Morocco has been literally out of this world. Amazing. Horrible. Horribly amazing. I loved this port in a completely different way than the past ones. We really played this one by ear for the most part and exercised our ability to adapt and be flexible like no port before.
As a little taste: we didn’t sleep inside for any one of the three nights there. The first day was by far the most insane day of my Semester at Sea journey to date and this was also probably the most blogable port yet, so dear reader, after setting your expectations so high, I hope I don’t disappoint.
The highlights (I’m giving you the overview, but D1 was so momentous that I am splitting it apart, so the rest of this post is only the first day)
Day 1: Casablanca and a magical hotel, trains that wait for you, melting into a sweat puddle on the train to Marrakech, accidentally drinking Moroccan ice, starting a taxi riot, getting lost in a literal labyrinth, being saved by a 7 yr old with a knife, monkeys, snake chargers, henna, sleeping on a roof
Day 2: bus ride from hell and/or Disneyland, seeing actual game of thrones land, riding a CAMEL, sleeping under the stars in the Sahara dessert
Day 3: back to the camel again, back to the bus again, coolest hostel ever, bartering our brains out in the marketplace and ending the night smoking hookah under the stars
Day 4: train the way we should have done it, a little more shopping, Great Mosque, back to the MV!
The details:
Day one we woke up early to rendezvous with a group of kids we had planned on traveling with for breakfast. This ended up being overly ambitious because it takes a great deal longer to get cleared in Moroccan customs as they insist on checking everyone and their passports face to face onboard the ship.
Fortunately, my hall was the first hall called and allowed to leave, but this wasn’t until about 11. I felt bad for the kids who weren’t allowed off, but we decided to head out with a group of three friends and I. We ended up being the first people off the ship and tooled around Casablanca for a bit until we realized we were completely lost and had no idea what we were doing or where to go.
We decided to stop off in a nearby Hyatt hotel assuming they could help us. We were shocked to discover several things. The first: there was security there and a metal detector at the door. Second the hotel was amazingly luxurious. It was a Hyatt Regency, but we didn’t really expect it to be so nice in Morocco. It appeared to be made for diplomats and Saudis. Anyway we got a map, exchanged currency, and took a restroom break in their beautifully normal bathrooms while enjoying a reprieve from the scorching hot weather.
Then we stopped at the first place we knew would have WiFi, McDonald’s, to get some ice cream and get our bearings – I forgot to mention it was scorching hot outside and we were covered from head to toe out of respect. After McFlurries, we realized we had 20 min to get to the train station and catch the 12:50 train to Marrakech, so we busted to a taxi, negotiated for what we thought was a fair price, then hopped in and headed off.
We arrived at the station with 13 minutes to spare and a melee of Moroccans and SAS people all vying to buy tickets for impending train departures. We struggled with the ticket machine as time ticked down. With only 4 minutes to go, we realized the machine wasn’t working correctly and we’d have to wait in a decently long line to get to the real ticket counters.
I hopped in line, which by the way, was literally back to back, apparently Moroccans don’t believe in the same personal space as Americans. As the line slugged by infinitely slower than it needed to be, the minutes flew by. I began to lose hope of catching this train and started planning things to do in the next two hours waiting for another.
As the clock hit 12:48, I was three people away from the front, still holding on to a sliver of hope, a growing knot in my stomach. Suddenly, bells from above chimed preceding an announcement in rapid Arabic. The train departure screen’s top entry blinked and a note appeared on the right hand side “détente 13:00.”
The train was 10 minutes delayed!! What’s my motto again? It all works out. And indeed in this case it did. We momentarily rejoiced, then threw money at the teller, grabbed our tickets and ran to Voie 2, where a crowd of people stood expectantly waiting for the train that was 3 minutes away.
Our exuberance, however, quickly dwindled when we remembered a strong warning we had been given the day before: do not buy second-class tickets. We mentioned it to each other and then shrugged it off as the train came. The moment it stopped though, we realized the prudence in this warning; Second-class tickets, approximately 2 dollars cheaper than First, are unreserved. And they don’t limit the number of people on the train.
So we shoved our way onto an overcrowded, smelly, packed train car, with little hope of finding a seat and braced ourselves for a rickety 3-hour ride sweating our faces off, without water, on a moving train with no personal space whatsoever. Here’s a pic
![train](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/train.jpg?w=300&h=225)
Fortunately, not everyone was going all the way to Marrakech, and a kind old man and his wife offered their seats to us after 30 minutes when they were planning on getting off. He also offered me to come with them to his country house – as translated by a smiling English-speaking, college age Moroccan girl across from us. I politely declined citing our plans in Marrakech and he continued to babble at me in Arabic to which I could only respond by smiling and laughing. His wife was also just as entertained and eager for my friend and I to come with them.
