Moroccan Rockin'

I'm back on the ship for our second long stretch at sea. It's about 8 days until we reach Namibia so I have some time to settle back into life on the ship and catch up with the bloggin'.

We were supposed to refuel the ship in Gibraltar during the day between Spain and Morocco. Unfortunately, we hit rough waters and they couldn't carry out the refueling operation so our arrival in Casablanca was delayed one day. It was kind of welcome, though, because everyone was so exhausted after Spain and we could all catch up on some sleep. To keep us entertained, the ship organized a LOST premiere party (awesome episodes) and a second open mic night.

When we finally did pull in to Casablanca, the captain made a rare appearance on the loudspeaker and warned us of rough seas. We had to do some kind of sharp turn and the ship went crazy with the rocking. I was in the cafeteria and a whole bunch of dishes fell and shattered, most of the books in the library fell of the shelves, furniture was thrown around...the port lights in Casablanca would disappear over the tops of the windows, and as the ship rocked they would fall beneath our level of sight. It was exciting and only a little scary.

I had signed up for a multi-night trip to camp out in a Berber village inside the Sahara, and then spend an evening in a hotel in Marrakech. Since our stay in Morocco was shortened by one day, we had a lot of ground to cover on the first day. The distance to our camp in Ouarzazate was about a seven hour drive. Our bus (one of four) held about fifteen people, and together we shared an unforgettable ride. The driver was...well I can't say he was a bad driver. In fact he had to have been very skilled to pull off his style of driving without killing anybody. He basically drove like the devil was on his tail, pushing the gas as much as it would go, stopping for nothing, and taking every opportunity to pass even if that meant driving into headlong traffic. The funny thing is that no other driver or pedestrian seemed phased by it. People in the cities seem to pick a time to cross, and just slowly walk at a steady pace until they reach the other side. They don't bat an eye when a bus shoots by, a few centimeters from them.

Once we were out of Casablanca, the city bustle disappeared and we traveled through rolling hilly countryside. My first exposure to the African landscape was lush and green. We passed villages with stone buildings, shepherds with flocks of sheep, and travelers riding donkeys. To reach the desert, we crossed over the Atlas mountain range, which is snowy and beautiful. Our driver sped through the windy mountain roads (sometimes with guard rails, sometimes without) at the fastest possible speed without tipping the bus over. We were pushing 100 km/h. He didn't speak any english, but when he sensed that we were all white-knuckled with anxiety, he decided to calm us down with music. He had three mix CDs with panflute covers of the Beatles, Simon and Garfunkel, and Abba. So we all sang along and tried not to think about plummeting to our doom. I've heard lots of stories about crazy drivers in other countries, but no one ever told me how fun of an experience it actually is.

We arrived in the desert after dark, and after about 20 minutes of off-road driving. The camp was situated in a little oasis with a stream and surrounded by trees. Our hosts welcomed us (in English) and sat us down for dinner. The food we had in Morocco was mostly variations on potatoes and different kinds of meat, cooked in cone-shaped pottery called tarjiins (not sure how to spell it). It was tasty. After dinner, one of the hosts announced that we would be treated to some music. I thought that sounded cool, because I had been wanting some exposure to Moroccan musical culture. I was surprised and a little disappointed to find out that the music would actually be a DJ playing American dance and hiphop. I guess that's when I figured out that our Berber village was really more of a well-disguised tourist attraction. Still, a gasoline-powered dance party in the desert is probably a once in a lifetime experience. That night we slept in tents and I was woken the next morning by the sound of unfamiliar birds.

The next day we reversed direction and headed back to spend the day in Marrakech. The city is home to one of the busiest squares in all of Africa, called Djemaa el Fna. It's just packed with merchants, craftsmen, snake charmers, acrobats, beggars, and thieves, apparently. The ship gave an extensive scare-tactics lecture about pickpockets before we arrived in Morocco, so me and everyone else were overly paranoid about being robbed...to the point where I didn't really let myself connect with anybody as deeply as I should have.

I think the techniques that the vendors use to trap customers are hilarious and fascinating. Sometimes they'll give you a “Welcome to Marrakech! Here we shake your hand!”and once you grab it they hold on to you and lead you over to their stand. Or they'll say hello, wait for you to respond, then they quickly glance behind your shoulder and shout “Look! Look! Over there!”like they've just seen the world's most shocking and exciting thing, which turns out to be their stand. Sometimes it's as simple as shouting “Obama!”and hoping you'll stop and talk. I had heard about the trick of pretending to walk away like you're not going to buy, in order to get their lowest price. They've gotten tricky about it, though. They'll let you walk really far away from their stall, but invisibly follow you for five or ten minutes as you walk down the alley, hoping that you'll turn back if you think your bluff failed. If you don't, they'll grab your shoulder in the crowd and lead you back to their stall with the lower price.

In that market, I ran into the scariest moment of the trip so far. Myself and a few friends from the trip were hovering by one of the stalls, waiting for a couple other friends to finish a purchase. The guy at the stall near us got annoyed that we weren't buying from him, and he asked where we were from. When he heard, he started a rant in broken english about how he hated Americans. He called us American terrorists and Bush-babies. Later, he demonstrated one of his machetes by swinging it towards our heads, and stopping it a few inches away from each of our throats. To his credit, he did spare the girl in our group. He played off all of his sword-swinging as a joke, but after his earlier comments I wasn't so sure. From that moment on, we were careful about who we told we were American. If they looked mean, we were Canadian.

That night our tour guides brought us to dinner at “Chez Ali,”which is sort of like the Medieval Times of Morocco. During our dinner, groups of drummers and chanters would come in and out, play and dance for a couple minutes, and leave. I was happy to hear some traditional music, but the performers didn't seem like they were happy to be playing it. Especially the female dancers. After dinner, we all moved outside to see a horse show, with some acrobatics and gun-twirling charges. The horses didn't look too well taken care of, and to add to the weirdness of the whole thing, it was choreographed to the Star Wars imperial march, the Back to the Future theme, and I Will Survive. I left Chez Ali with the same kind of disappointment as I felt after the Berber village stay. I feel like I never got the chance to experience any authentic Moroccan culture during our time there. Instead, I felt like I was looking at imitations that were crafted to meet American expectations. So my experience of my first Semester at Sea organized trip seemed to sacrifice authenticity for safety and comfort. Which might not have been a bad thing in Morocco...who knows. I just feel glad that I have some more independent travel scheduled for future ports, because my experience traveling on our own in Spain was a lot more rewarding and satisfying.

We hit more intensely rough waters on the way out of Casablanca. This time we were ready to enjoy it, so a bunch of us sat down in the main lobby of the ship and slid around with the rocking. During the worst of it, we ended up in piles three people high. It was a ton of fun and I have some great videos of it. Surprisingly, all of us in the pileup escaped without injury, but walking around the ship for the last couple days, I've noticed a broken wrist, someone on crutches, and a shoulder in a sling.

So we're getting a little battered and tired, but everyone's spirits seem to still be really high. It will be nice to have a week of classes and other normality before we reach Namibia.

That's the scoop...thanks for reading! Please don't worry. Everything is cool.