophet Mohammad's great-grandson's is buried and his body never decomposed, supposedly) and then get a shared cab. Nobody tells you where to catch the bus, or what number, or the fact that once you get on said bus,that unless you are one of the first to race for one of the 12 seats in the back, you are going to have to stand, squished among humanity, in the sun, for a one hour journey. Well, squished really was for poor Pallavi. For some reason, nobody wanted to squish up against me. Why are they afraid of touching the white foreigner? I don't bite; however, I do push back!

The ruins were really quite cool. They are set up in the mountains, and have been restored just enough that you can get a small feel for how the place would have been 2000 years ago.

We spent the day exploring before we were able to get seats on the bus (we got on right before it's last stop before turning around in the direction we wanted to go), and head back to town, gather our stuff, and get a cab to the train station, and head to Fes.

Also, side note, getting a cab to the train station is not as easy as it looks. You have to get a driver heading in your direction, claim him while his departing passenger is exiting the vehicle, and negotiate a price before you lose the cab. I had to lightly shove a woman out of my way once I finally almost got a driver! I'm working too hard for you to steal my cab lady! I got places to go, and it's almost starting to rain, and I don't have patience. #BadPushyAmerican. 

Day 182: Meknes

Meknes was a dud. That isn't to say it's a bad town. Not at all! The people in Meknes were incredibly sweet. Rather, it is to say that we didn't do too much on our day there and the town didn't really sing to us either. Meknes is it's popular neighboring town's little sister. It is actually incredibly quiet and non-touristy. That's why we wanted to stop and stay there. It also use to be the capital during the time of this infamous Sultan who was a peer with Louis XIV of France. I thought, Moroccan Versailles.

No. Not Moroccan Versailles.

It was not to be. The medina felt like a covered labyrinth that we were a bit overwhelmed to dip our toes into. It was also Friday, which is mosque day here, so a lot of the shops were closed.

It does have a quiet main square that has a small amount of merchants and entertainers. One snake charmer had such a huge crowd of people around him. His snakes clearly had lots of personality. They had so much personality that when they started to slither toward the crowd, the whole crowd immediately backed up in a unison retreat.

Our riad host was really quite sweet though. We offered him a mint, and he said, thank you, now let me show you real mint. He came back down with two green colored plates and gave them to us. We thought he said, "for you. Souvenir," so we thanked him and packed them up. As we stepped out, we suddenly wondered, "wait! Did he actually give us those plates or was he just showing them to us? Is he going to tell his friends, 'I was showing these tourists my plates and then they took them?'" We obviously asked him again just to make sure they were a gift, which he confirmed.

Good thing Meknes is the closest stop to Volubilis. 

Day 181: Return to Marrekech & Train to Meknes

We needed to return the car to Marrekech and made the decision that it made more sense to take the seven hour train ride to Meknes that same day rather than wasting another night in Marrekech or taking a night train to Meknes and having a bad night's sleep.

We got stuck behind a bazillion trucks when we climbed the mountains from Marrekesh to Ouarzazate the first time and it took us 4.5 hours. We needed to reverse that journey and get the car back to Marrkesh by 1 p.m. Unhappily, we started off at 8:30 a.m. The drive was beautiful! Somehow, we managed to avoid any major delays or getting stuck behind slow moving vehicles. We made to Marrekesh in 3.5 hours! Then things took a few bad turns on the way to the airport, and by bad turns, I mean, we almost went into a no-entry and managed to drive through the medina, past our original riad, and through the city on our way to the airport. I cannot stress enough how I wish I was just driving in Warrensburg, MO, where the biggest obstacle to your safety/timeliness/patience is the older folk driving from the Veterans Home or on their Sunday drive. We made it all in good time, turned the car in, and got to the train.