After they left for their stop, my friend and I tried to forget the fact that we could not stop sweating from every single pore in our bodies on the not really air conditioned “air conditioned” car and passed out for the remained of the ride. I cannot explain my relief to exit that train upon our arrival in Marrakech. We all vowed to buy first class tickets on the return trip or else we’d rather walk.
As we left the station, we recognized again that we had not much of an idea where we were, so we stopped to buy water and ambled toward the Medina, city center. Little did we know, this marathon of a journey was by no way close to finished.
We walked for a good ways until we realized taxis are relatively cheap in the city and that we would be late for our touch-base meeting with the excursion guide whom we needed to pay for the camel trek we’d reserved for the next day. So we decided to attempt to get in a taxi. The first one we stopped, blatantly refused because Petit taxis – the smaller ones – only take three people and we had four.
Then a smiling man with quite good English told us he knew where we could take a Grand taxi – the unmetered, large group taxis. We asked where and he explained he could walk us. Being four girls, we were really hesitant to follow, but we honestly had no other plans or idea as to what to do. We had been warned about false guides that really just want money from tourists, so we warily began to go with the man in the Italia pants and we only walked along the main road.
Eventually, although somewhat unwillingly, we ended up with him at a huge taxi lot, filled with over 100 taxis and drivers waiting for business outside a market. We decided that we could take it from there and began to negotiate with drivers ourselves, mostly because we figured the man who’d led us there would want money and we didn’t want to pay him.
Well, our independence did not go over as well as we would have liked and next thing we knew our guide was yelling at the taxi manager while another driver put him in a head lock and around 20 other drivers all started yelling in incomprehensible Arabic all around us. We had our backs against a taxi and were completely surrounded by the cacophony of disagreements, but seemed not to be a player in any of the arguments. We kept exchanging panicky looks with each other wondering how the hell we had gotten in that situation and how to get out.
We slowly started edging away to the right when there was a break in the circle of men and as we moved further form them, the tension seemed to disperse as quickly as it had started. Then we found a driver a distance away and began to negotiate for a price. We finally agreed and the English speaking man returned as we got in, bombarding us with requests for compensation for his help. One of my friends handed him a few coins and the rest of us said we only had card, then hopped in the cab and spend off toward the hostel where we were supposed to meet our guide.
The driver pulled up to the entrance to a pedestrian alleyway and explained to us our destination was right through there. Seems simple enough right? Just down the road of course. Well, if you are familiar with Morocco at all, that could not be further from the truth. After paying, we got out and attempted to use Google Maps to get to the hostel, but Google Maps marks the entire area as devoid of pathways and roads, a large grey region. In reality the entire place is littered with winding alleyways and twisting side roads, littered with innocuous doors that open up to amazing hotels and various markets overflowing with a plethora of Moroccan goods.
As we wandered this way and that, trying to angle toward the red dot on Google maps, the sun began to set and our good humor waned. It had been a long day and we were already an hour late for our meeting and we were about to be four lost American girls in the endless dark alleys of Marrakech.
After turning around so many times things started to seem the same and different all at once, a small boy of about 7 years in a red Ronaldo jersey holding a decently sized knife that may or may not have been fake, reached out to us in a deserted dead end and asked in French where we were going. The other girls and I exchanged hesitant glances, then I leaned down and showed him the address (which made no sense to us by the way) and the name of the hostel.
He responded, “I know where it is, follow me.” Not wanting to get into another situation like the taxi riot, I informed him, “We cannot pay you, we don’t have money.” He shrugged to infer that it was ok then turned on his heel with the command, “Follow me.”
Ronaldo, our savior
![ronaldo](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/ronaldo.jpg?w=168&h=300)
Yet again, we hesitated, but realized we didn’t have much other hope or any better options and followed little Ronaldo as he deftly navigated the maze without so much as a glance back in our direction, stopping to high five a few friends or acquaintances on the way. We began to get nervous after a few minutes and we strayed further behind him, until he turned and motioned at us to keep following.
Against all natural instincts, we continued following him toward yet another empty dead end. In this one however, there was a small blue door with red around it and a subtle sign that read the name of the hostel Hostel Riad Marrakech Rouge. We were so happy, I almost grabbed the kid in a hug and spun him around. Instead, we dug into our wallets and threw way too much money at him. Then, without a word he turned and walk back the way he came, forever out of our lives.
