The Road to Marrakech

Marrakech, Morocco- how do I even begin? Never before in my travels have my eyes been opened to such astonishing, bizarre and awakening sights. Every little thing that has crossed my path in the last 3 days has been an experience to behold. I don’t know if I can put it all into words… but I will give it a go.

The journey began on Wednesday morning at 6:30am when we left our hostel in Lisbon and were lead out to the dark street by the hostel staff woman who hailed us a taxi to the airport. As an update on my "travel-worrier husband," he is doing much better with the more traveling we do. We made it to the airport with only 1-_ hours to spare before our flight, rather than the 2 hours before our flight from Barcelona to Lisbon. He appears to be much calmer on the outside too on these crazy travel days (although I know on the inside his heart is probably palpitating and his mind is filled with what-ifs!), and even said to me this week, "Well, that was easy, wasn’t it?" "Yes Travis… traveling can be easy Travis… See, there was no need to worry Travis, etc., etc…." His optimism and lack of worry was especially important on this day as we landed in Casablanca, Morocco.

I have never traveled to a Muslim country before, and my experiences in developing countries have been limited to mission trips and Church group projects. That said, I had some personal fears and worries when walking off the ramp of the airplane and I was unsure of what to expect. On the other hand, I have tried to do a lot of reading about the Moroccan culture and Travis has shared to me about his own experiences of the generous people and hospitable culture he viewed in the past when he visited Israel and Jordon. Still, I knew I was about to have my own worldview widened, and my comfort zone would no doubt be stretched.

I was correct. The hours that followed after that flight have to have been some of the most eye-opening moments of my life thus far. We landed in Casablanca, rather than Marrakech, to avoid an expensive flight. So, our option of getting to Marrakech was to take a train. We tried to book tickets in advance, but were turned down because we were not Moroccan citizens. Therefore, we took the risk that there would still be tickets available, and we were in luck. Collecting our baggage and finding the right train in the station (connected to the airport) was pretty easy. Travis quickly exchanged our euros to dirham when the ticket agent rejected his money, and I went off to find a toilet and some lunch. As I walked by myself in the airport, I was among many Moroccans in native dress/robes, women in headscarves and those also in Berber attire (another group of Moroccan country men). But, there were also a lot of those in very Western attire as well, so I was not uncomfortable in my own clothing. No luck with finding food though in this airport- lunch was a warm yogurt, a bag of trail mix, and a diet coke to share that I bought from a little vendor. Already I was warmed by the friendliness of the Moroccans. Everyone we encountered, even just in the airport, said "Welcome to Morocco! Where are you from? Thank you for coming, etc…" It is very evident they are happy to have tourists here.
We learned we’d have to wait 1-_ hours before our train to the main railway station in Casablanca (a 30 min. ride), and then another 1-_ hours after that to catch our main train to Marrakech. Bummer. The evening arriving at our cozy Riad (the word for a Moroccan B&B) felt like a long way off. Oh well- we didn’t complain and were determined to make the best of it. Riding a train across the North African landscape with the natives would be an authentic experience we were ready to embrace. (I think!)

We spent our first wait standing in a smoky hallway since there was really nowhere else to sit or be, but the first train ride was still in daylight so it was VERY interesting. Just blocks from the airport the desert opened itself up to cactuses, palm trees and fields of olive trees and many other crops. But what looked different to my Western eyes were the robed women and children amongst the crops going about their daily work. Some were picking the produce, but others were just sitting with their children on the dirt in little groups and talking or eating together. It was very communal. Shantytowns were built up surrounding the fields- these were a mix of cement and tarps to form coverings where some people lived.

The Casablanca train station was our next "waiting home" for over 2 hours, since our train arrived 40 minutes late. I had an interesting experience using the bathroom here since the nice man who was cleaning the ladies restroom showed me to a stall, asked if I needed papel (toilet paper), pointed out to me where to find that (outside of the bathroom- most restrooms here don’t have toilet paper- they have a normal western flushing toilet, but next to it is often a water spout or a hose… not sure how that works but I didn’t need to learn!), and then he remained inside cleaning the restroom while I was in the stall. Rather random…. At least it was a very high door and secluded stall! Next to the bathroom I observed a room for prayer. There were several men inside with their shoes off kneeling in prayer.

Travis and I lugged our luggage across the railroad tracks and felt the desert chill off drastically and instantly as the sun went down. Both chilled to the bones, our train finally arrived (it looked about 50 years old, but hey- it was transportation!) and we rushed with the masses of Moroccans inside to claim our 2nd class seats. We found a room with 2 open seats and joined four Moroccan men. The light was broken in our car so we sat together facing each other in the still, foreign darkness listening to the hum of the train as we trekked across the blackness of the dessert. The elder of our train car companions was wearing a thick grey and white striped Berber robe which covered him from top to bottom with an attached pointed hood (in the darkness it slightly resembled the outline of ku-klux-klan attire which was a bit eerie… but truly he of course was harmless and I sweetly watched him take his shoes off and curl up on the seat to go to sleep). I was coveting the warmth of his robe as I sat in this cold darkness, lost in my thoughts in this unknown land. Somewhere in my memories of researching this train ride I thought this ride was to last about 2 hours. So as 2 hours past, then 3, then 3 and _, we began to wonder if we had missed our stop completely or gotten on the wrong train. With no signs to read and only the sound of the Arabic voice over the loud speakers at the stops, we were holding onto our prayers that we were still heading in the right direction.