After a few hours on a super comfy train, the likes of which we haven't seen since Europe, in our packed little compartment, the young Moroccans sitting next to us started talking to us. We learned so much about Morocco as we chatted to them for the next 5 hours. Apparently, you can't travel on a train in Morocco without chatting with the other passengers in your compartment. It just is a part of the Moroccan train experience. One young guy, a Moroccan cinematographer, coming back from a shoot near Marrekesh, couldn't wait to get back to Casablanca so he could roll a joint. He went on and on, humorously, telling us all about canabis production in Morocco (which apparently supplies 90% of the supply found in Amsterdam's cafes), and about the best hash he'd ever had that got him so high, he saw a white light and thought he was talking to God. My response: "What did God say?" He didn't know! How disappointing.

What was even  more amusing is that as he went on and on and on about how good weed is in Morocco, and how excited he was to roll a joint in Casablanca, was that the 45 year-old Muslim woman sitting next to him, was laughing and giving a knowing smile, right along with him! I would have been so embarrassed speaking of such things with a "Mom" kind of character in the compartment. Nope! She had the smile of a "been there, done that, had fun" expression the whole time.

The young girls sitting next to us were coming back from interview with RyanAir and are studying to become airline attendants. We chatted with them, and asked them a variety of questions about their studies and our observations in Morocco. At one point we started to joke about weird things people have seen on flights. The girls' teacher told them that once, he was working a flight from Morocco, and while they were sitting on the tarmac, he passed an old man, who had decided it was time for him to get out his own small kettle and make himself tea!! Who does that?? Pallavi and I decided that we would really struggle in a situation interview question that asked, "what do you do if you pass a passenger who is using his own kettle to make himself tea?" We still don't know.

Day 180: Dades Gorge

We only had to drive 2.5 hours today, so we took our sweet time getting up, and eating breakfast while overlooking the Dades Gorge and the Tamlalt Valley. Pallavi surprised me by finding accommodation near the Tamlalt, which is a rock formation that looks like fingers emerging from the ground Little Mermaid style. We had a few options on what to do with our day, but we ultimately decided that we'd drive towards Dades Gorge, as it was just 10 kms or so away from our hotel. 

After driving hairpin turn after hairpin turn up the mountain and through this little narrow crevice of a gorge, we took our obligatory pictures. Unlike the Todres Gorge, this gorge had zero tourists and just one lone Moroccan tradesman out selling his wares. This young man was happily sitting on the side of the road, weaving a hat, with all of his hats and boots laid out on display. We stopped to look at his wares and were amazed by how sweet he was. He was the first guy who didn't seem like he was just out to make money off of us. He happily told us about his hats, what they were made of, the various styles, and so on. We liked him so much we bought from him, and Pallavi then asked if he also made carpets. He said no, he didn't, but his mother did. He gave us her card and told us to drive 3 kms down the road, where we would find his mother.

We drove 3 kms. No store. We drove 2 more kms. No store. We asked some locals and showed them the card, and they pointed us back in the direction from whence we had come, and told us to drive 2 more kms. 

We turned around and drove 2 more kms. No store. We asked some local, who again told us to turn around and drive 1 km. 

We turned around and drove 1 more km. We asked some more locals, who told us to turn around, and pointed out a small home on the left hand side of the road just a few hundred meters away. 

We turned around and pulled next to the house. We were greeted by a sweet woman, who didn't speak any English, who confirmed that the card did belong to her. We asked about carpets, and she confirmed yes, but invited us inside her home for some tea and to wait for her husband. 

We had read that the carpet buying experience in Morocco is just that - an experience. You should expect to have lots of tea, to take a lot of time, and to negotiate a bit. You should also try to buy directly from the weaver to both better support them and to get a better price. 

Expectations set, we entered the house. We were taken past their 2 goats, a pile of corn on the corner of the floor, and through an open-air space that contained a building with a kitchen on the left and were led to a cave lined with carpets on the floor on the right. We followed the woman's lead and took off of our shoes and sat on a carpet inside. The cave smelled like humanity. As we sat, we realized that this space was the family's main living space. Everything that they owned was piled up in the corners of this area. 