We walked into the hostel and found ourselves speechless. The place was fantastic and eccentric. Here is a shot of the entryway:
![marrakechrouge](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/marrakechrouge.jpg?w=225&h=300)
Three people sat around on the plush colorful couches smoking hookah and drinking Moroccan tea. We sat down gladly taking tea from the hostel worker as he asked us if we had reservations. We informed him that we did not, but we had booked a camel trek through the hostel and were supposed to meet the guide there that evening to pay and discuss logistics for the next day.
As we waited for the guide to come see us, we started discussing the possibility of backing out of our original plans of heading to a house rented by some other SAS kids for a mansion party and instead enjoying a night in the city of Marrakech at that magical hostel. After talking with our guide and paying for the one night camel trek, we decided to pull a complete audible and book beds at the hostel. My two friends went to talk to the manager for a bit, while at sat back and tried to process what all had transpired in the never-ending day. I couldn’t have been happier with the outcome so far as yet again, my motto proved itself true and everything worked out.
Just to push that one step further, my two friends turned around from the reception desk and called to me and my roommate “Soo everything is booked but we can sleep on the roof. You down?” My roommate and I both replied in unison, “Yes!” So they showed us to our rooftop abode and we could not have been more excited. For 8 Euro, we were sleeping under the stars in Marrakech!
![roofpic](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/roofpic.jpg?w=300&h=225)
After changing out of our thoroughly soiled clothing, we decided to set out to see the acclaimed Marrakech Night Market. We were a little bit hesitant to take on the labyrinth again, but hunger drove us out and armed with both a map and directions, we realized just how easy it was to navigate if you knew the quickest route.
As we stumbled into the plaza, we all exclaimed various amounts of awe, excitement and shock. The place was alive with vendors and people hustling and bustling every which way. Ladies in burkas sat on the ground amongst a sea of beautifully lit metal lanterns calling to passerby to buy one. In the center, smoke rose from the various numbered food carts, where aggressive servers harassed tourists to come to their shop and eat traditionally Moroccan meals, with various guarantees of no food poisoning or Diarrhea. Eccentricity dressed men attempted to put monkeys on the shoulders of anyone who walked too close and charge them for a picture. Snake charmers sat in the middle of a sea of onlookers making cobras move to the rhythm. Old ladies grabbed the arms of anyone left unaware and starting painting henna, then asked for a ridiculous price. Small shops overflowing with leatherwear, jewelry, tapestries, and an assortment of goods rimmed the outskirts of the vast plaza and Arabic men hassled those who walked past with a variation of English, Spanish, French, and Arabic, “skinny girl, skinny price”, “Eres bonita ven aqui”, “Come in miss! Come in miss!”, “I give you good deal.”
It was impossible to take in all at once and we stood completely dumbfounded for a moment. Everywhere I looked there was something interesting and different to see, foreign and amazing. Of course what was our first stop? Shopping. We took to the shops with gusto, bargaining hard and driving prices down to get the best goods. Laughing, joking, pleading, and hard-balling until we got the prices we wanted or just walking away. One vendor took us inside and dressed us up in “magic dresses” see here
![magicdress](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/magicdress.jpg?w=225&h=300)
After an hour or so of bargaining, we grew hungry. It was almost 10pm or so, and the market was still pulsating lively. We headed into the center where the street food stands were and began to attempt to decide to which of the numerous shops we should give our business. Out of nowhere I heard my name being called and turned to find a larger group of my friends from the ship eating at restaurant no. 100.
I could not have been happier to run into familiar faces after our crazy day. We embraced and began comparing travel stories everyone happy and excited and loving Morocco. We enjoyed some delicious kebabs and couscous for our first real Moroccan meal –
before:
![streetfoodbefore](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/streetfoodbefore.jpg?w=225&h=300)
after:
![streetfood1eggplant](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/streetfood1eggplant.jpg?w=300&h=225)
![streetfood2kabab](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/streetfood2kabab.jpg?w=225&h=300)
By then it was getting pretty late and we had an early morning heading out to our camel trek. We stopped by an old lady to get henna and then called it a night, exhausted from everything that had happened that day. Here’s a shot of the henna we got:
![hennaduring](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/hennaduring.jpg?w=225&h=300)
![hennahafter](https://pkgetsaround.wordpress.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/10/hennahafter.jpg?w=225&h=300)
I’ll keep you posted with the camel trek, but I think the rest of Morocco deserves its own post after this insane day. To be continued…