Finally, at 9:30pm I began to see city lights outside the window and the train made its final stop at the huge and impressive Marrakech train station. Just to note, our plane from Lisbon landed at 12:30pm, so it’s now been 9 hours since landing in this country and we still had the task ahead of finding our Riad and a bite to eat. We were starving! (If there had been a cheap and direct flight from Lisbon to Marrakech, this probably would have taken no more than 2 hours!) Exhausted from traveling, little did we know the adventure was just about to begin. First step- find a taxi. Easy. We showed him the address in writing but then were super confused as he was trying to communicate something to us in Arabic/French about how we’d have to walk. We interpreted it as, "We can walk to this from here?" But then he shook his head no and we all stood there in confusion. Finally, the driver motioned over some men, asked them if they spoke English (which thankfully they did), and had them translate for us. Turns out we did need to drive to our location, but he couldn’t take us right to the door of our Riad because cars could not go there. We’d have to do the rest on foot. No worries, let’s go!

The cab ride was crazy as we buzzed through the busy streets filled with bicycles, motorbikes, cars, buses, donkey carts and horse and carriages. It’s really a free for all as far as lanes are concerned so we held onto our seats as he drove us into the Medina (the walled old city) yelling at people outside his window along the way. The taxi stopped on the outside of the famous Djemaa El-Fna Square, known to be one of the most liveliest and unbelievable places in the world, according to our guidebook. Before we knew it, he had motioned over a man with a large wheelbarrow and was putting our luggage into it. We didn’t quite understand what was going on, but before we could stop him, the driver showed the wheelbarrow guide our address, we quickly paid the driver, and we took this to mean the guide was going to walk us to our Riad. So, grateful for this help at the moment but a little unsure of how this all worked, we followed the guide wide-eyed as he quickly maneuvered his way across the square. When I say "wide-eyed" I really mean it: Snake charmers, storytellers, bell dancers, henna painting woman, monkey men, fortune tellers, musicians, flute players, and thousands of lights aglow with steam from the hundreds of food stalls rising into the darkness. Djemaa El-Fna Square is where it all happens in Marrakech. It’s also the place where you can eat about anything Moroccan at these lighted food stalls- from tomato and eggplant salads to fresh-squeezed orange juices, snail soups, kabobs, lentil soups, every type of grilled meat and animal part, roasted corn, and probably over 30 varieties of nuts, dates and dried fruits. Oh, and don’t forget the mint tea!

At this moment though, we were hardly able to even grasp what was before our eyes. This wheelbarrow guide was walking so fast I had to jog to keep up with him (and he was probably in his 70’s!). After crossing the square, he was taking us through a maze of narrow, dirty streets filled with people, bikes and motorbikes- all moving very fast. Travis grabbed my shoulder continuously to make sure I was pushed enough to the side so not to get hit by this crazy 1-lane traffic. Finally, the guide turned down yet another narrow street, this one free of people but so tore up that we had to climb up a waist-high pile of gravel to go through, and next step across a hole in the road about 15 feet long and so deep I could have stood up inside of it and my head would be below the surface of the street. Can you picture it? Then, all of a sudden he stopped, pointed at a door that seemed to appear from nowhere, and sure enough, it said "Riad Johanna." My jaw dropped in shock. How on earth would we have found this place without this dear man (and the taxi driver who obviously cared enough about our well-being that he hooked us up with this guy to lead us)? Travis paid the man a very nice sum, and we were so grateful to be welcomed by our host.

Riad Johanna was a lovely place to stay. Riads are typical Moroccan homes that are run like B&B’s. This traditional home is open-aired with a courtyard in the middle and with 3 floors- the kitchen, sitting room and our bedroom on the ground floor, several bedrooms above on the 2nd and a beautiful terrace on the roof to sit and take in the sun. It turned out that we were the only guests here for our stay, so we actually had the entire home to ourselves! (The hosts lived in a separate residence.) This ended up being a lovely respite for us as we needed some quiet times away from people in this lively city.

So, to finish up my not-so-brief-at-all description of our first day in Morocco… After settling in to our Riad and close to 11pm that night, Travis and I went back out and braved the square on our own. We had to memorize about 5 different landmarks though to make sure we could find our way back to our new home. We found a little restaurant overlooking the square called "TakHi Snack-Bar" where we ate our first steaming hot chicken and veggie tangines and couscous. It tasted so good and nourishing after this long day that I will never forget this meal. We went to bed that night with full tummies, satisfied and dreaming about the adventures awaiting us in our next 5 days in Marrakech.