So this isn't an official blog post- I still have so many things to write about, like my trip to the States and to Portugal. BUT, I have a huuuuge favor to ask of you..
My dearest friends Victoria (who is going to be my roommate next year!) has entered a competition to win a years worth of free hotel nights in over 200 cities around the world. Instead of entering myself in the contest, I've decided that it would be more productive to rally people to vote for her so that way we don't cannibalize each other. So, in essence, I'm trying to win a years worth of free hotel rooms!!
PLEASE VOTE!
http://www.greatestholiday.radissonblu.com/victoria-mayor/850095/
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Morocco, I love you.
Sorry about my recent lack of blogging. I was thinking that not a lot of people read this puppy, but after an enlightening trip to the US, I know better. There are many things to recap, so I'll take it day at a time. Basically, I forgot to write about my trip to Nice... so I'll sum it up by saying it was awesome, I love nature, and I got to see hybrid wolf-dogs on leashes. Baddaboom. And now, my journey to Mamma Afrika.
Thursday (not this past week, but the week prior) was a hustling bustling day at work. I didn't seem to really notice as I was daydreaming about my soon-to-come adventure to Morocco. After work, I went back to my apartment, packed up a duffel bag in lightning speed, and bolted out the door. After a series of metros, trains, and shuttles, I arrived at the Orly airport. There, I met up with 5 of my American friends who are in the same International Business program in France as me. We hung out for a little while, bought one bottle of duty free wine each, and boarded the plane. The flight took around 3.5-4 hours to Agadir, and went by relatively smoothly. We landed at around 12:40 am Friday morning, and breezed by security and customs.
The Start of the Adventure
We exited the airports and found a long queue of identical, 1980's Mercedes taxis. We split up into groups of 3, with each group having 2 girls and 1 boy. The taxi ride was a bit unreal. Our friendly cab driver was excited to speak in English with us, and might I say spoke very well. He drove like a maniac, swerving between cars and sometimes curbs, and knew only two speeds- fast and faster. We sped along, blaring Bob Marley on blown-out speakers, locals on pedal-bikes, and the occasional donkey pulled wagon. After an exhilarating 40 minutes of driving, we neared the small, beachfront surfing town of Taghazout. We had come to realize that none of us had an actual address of our destination, as the owner of the apartment that we were renting said "to just ask anyone and they'll know where to send you." We pulled over, the other taxi directly behind us, and asked a random guy if he knew where Surf-N-Stay was. He said that he had no idea, but could give us a great deal on rooms in his hotel. Great. Our taxi driver assured us that we'd find it, and pulled over to the side of the road directly in front of a random row of apartments, one with an outdoor light on. We all got out of the cabs and tried to figure out what to do. Here we were, 6 Americans in Taghazout Morocco at 2 in the morning, with not a single clue as to how to find the apartment we rented. After a few minutes of talking, this short guy comes out of the lit apartment and asks if he can help us.
We tell him what we are looking for, and he says "oh, yea, this is Surf-N-Stay." Amazing- we found it out of sheer luck. He leads us inside, down a few flights of stairs, and into an apartment where we are greeted by a white, British sounding girl. It turns out that she's in fact Irish, and her Dad, Chris, is the owner of the apartment rental service. We introduce ourselves, and she then goes to "try to find the key" to the apartment we are renting. Oh boy, not the greatest of signs. She eventually finds it, and we climb back up the few flights of stairs, go outside, and begin walking in the dark of night down dirt sidewalks and narrow alleys, accompanied by a few local stray dogs. As sketchy as this might sound, we all felt completely safe the entire time. After around 5 minutes of walking, we end up in an alleyway and stop in front of a painted, wooden front door. After stating that she hopes the key fits, she attempts to open the door. It opened without a problem. Good sign. We enter the apartment, not knowing what to expect.
