"A" is for...Ali!

After we made it down the mountain in one piece albeit with screaming quads, we met our driver at a restaurant where we had lunch.  There seems to be quite a bit of "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" among tour providers.  The food was fair, but we were hungry so it solved an immediate need - nutrition; however, we decided that we didn't need any additional stops on our way home (I believe there was a "visit an authentic Berber house" stop planned, which falls under our idea of prurient tourism).  The driver asked if he could give his "cousin" a ride into town.  While we thought that "cousin" was just code for "friend," we didn't care.

And then we met Ali.  Talking with Ali was the highlight of our trip.  He also worked as a mountain guide (I have the feeling there'd have been less touchy-touchy if he'd been our guide) and had lived his entire life in one of the Berber villages in the mountain.  He spoke excellent English, which he'd learned from tourists along the way.  Later our driver told us he also spoke French and some Italian in addition to Berber and Arabic.  Nonetheless, Ali claimed he was uneducated.

He spoke eloquently about the way over-exportation of things like argan oil, oranges, and sardines had made them too expensive for Moroccans.  He worried about the over-investment in tourism, citing the construction of numerous golf courses (it's a desert climate) and its impact on water availability for local people.  He explained the ridiculousness of the "camel" rides offered along the route - firstly, the animals weren't camels, they were dromedaries; and secondly, they weren't indigenous to the area (they come from the Sahara), and the rocks hurt their feet so they could only walk the 100 or so metres off the side of the road.  He told us how the French brought the willow trees to the area and that you should never sit under a willow tree for a picnic without an umbrella or some kind of cover because there are microscopic bugs that drop down from the tree into your food and can make you sick.  We learned more from Ali in an hour than we had in the three days we'd spent in Morocco so far.


We felt extremely lucky to have had that time with him.  The ladyfriend would like to make a documentary about him.  I don't know if that will happen, but our visit with him is something we're unlikely to forget.

The Awful and The Awesome

It's probably better that I'm writing this post in Essaouira instead of Marrakesh, where I'm much more relaxed and, quite honestly, less traumatized.  Yes, big word, but I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let's go back to Marrakesh.

The souk at quieter moments

On our second day in Marrakesh we took some new friends from the riad to the Artisan Ensemble.  The souk in Marrakesh itself is a good time for many, but I found it a bit harassing - I don't need people clamouring for my attention (and money) as I walk by.  If you actually stop and look at something, let alone touch it, it's all over.  They're going to be on you like a cheap suit.  At the Artisan Ensemble, every craftsperson is vetted, and you're ensured that the items are indeed made in Marrakesh (as opposed to China - no lie).  Also, it's pretty much a no-haggle zone so people pretty much let you look without stalking you.  Don't get me wrong, I like to drive a hard bargain, but sometimes I just want to pay a good price and walk away having both me and the seller feel good about the exchange.

View from the roof terrace restaurant of the Maison de la Photographie

Three of us went on to the Maison de la Photographie which houses a great collection of early images of the Moroccan people.  It's really hard not to get taken in Marrakesh and as we walked, a young man offered to guide us to the museum.  We kind of knew better but no one made a move to refuse his "help."  It turned out that we were really only 100 feet of so from the museum, but he took us up and down these alleyways, making it seem like it was really far.  Of course, then he wanted money.  We gave him 10 dirham, which is about $1.00, so in the end he really only screwed himself.

I had decided to wear my Patagonia dress - comfortable, flattering, and cool (temperature-wise).  I did not think I had dressed provocatively (I'd seen lots of tourists in questionable outfits already) - it was just a sleeveless dress that fits.  Now I know my tattoos are of interest to many and that in and of itself does not bother me, but when it leads to what I'd call unwanted attention, it's a different story.  It's hard to really communicate, but I have to say that that day in Marrakesh - where we went to the Artisan Ensemble, the Maison de la Photographie, and then out to dinner in the "new" part of Marrakesh - was the first day that I blamed myself for the almost constant negative attention I received.  Yes, I was blaming the victim - me.  By the end of the day I could not get back to the riad fast enough.  The level of sexual harassment was traumatizing and quite honestly, I understand the burka.  The men were pigs.  Yep, those are strong words, but even as I write this post, I feel anew the trauma of the whole experience.