Free Man Traveler: Life is like a River...

…That is my new mantra. I’ve given up trying to plan trips—now, I just research, go, and see where the trip takes me. It always goes somewhere—another thing I’ve learned is that the journey is more a part of the trip than the destination. And Morocco definitely took me on a trip.

My first stop was Fes; the first day was a blitz of a travel to get down there—three hours on the ferry, then another six on the train. I arrived at my hostel, ate my leftover bread, cheese, and chorizo and went to bed. I shared my room with an older French cyclist who made a considerable less effort to talk to me after he learned I was from USA. Whatever. Better for me as his English was non-existent, and his Spanish was terrible (even by my standards!).

The following day in Fes, I met up with a group of four from the US and England. As much as I wanted to be alone for a while, I decided to hook up with them; they were spending the day in Fes then heading for the Sahara!

Fes was a bit crazy; I was totally unprepared for the amount of tourists there, especially since it’s still the off-season. It was beautiful though, and I’m glad I went. For 3€ each we hired a guide for a few hours, just to get an idea of what to expect—we’d heard so many varied and colorful stories that we decided to play it safe. We spent most of the time in the Medina, which is Fes’s old town. It has over 1,000 streets, hiding huge mosques, a university, and who knows what else. Step inside the Medina and you are immediately plunged into another world—the Medina seemingly has a life of its own; I felt like I had stepped into a living, breathing entity. There were farmers selling fresh produce and fruit, there was fresh fish, meat, and poultry, and every kind of spice and tea imaginable—craftsmen were making (and hawking) all kinds of crafts: ornate metalwork, perfect wooden bowls, meticulous carpets, leatherwear, soaps, and on and on. The narrow streets were at times so crowded with people that I could barely move; and watch out for the donkeys—they are madder than a New York cab driver, and would be just as indifferent if you were run over! We wondered around all afternoon, the insistent hounding of the hustlers and shopkeepers being the only thing to distract us from our experience.

We took the 10hr night bus down to Rissani that evening and met up with the owner of the local hostel—he was a great guy, and took us on a fee of the dessert where he grew up (for a fee of course). We spent the night in a Berber (Moroccan nomads) village, then took off the next day for the Sahara. We drove much of the way, as we wanted to see as much as possible—and we did: we saw fossils, huge dried up rivers, oasis’s and miles and miles of the most desolate lunar landscape I’ve ever seen in my life. Maybe that last sentence didn’t do it justice, but it was breathtaking—the sheer desolateness of it was unbelievable, yet out of the horizon kept popping up these small clay Berber houses…and the freedom you feel with that much space around you is unprecedented. We were invited for tea at almost every place we stopped—we’d sit in the dark, cool, clay houses, sip tea and talk. One old woman told us (through our guide, of course) one of the rules for living in the desert: Look for water; if you find it, you smile. Look for food; if you find it, you smile. But if you don’t find water or food, you still smile, because the world is a beautiful place. This little rule could have been entirely of the guide’s creation, but for some reason I liked it, and whenever the going got rough, I’d picture that smiling old woman way out in the desert.

We continued on, and eventually nothingness gave way to rocky hills, then later, dunes. It was truly surreal to see the dunes up close—I felt like I had jumped into a National Geographic cover. We were given camels and rode further into the dunes, amazed to find that the smoothness and color was not an illusion of distance—the golden orange color was just as brilliant up close, and the sand was softer under my feet than any carpet being hawked in Fes. We climbed up to the top of a dune and watched the shadows change as the sun dropped below the horizon. We slept out under the stars that night, but the following it was back on the road again—and time to part ways with my travel mates, always a sad moment, but exciting as well, as it means the start of a new phase of the journey.

And exciting it was!

I headed north from the desert, leaving the sand for the green mountains of the Mid Atlas.

It was a long trip—2hrs in a grand taxi (which, for the record, aren’t so grand at all—grand taxis are small 1980’s Mercedes sedans that are available for hire to just about anywhere. However, prices are figured on 6 passengers—two share the front seat, and four share the back! Can make for an uncomfortable journey for sure—luckily most Moroccans are pretty skinny, and the taxi drivers drive fast!) After the taxi, it was another 6hrs by bus to Azru. I met a French guy on the bus—it was strange, he spoke only slightly more English than my four words of French, but we managed to communicate. He was super chill, helping me find a hotel in Azru, and invited me over to his fiancé’s house. It was 11:30pm but the instant I sat down, delicious Moroccan tea and a mountain of cookies appeared, along with family members, all of which were incredibly friendly and welcoming—communicating with me through gestures and Rodolphe’s English. Luckily, the hotel manager spoke English and Spanish (in addition to his native French and Arabic, both of which Roldolphe spoke) so he was able to translate a bit, and told me that Rodolphe would be back the next morning, and would take me into the mountains. What I didn’t know was that his family was planning a full-on picnic! The next day we loaded into a huge pickup and drove way up into the mountains. We pulled of the road next to a field, and out of the pickup came a table, cushions, blankets, and tons of food. We set up by the river and explored while the women prepared everything on a small butane stove (we weren’t allowed to help!). Everything was fresh—the chicken was still warm from life when it went into the pot, they had baked the bread that morning (this seems to be a custom in all of Morocco), and all the veggies were fresh from the market. We returned to a huge spread of salads, olives, and a gigantic chicken curry; we are until our stomachs almost burst, then curled up in the sun and relaxed until dusk.

The next day we headed up to Rodolphe’s fiancé’s uncle’s house. It was way out in the mountains; we had to take first a grand taxi to Fes, then a bus into the middle of nowhere, and then hike two kilometers up a donkey trail. It was worth the work though. The location was stunning—the house overlooked fields of wheat and olive trees, then to the river, far below us in the valley we had just climbed out of. We sat down to another homemade Moroccan feast, once again eating until we couldn’t fit in another bite. Then curled up for a solid night of sleep.

I spent three lazy days there— eating good food, laying in the sun, taking long walks, swimming in the river, and just enjoying the scenery. The beauty there was breathtaking—we were completely surrounded by huge green mountains, overlooking two intersecting valleys so far below it was almost dizzying to look at. All around, the mountains were dotted with small white clay houses, and I could see the thin lines of the donkey trails traversing and intersecting up and down the mountainside. I enjoyed every second of my time there—each morning I’d step outside and would have to pinch myself to make sure I was actually awake! But all good things come to an end, and I couldn’t live there forever…I have WWOOF obligations here in Spain. So after two more long days of traveling, I’m back in Spain. It’s more of a culture shock returning here than I thought. It’s strange not seeing donkeys in the streets, and an incredible luxury to have hot showers, toilets, and running water. It’s not that these don’t exist in Morocco; it’s just that it’s not always readily available. I’ve been enjoying my iPod, laptop, and fast internet access. I never thought I was attached to my western comforts, but alas, such is the case.

Now, I’m headed off to the mountains again, this time it’s the Sierra Nevada of southern Spain. I’ll be working on a farm there for at least a week, but it could be longer, who knows. I’ll try to keep y’all updated, but something tells me there’s not internet there.

Just to keep you entertained for a bit longer…here’s pictures: