On Friday of last week, Anakin* and I embarked on our Mancation* to North Africa, to the land of...well, Jedi, if you go by the traditional rough-spun hooded robe that many Moroccans wear. I can't help but suspect Lucas got a lot of his ideas for those movies from places like Fes..
Arriving in Fes, we were a little nervous. Neither Anakin nor I had the address or phone number of our Moroccan connection, whom we will call Mr. S, because we don't know how to spell his name.* The force was apparently with us though, because although she was rather exasperated with her two clueless American would-be tourists, she ruefully stamped our passports and waved us through. Coming out into the lobby in Fes airport, we stood around and wondered what to do. We didn't see Mr. S., and, as our kindly passport control officer had already learned, we had no way of contacting him. Anakin was forced to send a 1€ text message (that's around $1.44, kids) to his wife, to look up the number. Just as the reply came in, Mr. S. hailed us from a few feet away. Ah well.
On our way to Mr. S.'s house, I was reminded of what I had noticed flying in: that Morocco is at this time much, much greener than Spain. It is the rainy season there, and although it is also rather rainy in Spain, Morocco's more southern position allows that rain to go to work right away, making the decent into Morocco a lovely progression from snow-capped mountains to green-capped hills and sandy medieval walls. Quite picturesque.
That night, in the home of our host, we had a tasty--no, delicious--Moroccan meal in which bread was the only cutlery. This was a welcome change from Spain, where you always, always, always use silverware. No, seriously, always. Even to eat a croissant. Anyway, after a delicious meal, we had our first ever cup of Moroccan "gunpowder mint" tea. It's called that because the green tea that is used as the base is called "gunpowder tea," due to a supposed similarity in appearance. It is made by boiling water, then throwing gunpowder tea in the water with lots of sugar, and finally pouring the whole mess into a cup that is full of fresh sprigs of mint. Bliss in a cup.
After a very restful sleep on some of the couch/bed things that are prevalent in Morocco, we headed out on Saturday to see the sites. First, Mr. S. drove us around the main part of the city, and we got a great view out over the city from an overlooking hilltop, where we could see such novel sights as leather tanners spreading their skins out all across little hills sticking up here and there, checkering the green grass with white and red squares. After taking some pictures and being touristy, we drove down, parked the van, and headed into the Medina, the old part of the city, on foot.
As someone might notice, there are a lot of places scattered around with the name "Medina" there is The Medina, in Saudi Arabia, the burial place of Muhammed, but then there are also other "lesser" Medinas scattered throughout the the Arab-influenced world, even in Spain. Turns out that "Medina" or "Medinah" is just the transliterated Arabic word for "City." So we headed into the city.
It was like going back in time.
After leaving our car, almost all motorized transport disappeared. except for two or three motorcycles I saw parked in the Medina, there was nothing that had been invented in the past two centuries. It is more like a labyrinth than a city to my western eyes, so accustomed to wide, straight boulevards. The Medina in Fes is a confusing maze of tiny streets squeezed between (and sometimes under) buildings crammed together, overlapping so much that, walking through a market, we went around a corner and I found myself in the outer part of a Mosque. Luckily we had a street-savvy, culture savvy guide with us, otherwise we might have bumbled right into the inner section--prohibited to non-Muslims--and gotten in real trouble. Even with our guide, I almost got trampled by a donkey on two different occasions, jumping out of the way in the nick of time. I was however, able to avoid the low-set beams, placed over the mouths of all streets approaching the mosques. These beams serve two purposes, though one of them may or may not be intended. First, the keep out donkeys with towering loads on their backs. Also, they cause all people of a height exceeding 4' to duck, giving the impression of bowing whenever you approach a mosque. Between the beams and the donkeys, one is kept very alert. All in all, a most fantastic adventure.
For lunch, we went to a super little restaurant called "La Kas Bah," where I had some excellent couscous, and of course, gunpowder mint tea. By that point, we were fairly bushed, and decided to meander back to headquarters. That night included home-made pizza, Gattaca, and...more mint tea. By this point, the read may ask, "ah, the poor bloke's had his fill of mint tea by now, I shouldn't wonder." The reader is exactly right--he shouldn't wonder such a thing. It is utter rot. At this point in my trip, I had not only NOT had too much mint tea, I was becoming rather addicted to the brew. I do believe if I had carried on a little longer in Morocco, I should now be taking the stuff in by the pint--that is, if it comes in pints...
Sunday morning, we went to an international church in town, made up of such a mixture of cultures that it reminded me of an airport, except smaller and more homey. I talked to people from the US, from England, from Guinea, Colombia, and more that I can't remember. It was nice also to just participate in a service for a change. I've been upfront in Madrid playing guitar for a long time, and it's nice once in a while to just stand back and sing. Also, we sang some good old hymns and Anakin and I had a blast singing parts.
After the service, we ate at a small restaurant that had large, skinned animals hanging outside it (yes, we had tea) and after stopping at McDonalds for ice cream because of the begging of Mr. S.'s daughter (and also his wife), we headed back to their house, packed up our stuff, and after a wee bit of relaxation, started off on the final chapter of our trip. We made it through security, and had a last cuppa before boarding the plane and flying off under a flaming Moroccan sunset.
Mission successful. Now I just need to find out where I can buy fresh mint and gunpowder tea...
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*Anakin is the alias of my traveling companion. Only he and a select few will appreciate this.
*Man Vacation = Mancation
*Mr. S.: actually, I do know how to spell his name. This is just a not-so-subtle reference to Mr. Schneebly, from "School of Rock."
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