Leaving Morocco
Trip Start
Jun 15, 2011
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88
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Trip End
Jun 15, 2012
Casablanca, Morocco
Friday, November 11, 2011
While Estela was buying loaves of bread from a rolling card on the edge of the square, I stumbled into a traditional barber shop. A Berber man wearing a fez gave me an excellent haircut using a comb and a straight razor, then gave me a close shave using local herbs and handmade shaving cream.
Our last day in Morocco started out as a big disappointment. Estela and I had packed up a large box to ship home, but when our taxi driver took us to the post office, it was closed. So we came back home with our box. The taxi driver demanded twice the fare of taking us to the post office, and I paid him the single fare, got in his face and asked him why he didn’t tell us when we left the taxi stand that the post office was closed, as he did so confidently when we got there. He didn’t want to let us go until Estela got in his face and told him to 'be honest’. Once honesty was at stake he backed off, realizing that he had committed a big blunder of dishonoring himself. I paid him part of his requested return rate.
We had planned to spend a couple of days up in Casablanca with the crazy guys we met in the desert during our camel trip. They had invited us to come by and share their big feast with their slaughtered goats, inviting us to stay with them. But with the kids' school and the logistics of putting five people into an apartment of God knows what size, and then arranging travel with all of our packs, it got a bit overwhelming for us. So we planned to stay put. But since we told the people who owned our guest house that we would be leaving a day early to go to Casablanca, as I had planned, he went ahead and booked our place with a Swiss family starting on the 8th, the day before we actually planned to depart. We found this out just a couple of hours before the people were to arrive. I spoke with the owner on the phone from Switzerland, who told me he would help to arrange another apartment for us, and he did. We moved into the riad next door, which cost us a lot of money, about twice the rate of the place we were already staying. However, it was a real luxury and a break in our routine. The place was beautiful and very big. We got just two rooms in it, as the rooms in this riad are rented out separately. Youssef, the live-in host, was a very nice guy and very accommodating and entertaining in the typical Moroccan way that we have gotten used to. He had a great sense of humor and helped us with everything we needed. The morning we departed he was up with us at five thirty with a light breakfast and a hand with our luggage.
On our last evening in Marrakech we went down to the square to finally eat at the food stalls we spent a month avoiding because of the ‘temporary’ nature of them and the hustle that the barkers use to try to get you in. These are the stalls that are built hastily around sunset in the great expanse of the Jemaa-El-Fna Square, turning bare concrete into a city of roasting food, seating areas and shouting barkers competing aggressively with each other to pull in the wandering tourists. We waded in and were sucked up immediately by the one with the most aggressive sales staff. We sat down at a table which had on each placemat a small loaf of bread, and the waiter immediately demanded "fish or meat?" If you choose one of these options, and they don’t appear to have any others (there are, of course), then you get the most expensive item on the menu, which is a real bad value. I ordered fish, Shelby ordered meat. The other three ordered off the menu sensibly. In minutes there were five bowls of salad in front of us, some olives and other items that seemed to magically appear in the blur of hands serving the tables. The people next to us, a couple from Australia, got up in a huff and shouted at the staff that “this is ridiculous. You guys keep bringing things we didn’t order, and the portions are small and the food is … bla, bla, bla… “. When the guy huffed off with his wife he looked at me and gave me a big warning about their evil and ruthless ways, saying that everything they bring you costs money. So I looked around, took heed in his comment, and asked the waiter to remove the food items we didn’t intent to eat. They did that without any argument, and we had a good meal. The food was actually very good and at a very good price. But then a large group from England at the next table left in a huff similar to the ones the Australians raised, and then one more group at the other end of the tent did the same. I counted up the costs, including the small loaf of bread that was on the placemat when we arrived, and came up with my total. Then the waiter brought over the bill and it was exactly what I had calculated. I paid the bill and then tipped the waiter, a new concept for him, apparently. Then we were asked to stay and have some complimentary mint tea with them because they were so surprised by our eagerness to pay the bill without complaining, and to actually offer a tip. We drank our tea, which wasn’t very good, and all the cooks and barkers came over and shook hands with us, gave us high fives and big smiles. All in all, the dinner cost us about thirty bucks for a family of five, maybe the same as we would have paid in a restaurant on the edge of the square. But the tableside entertainment was well worth the price.
The next morning we had a large van waiting for us. We packed our stuff in the back and two and a half hours later we were at the Casablanca airport eating a proper breakfast.
In all, we never had any kind of stomach problems in one month in Morocco, which was a big surprise to me. The people we have met and talked with are among the friendliest and happiest people I have met anywhere I have visited. We will return to Morocco.