We sat and the woman brought over a table and set it down. She then brought tea, pouring them into what clearly were here nicest glasses, and gave them to us. Her two small children, a boy and a girl (about 5 and 3, if I was guessing) sat down across from us. She then dumped a pile of shelled nuts on the floor and used a handmade nut cracker to crack all of them, which she then insisted we eat. She was giving us such amazing hospitality, even though they clearly didn't have a lot to give. We waited and Pallavi made conversation using hand gestures. Pallavi even went to the car and got some Indian candies we were carrying and gave them to the kids. Finally, the husband came home, and shook our hands, and sweetly shook his kids and his wife's hands. He spoke a bit of English, and from that we learned that it gets very cold in the mountains, even snowing up to 2 feet in the winter, but the cave, as he called it, was very warm. We also learned he has 9 children! 8 boys and the one girl who sat across from us. 

They then invited us for lunch, which we kindly refused. The family was poor, but they seemed happy, sweet, and weren't wanting for food. Finally, we got to the carpet buying. We found a beautiful carpet that we loved, and bought it. After we left, we thought, they say carpet buying is an experience, and this certainly was an experience we'll never forget. 

Day 179: Drive to Dades Gorge

You know the gist of these posts by now. The drive was beautiful. The people looked different. Blah blah blah. We stopped by the beautiful Todres Gorge. Same old, same old, right? Wrong.

Today we had two twists to our plans. Twist one: people asking for help on the roadside. When we started driving from Merrakech, we had encountered a few people who had broken cars on the roadside and who we had stopped to see if we could help. Both men, dressed in traditional clothing, with strikingly good English had asked if we could help give them a lift somewhere. We hesitated. They kept saying, "but we are Berber." I don't care who you are, that means nothing to me. We're two women in an unfamiliar country, but safety first. The second guy we just left by the road. The first guy, however, asked if we could take a note to his family. He gave us very specific directions and wrote something in Arabic. We left. As we drove, we decided that no way would those guys wait for us to deliver a message before trying to get another ride. They'd definitely just thumb the next ride they could. As a result, we decided NOT to go to their house.

I feel like such a bad Christian to just drive off and not help at all. It's like being the bad Samaritan. When we arrived in a few of the towns, we asked our hotel hosts about these curious incidents, and they all told us it was a scam. They just get in the car and direct you to their cousin's carpet shop. Pallavi had the genius idea to take a picture of what was written in Arabic on the message the first guy had given us, and send it to one of her friends who speaks Arabic. We got the results of the message yesterday. What did it say? "Request donation for Yemen" (or something like that). I knew that that map got drawn way too quickly! Another scam averted!

Twist two: We happily drove along the road to our hotel at the Dades Gorge. Pallavi had a shutterbug that just wouldn't quit. We had checked the directions to our hotel on the phone at the last major town and just before reaching our first turn before our hotel, Pallavi asked me to pull over the car so she could click some pretty vistas. She clicked away, got back into the car, and we drove to the town. I then asked Pallavi for information about our turn and the distance between it and our hotel. She turned to get the phone.....then she turned another way to get the phone.... then she commented to the abyss, "where's the phone?"

I pull over at a gas station and we tore the car apart looking for the phone. No phone. We already are one phone down (see birthday phone breakage incident). Where could the phone be? If it's not in the car, the only possible place it could be is 9 kms down the road where we pulled over for Pallavi's vista, where it could have fallen off Pallavi's lap or off of the door when she opened it. How in the world could that possibly happen and we not notice it?

We drove in silence. How could we lose the phone? How in the world would we remember where we pulled over? How would we be able to spot the phone? Good thing there is photo evidence. We found the relative area where we had pulled over. Pallavi went one way and I went the other. As I walked, looking in areas that had a median big enough for me to pull over, I saw something gleaming in the sunlight. It was our phone! There it was. Just where it had fallen out of the car.

What was Pallavi's first response? "Is it broken!!!" Nope. Not broken, just dusty and happy to be found.

Now we know why I hold on to the important stuff. :)