In front of us was a hallway. To the right was the smallest bathroom known to man. It actually seemed like an indoor outhouse with plumbing. There was one toilet, and attached to the wall, a shower head. I don't know if it was physically possible to take a shower in that bathroom without sitting on the toilet. The next room over was the kitchen. The shelves were already stacked with miscellaneous teapots, mugs, and a random spatula. After the kitchen, still on the right side of the hallway, was a bedroom with a set of bunk beds. Looking down the hallway directly opposite the front door was another bedroom with 3 twin beds. After counting, I realized that there were only 5 beds... and 6 of us. Uh oh. I was wondering who would be willing to sleep upstairs in the living room, until out of the corner of my eye I see something on the wall. We all saw it. Wide-eyed in disgusted surprise, we all flinch a little bit. "Oh, it's just a cockroach," explains the daughter. "You'll get used to them." Ehh, that statement proved to be false. I used to be quite squeemish around cockroaches, but after having lived for a week in the lower-ninth ward of New Orleans in a dilapidated house, I got used to them. These cockroaches, however, were quite sizable. I think I draw the limit, however, when roaches exceed the length of the palm of my hand. This particular cockroach slithered down the wall, onto the pillow of one of the bed, and then disappeared underneath the sheets. Ew.
We exited that room and climbed up the stairs on the left side of the hallway. These stairs lead to a lobby, which lead to a common room. The room itself was not too bad. 3 Foam-topped, long wooden crates lined 3 of the red painted walls. In the far right-hand corner was a ceder chest filled with musty linens. Facing the threshold of the room was a set of French doors. These doors, when opened, led to a very narrow fire escape, which brought you up onto the roof. This rooftop patio with an ocean view, was by far the best, and only redeeming feature of the house. There was a glass-top dining table, chairs, a large outdoor sofa, a charcoal grill, and even a straw hut with dirty beach lounge chairs inside. After our hour long tour of the house (the girl stayed for a really long time), we began to settle down. Bottles of duty-free wine were brought up to the roof, uncorked, and drank. There was an incident in which two of the bottles fell off a table and broke, and I swiftly assembled a clean-up brigade, fearing that the red wine would stain the tiles by morning. After figuring out how to clean everything up, we decided to call it a night. Some decided to sleep outside on the roof. One kid went down into the bunkbed room. 2 other girls, and myself, decided to sleep in the upstairs lounge. We were quite scared of cockroaches climbing onto us while we slept. We had the grand idea to rearrange the furniture, and put the wooden crates next to each other to create a king-sized crate in the dead center of the room. It actually worked out quite well, aside from the fact that during the rearranging process we were super loud and it was 5 in the morning. The neighbors weren't too happy with us the next day, as it would turn out. We got everything settled, and went to bed. I quickly passed out, but was awoken (and startled) by the blaring of a voice over a loudspeaker. I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside. After piecing a few things together, I realized that this voice was that of the imam's, and he was calling all Muslims to pray. It was a hallow, haunting sound but much appreciated, as this was one of the first times in which I felt completely removed from Western, secular culture. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.
Day 1-Fun in the Sun
After a few more hours of sleep, we collectively woke up and organized ourselves to go meet with Chris, the owner of the property. We trekked back over to his apartment and talked with him for a few minutes. He's an Irish guy that lives in Morocco full-time now. He explained the apartment, gave us a few pointers, and set-up a tour for us for the next day. He lead us downstairs and outside, directly onto the beach, where we climbed across rocks and sand. He brought us to a beachfront restaurant. When I say beachfront, I mean it in all literal senses. We sat on a patio that was carved out of the rocks. He told us to just order whatever we felt like, and they would make it. He bid us farewell, and there we sat. A friendly waiter came out and took our orders. We all got a Moroccan omlette, which came with tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, baguette, dishes of jams, honey and butter, and an omlette of tomato, onion, cilantro and possibly some other stuff. We all kind of zoned out for a while, waiting for our food, when Chris came back and introduced us to a young Moroccan named Morad who seemed to be our age, and would be our tour guide the following day. Morad hung out with us for a while during breakfast and we (the group) got to know him. After a scrumptious breakfast, we made plans with Morad to have a real Moroccan dinner of tagine and cousous. He left to go inform the restaurant, and we went down to the beach.
It was only 10:30 am or so, but the sun was already blaring. We went back to the apartment, got changed into our swimsuits, and collected what we needed for a day at the beach. We left our apartment, turned left, walked down a sandstone path passing the local fish market, and onto the sands of the beach. We found a nice spot further away from the odorous fish market, lathered up on sunscreen, and plopped down. We stayed on the beach all day, alternating sunbathing with swimming. At one point we saw someone zooming across the horizon on a jet-ski. He eventually came towards the shore and hopped off. As it would turn out, he worked for a jet-skiing company. We decided that jet-skiing needed to happen. We negotiated for a little while, and then organized ourselves into pairs. My friend Dan and I were first. Having never driven before, we agreed that Dan should drive first. We climbed on the beast, and off we went, knowing only one speed: full throttle. The wind literally whipped across my skin, and we flew over waves. It was such an adrenaline rush. We all took turns driving and riding the jet-ski for the next 45 minutes. Once our time was up, we went back to our spot on the beach to lay down. Two of my friends, Alina and Jason, had visited Morocco during Christmas break where they befriended their tour guide Abdul. They had stayed in contact with each other, and extended an invitation to Abdul to join us in Taghazout for the weekend. He took a 2 hour bus ride from where he lives, and met up with us on the beach. The group, now 7 of us, spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach, soaking up rays and swimming.
After a while, we grew hungry and were in dire need of some refreshing smoothies. We found a smoothie stand on the main road in town, and Abdul helped us order. He recommended a drink called "fruits secs," and without knowing what was in it, I ordered one too. It was amazing- a creamy avocado smoothie with almonds, dates and figs blended it. We all enjoyed our smoothies, and then took a little walk. We ended up at an outdoor market of sorts, where vendors sold jewelry on blankets on the floor, Berber music blared out of a tiny boom-box, and where you could buy all sorts of random crap. Abdul helped a few of the girls barter for lower prices, which is the norm in Morocco. After a bit of shopping, we found a dinky little restaurant and got a pot of tea. Moroccan tea is incredible- it's a strong mix of black tea, fresh mint, and 46 lbs of sugar. Tea is served in a silver pot, poured from a substantial height to create a foam, and into a small glass cup (much like a double shot-glass). We snacked on salted almonds and cashews, and sipped our tea. Afterward, we went back to the apartment to get cleaned up for dinner. We didn't actually clean up, but rather changed out of our bathing suits. In fact, none of us showered throughout the entire trip. When in Rome, right?
Dinner: we went to a restaurant on the main road of town, essentially opposite of the smoothie stand. We sat down at a long table, now as a group of 8 as Morad had come to join us. We waited for our meal to arrive and soaked up the atmosphere. The sun had recently set, and it was a calm period of dusk just before nightfall. We sat around a large, plastic table, soaking in our surroundings. The voice of the imam began to blare over the speakers as flocks of men slowly drifted towards the mosque directly in front of us. We sipped our drinks, and alas the food arrived. We feasted on two tagines, one made of goat and the other of fresh fish that was caught that afternoon. A tagine is essentially the first ever crock-pot- throw a bunch of veggies, meat, and 35 different spices in a clay pot with a cone-like clay lid, place over a hot charcoals, and let her cook all day. I had never had goat meat before, but it was delicious. The meat fell right off the bone and didn't have a gamey taste as I had much heard about. This could be because of the fresh olives or lemon that were also cooked in the tagine, giving the dish an exciting, well-rounded flavor. We ate not with forks and knives, but rather our hands, scooping up each bite with freshly baked bread that much resembled pita.We then got an order of couscous. By that point, I had stuffed myself silly, but I still tried it anyways. I was taught how to properly eat couscous- with my hands. I reached in to the clay platter, placing my hand knuckle deep into the moist couscous. Then, I curled my fingers towards the palm of my hand against the wall of the dish to grab a small heap of coucous. After lifting my hand filled with couscous out of the dish, I began to roll the couscous around like those Chinese meditation balls, occasionally squeezing it in my hand to compress the grains. After a little while of this, the couscous formed a ball, much like a matzah ball (or for my non-jews, a dumpling), and popped it right into my mouth. And, that, my friends, is how to properly eat couscous. It was awesome! After dinner; we walked across the street and Abdul bought a giant watermelon off the back of a truck. We walked the watermelon home, sliced it up, and brought it to the roof. As we snacked, Abdul began to show us how to wrap a turban like the Saharans, as he leads tours throughout the Sahara by camel. We each took a turn, and Abdul wrapped his long scarf around each of our heads, one by one, to create the turban. It was insanely fun, and us Caucasian kids looked absolutely absurd. After a little while, we hit the sack as the next day required that we get a good nights sleep.
Day 2- A little trip to Paradise
We woke up at around 8:30 or so... Actually, I have no idea of what time we woke up, but that seems about right. We got dressed, wearing our bathing suits underneath our clothes. After a little coordination, we headed back towards Sonya's, our new favorite breakfast joint that sits literally on the beach. The waiter recognized us from the day before, and essentially remembered our orders. We ate leisurely, worrying about the cloudy sky, and upon finishing, headed back over to Chris's, the apartment owner, apartment where we met up with Morad. We piled into Chris's SUV, and I managed to get shotgun. The rest of the group crammed into the back two rows of seating, and off we went. We drove along a road which hugged the seaside, our eyes darting back and forth as to not miss anything. We saw camels from a distance, people sitting underneath palm trees, and more donkey-drawn carts. After only a few minutes, we pulled into a small tow called Banana City... or Banana Town... or Banana Ville.. Honestly I forget what the name was, but it definitely began with the word "banana." Stores displayed bunches upon bunches of green and yellow bananas hanging from rafters, piled on counters, and in the back of trucks. Morad parked the SUV and went in to a few stores to buy things for lunch while we waited in the car. He came back maybe 10 minutes later with several liter bottles of water, an entire shopping bag of fresh, flat bread, nuts, vegetables, raw chicken, and fruit. We loaded everything in the car, and off we drove.
As we continued driving, the terrain began to change. The land was no longer flat, but hilly, and then mountainous. We passed through small towns where the ghostlike outlines of women flowed across the dirt road with massive sacks of rice or grain perched carefully on their heads. There were less and less cars, and more and more donkeys. Eventually, the towns began to come fewer and fewer as we climbed the narrow, curving roads of mountains.We got to a fairly decent elevation when Morad pulled the SUV over into the lot of a roadside stand. This stand was actually more like a concrete hut that sold "millions of million year old fossils" most of which looked like nautiluses. A few of the girls bought some fossils and geodes, all while I climbed onto the roof to enjoy an incredible panoramic view. After roughly 15 minutes, our pit-stop came to an end, we said our goodbyes to the American loving store owner, and piled back into the SUV. We recommenced our journey, and the terrain began to change again. The mountains, dusty and dotted with dark desert trees, became smoother and rockier. We began to see streams and rivers, and palm trees and green plants.The sky had cleared up as we moved away from the coast, and now the sun was shining brightly. We reached an unpaved parking lot, parked the car, unloaded all of our lunch supplies, caked on a layer of sunscreen, and began our trek. We had reached Paradise Valley, where we would hike, cliff jump, and swim in freshwater lagoons. As we began walking, we quickly realized that the nature reserves name was extremely appropriate. Paradise Valley was indeed a slice of paradise. We walked (in flip-flops) up and down steep hills, crossed muddy river banks, hopped (and fell) across rocks to cross rivers, through dirt and across boulders. After crossing a river (which we managed to do thanks to Morad's help) we ended up at a muddy bank, shaded by tall palm trees. I look around for Abdul, but he is nowhere to be seen. I see something bright yellow out of the corner of my eye, and there is Abdul, climbing up a palm tree like a monkey. After a bit of "monkeying" around, we walked a few minutes more and came to a small stone house.
The house belonged to a friend of Morad, who greeted us with a big smile. We were invited to sit outside in his hut, man-made from bamboo, old woven carpets for walls, and palm leaves for the roof. The seats were rows of benches that lined the walls, with a low table in the middle. We watched him kindle a small fire in the small, stone pit that sat directly between his house and the hut. He put the kettle on, and invited us to relax as he prepared tea. On the table in front of us, he placed a plate of extremely fresh honey (with chunks of honeycomb swimming in the amber goop), a dish of fresh peanut sauce, and another dish of Argon oil. We dipped fresh bread into the sauces, and snacked on homemade fennel biscuits. He served us the sweet, strong minty black tea which I love so much, and we drank. After our mid-morning snack, we left the house to continue on with our hike, leaving the groceries to our new host. While we were gone, he would prepare a tagine for us for dinner.
Our hike was incredible. Flip-flops made the journey a bit difficult, but we managed. The first leg of the journey was to a sizeable, freshwater lagoon, where local boys were cliff-jumping and swimming around. We joined them, each taking turns jumping. I, of course, did not jump as I am moderately to significantly scared of heights. We swam, jumped, and bathed in the sun for a while. It must have been around noon time when a few of the local boys got out, found a quiet spot, and began to pray. At that moment, I realize how much I appreciate religion because it sometimes permits people to not get lost in daily commotion, and to take time in their lives to stop, breathe, and reflect. We spent a fair amount of time at the lagoon, and then continued on with our adventure. The next leg of the journey required us to climb up a cliff, which I did with the greatest of ease (sarcasm). Once up the cliff, we hiked up steep inclines, and down sharp drops of the narrow, dirt, mountain path. This path wandered up and down, left and right, hugging the natural curves of the gorge on our left. As we climbed higher, the gorge became deeper. At one point, the gorge must have been several hundred feet down, and I was sure to avoid it at all costs. Morad skipped along, leading the group, and I trailed in the back, my lungs heavy from months which lacked any real physical exercise. After 20 minutes or more (I really have no idea how long it took), we reached our second destination: lagoon number 2. This lagoon was much larger than the first, and in order to get to the water you had to climb down a small cliff. I think I began to feel the heat of the day, so I decided to perch myself on a wide cliff ledge under the shade of a dying tree. I watched my group climb down to the lagoon, jump off even steeper cliffs than before, and swim around. Naturally, because I am an old man, my back was seriously hurting, so I laid down on the scorching rocks and dozed off for a while.
We hung out at lagoon number 2 for a decent amount of time, and then carried on with the final leg of the hike. We trekked across sharp, hot rocks (my flip-flops breaking every 3 minutes), up and across boulders, through pools of waist high water (I almost had a heart attack out of fear of falling and dropping my super awesome, non-waterproof camera which I consider to be my child) across small valleys and gorge floors. A stray dog, which are everywhere, joined our group as we grew from 8 to 9. The hike was mostly enjoyable, and we noticed that the sun-bleached rocks became redder and more clay-like. We eventually reached a spot in the gorge where the walls and floor was clay, and there were pools of murky water. This was our destination. We were a bit unimpressed, until Morad said that this is where we should leave our stuff so that it doesn't get ruined, because in order to get to the real destination, we might get a bit muddy. One by one, we took off our clothes (obviously with bathing suits underneath!), left our valuables, and slipped into the cloudy pond. The pool was shallow, but the floor was of a slippery silt. It squished beneath my toes, and I'm not sure if it felt disgusting or awesome. Either way, it was quite the sensation. I swan across, using my hands to clear a path free of water spiders and other creepy-crawlers. We reached the other end of the pond, finagled our way up the slimy clay rock and onto dried-out clay banks. We hiked across, climbing and falling down boulders, until we reached the last lagoon, lagoon number 3. I'm not sure if lagoon number 3 was even a lagoon, or more so a grotto. The depths of this perfect round pool are unknown. People have tried to measure how deep it goes, but haven't been able to succeed. Needless to say, it was incredibly deep. Most of the group took turns jumping off a high, rocky ledge. I, however, carefully dipped my toes in, estimated the danger, looked around, and then dove right in. The water was colder than the other lagoons, as this grotto was completely in the shade. I was surprised when I looked down at the dark water and was able to see my entire leg- the water was the purest, cleanest water I've ever been in. I swam across the small lagoon to the wall which wrapped 3/4 around the pool's circumference. It was almost as if this grotto was a natural, really cold jacuzzi, as the center was fairly deep, and there sides all had ledges that you could either sit on, or perch yourself on so that your body was completely out of the water. I sat on the ledge for a little while, but then got a bit too cold, and began to perch. I looked around at the stone wall and noticed a clan of hundreds of the tiniest, mini-frogs that I've ever seen. They were adorable! Alas, we all became too cold, and decided that it was probably the time to leave to make it back to the hut in time for dinner. We exited the grotto/lagoon/pool, and walked across the caked-up clay, reaching the murky, mud pond. We tried a new approach of climbing alongside the steep banks of the pond, but were unsuccessful. One friend slipped, in slow motion, across the slick, dark clay, onto his butt, and into the murk-pond. Naturally, this event was hysterical, leading us to our big revelation of the day: covering ourselves in mud for a spa treatment. My friends covered themselves completely in the stuff, whereas I was more content with drawing a mustache and goatee on my face. I think someone drew a flower on my back too. After a while of our royal mud treatment and politically incorrect jokes, we went back to the clear water grotto to rinse off, and then back through the muddy pond where we promptly got dirty again.
We hiked back the way we'd came, my body sore from both the jet-skiing the day prior, and the physical activity of our day hiking. We trekked up and over rocks, through mud, up and down hills, alongside gorges and over flowing streams. We of course, towards the end of the hike back to the house, ran into Peace Corp volunteers from Seattle and California. We chatted with them for a while, who I think were happy to speak with other Americans for a bit. We approached the house, bid them farewell, and went into the bamboo hut. Our host graciously served us water, Coke, and some fruity, sugary soda beverage called Hawaii (which for some reason I thought was absolutely hilarious), and brought out the masterpiece: the tagine. We ate that thing like it was going out of style, and slopped up every morsel with bread. After devouring day's worth of hard work in merely 15-20 minutes, we were served dessert. It was delicious, fresh fruit. We ate honeydew and cantaloupe, fresh apricots and plums, bananas, apples and oranges. I wasn't even hungry, but the fruit was so delicious that I kept eating everything that was served to me. We lounged for a while, letting our bodies digest. The sun glowed gently by this point, and had just begun to set. We thanked our host, and he lead us outside his compound to show us the turtles that swim in the river in front of his house. After our great turtle observation portion of the day, we bid him farewell, and continued on the final leg of the hike, back to the car. Again, more rivers and streams were crossed, more hills were climbed up and down, more flip-flops broke. We reached the SUV and the sun became lower and lower, yet the sky was not dark. We piled inside the car and headed to Agadir city, zooming across narrow curving mountain roads, in search of buying some wine.
After a good 40 minutes of driving, we reached the modern city of Agadir, and it was a bit of a shock. It was so Westernized and modern compared to our tiny beach-town of Taghazout. We went to a "grocery" store which was in my opinion the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco. We were all sort of freaked out, as this was highly unexpected. I had begun to feel a bit sick- my throat was sore and I was losing my voice. I bought a liter of OJ and hoped that would fix me up.After an exciting trip to the store, we drove into Agadir to get smoothies. I got fresh squeezed OJ, hoping that it would miraculously cure me. It didn't, but it was mighty tasty. We left Agadir and drove back to Taghazout, having ourselves a mini dance party in the car. We reached our apartment, where we got changed, and headed out to Morad's apartment to hang out. It was really fun there. He had this massive flatscreen TV and was playing the movie Borat on mute, jamming out to music on an iPod, and also to drums and other instruments that his friends were playing. Abdul taught me how to play the drums (or attempted to, but I was a bit uncoordinated). We lounged on Morad's massive couches, talking, learning to play the instruments, and occasionally dancing. It was a fantastic night, but we were all exhausted from the day. And so, the night ended early and we all walked back to our apartment to pass out.
Day 3-The Adventure comes to an end
I woke up feeling as though the angel of death hit me in the face with a brick. I was officially sick with a nasty cold. We went back to Sonya's for our usual breakfast. I ate even though I didn't have much of an appetite, and immediately felt noxious afterward. This feeling stayed with me for a majority of the morning. We went to Chris's apartment, paid him, and organized our journey back to the airport. Along the way we were to stop at a Suk (much like an Israeli shuk, or a mega mega outdoor/indoor market of everything imaginable). I don't really remember the car ride to the suk as I nodded in and out of sleep. We reached the suk and my stomach started to feel better.We wandered around, Chris showing us where to go. Abdul helped up barter with the vendors, but I didn't buy anything. I kind of regret not buying a teapot, but at the time I just wasn't in the mood to be shopping. We didn't have much time there, and soon had to get back in the car to get to the airport on time. At the airport, we said goodbye to Chris, and a sincere goodbye to our new wonderful friend Abdul, and headed into the airport.
Morocco was absolutely incredible. It was one of the best weekends of my life. I can't wait to go back :)
Thursday (not this past week, but the week prior) was a hustling bustling day at work. I didn't seem to really notice as I was daydreaming about my soon-to-come adventure to Morocco. After work, I went back to my apartment, packed up a duffel bag in lightning speed, and bolted out the door. After a series of metros, trains, and shuttles, I arrived at the Orly airport. There, I met up with 5 of my American friends who are in the same International Business program in France as me. We hung out for a little while, bought one bottle of duty free wine each, and boarded the plane. The flight took around 3.5-4 hours to Agadir, and went by relatively smoothly. We landed at around 12:40 am Friday morning, and breezed by security and customs.
The Start of the Adventure
We exited the airports and found a long queue of identical, 1980's Mercedes taxis. We split up into groups of 3, with each group having 2 girls and 1 boy. The taxi ride was a bit unreal. Our friendly cab driver was excited to speak in English with us, and might I say spoke very well. He drove like a maniac, swerving between cars and sometimes curbs, and knew only two speeds- fast and faster. We sped along, blaring Bob Marley on blown-out speakers, locals on pedal-bikes, and the occasional donkey pulled wagon. After an exhilarating 40 minutes of driving, we neared the small, beachfront surfing town of Taghazout. We had come to realize that none of us had an actual address of our destination, as the owner of the apartment that we were renting said "to just ask anyone and they'll know where to send you." We pulled over, the other taxi directly behind us, and asked a random guy if he knew where Surf-N-Stay was. He said that he had no idea, but could give us a great deal on rooms in his hotel. Great. Our taxi driver assured us that we'd find it, and pulled over to the side of the road directly in front of a random row of apartments, one with an outdoor light on. We all got out of the cabs and tried to figure out what to do. Here we were, 6 Americans in Taghazout Morocco at 2 in the morning, with not a single clue as to how to find the apartment we rented. After a few minutes of talking, this short guy comes out of the lit apartment and asks if he can help us.
We tell him what we are looking for, and he says "oh, yea, this is Surf-N-Stay." Amazing- we found it out of sheer luck. He leads us inside, down a few flights of stairs, and into an apartment where we are greeted by a white, British sounding girl. It turns out that she's in fact Irish, and her Dad, Chris, is the owner of the apartment rental service. We introduce ourselves, and she then goes to "try to find the key" to the apartment we are renting. Oh boy, not the greatest of signs. She eventually finds it, and we climb back up the few flights of stairs, go outside, and begin walking in the dark of night down dirt sidewalks and narrow alleys, accompanied by a few local stray dogs. As sketchy as this might sound, we all felt completely safe the entire time. After around 5 minutes of walking, we end up in an alleyway and stop in front of a painted, wooden front door. After stating that she hopes the key fits, she attempts to open the door. It opened without a problem. Good sign. We enter the apartment, not knowing what to expect.
In front of us was a hallway. To the right was the smallest bathroom known to man. It actually seemed like an indoor outhouse with plumbing. There was one toilet, and attached to the wall, a shower head. I don't know if it was physically possible to take a shower in that bathroom without sitting on the toilet. The next room over was the kitchen. The shelves were already stacked with miscellaneous teapots, mugs, and a random spatula. After the kitchen, still on the right side of the hallway, was a bedroom with a set of bunk beds. Looking down the hallway directly opposite the front door was another bedroom with 3 twin beds. After counting, I realized that there were only 5 beds... and 6 of us. Uh oh. I was wondering who would be willing to sleep upstairs in the living room, until out of the corner of my eye I see something on the wall. We all saw it. Wide-eyed in disgusted surprise, we all flinch a little bit. "Oh, it's just a cockroach," explains the daughter. "You'll get used to them." Ehh, that statement proved to be false. I used to be quite squeemish around cockroaches, but after having lived for a week in the lower-ninth ward of New Orleans in a dilapidated house, I got used to them. These cockroaches, however, were quite sizable. I think I draw the limit, however, when roaches exceed the length of the palm of my hand. This particular cockroach slithered down the wall, onto the pillow of one of the bed, and then disappeared underneath the sheets. Ew.
We exited that room and climbed up the stairs on the left side of the hallway. These stairs lead to a lobby, which lead to a common room. The room itself was not too bad. 3 Foam-topped, long wooden crates lined 3 of the red painted walls. In the far right-hand corner was a ceder chest filled with musty linens. Facing the threshold of the room was a set of French doors. These doors, when opened, led to a very narrow fire escape, which brought you up onto the roof. This rooftop patio with an ocean view, was by far the best, and only redeeming feature of the house. There was a glass-top dining table, chairs, a large outdoor sofa, a charcoal grill, and even a straw hut with dirty beach lounge chairs inside. After our hour long tour of the house (the girl stayed for a really long time), we began to settle down. Bottles of duty-free wine were brought up to the roof, uncorked, and drank. There was an incident in which two of the bottles fell off a table and broke, and I swiftly assembled a clean-up brigade, fearing that the red wine would stain the tiles by morning. After figuring out how to clean everything up, we decided to call it a night. Some decided to sleep outside on the roof. One kid went down into the bunkbed room. 2 other girls, and myself, decided to sleep in the upstairs lounge. We were quite scared of cockroaches climbing onto us while we slept. We had the grand idea to rearrange the furniture, and put the wooden crates next to each other to create a king-sized crate in the dead center of the room. It actually worked out quite well, aside from the fact that during the rearranging process we were super loud and it was 5 in the morning. The neighbors weren't too happy with us the next day, as it would turn out. We got everything settled, and went to bed. I quickly passed out, but was awoken (and startled) by the blaring of a voice over a loudspeaker. I opened my eyes and it was still dark outside. After piecing a few things together, I realized that this voice was that of the imam's, and he was calling all Muslims to pray. It was a hallow, haunting sound but much appreciated, as this was one of the first times in which I felt completely removed from Western, secular culture. I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.
Day 1-Fun in the Sun
After a few more hours of sleep, we collectively woke up and organized ourselves to go meet with Chris, the owner of the property. We trekked back over to his apartment and talked with him for a few minutes. He's an Irish guy that lives in Morocco full-time now. He explained the apartment, gave us a few pointers, and set-up a tour for us for the next day. He lead us downstairs and outside, directly onto the beach, where we climbed across rocks and sand. He brought us to a beachfront restaurant. When I say beachfront, I mean it in all literal senses. We sat on a patio that was carved out of the rocks. He told us to just order whatever we felt like, and they would make it. He bid us farewell, and there we sat. A friendly waiter came out and took our orders. We all got a Moroccan omlette, which came with tea, freshly squeezed orange juice, baguette, dishes of jams, honey and butter, and an omlette of tomato, onion, cilantro and possibly some other stuff. We all kind of zoned out for a while, waiting for our food, when Chris came back and introduced us to a young Moroccan named Morad who seemed to be our age, and would be our tour guide the following day. Morad hung out with us for a while during breakfast and we (the group) got to know him. After a scrumptious breakfast, we made plans with Morad to have a real Moroccan dinner of tagine and cousous. He left to go inform the restaurant, and we went down to the beach.
It was only 10:30 am or so, but the sun was already blaring. We went back to the apartment, got changed into our swimsuits, and collected what we needed for a day at the beach. We left our apartment, turned left, walked down a sandstone path passing the local fish market, and onto the sands of the beach. We found a nice spot further away from the odorous fish market, lathered up on sunscreen, and plopped down. We stayed on the beach all day, alternating sunbathing with swimming. At one point we saw someone zooming across the horizon on a jet-ski. He eventually came towards the shore and hopped off. As it would turn out, he worked for a jet-skiing company. We decided that jet-skiing needed to happen. We negotiated for a little while, and then organized ourselves into pairs. My friend Dan and I were first. Having never driven before, we agreed that Dan should drive first. We climbed on the beast, and off we went, knowing only one speed: full throttle. The wind literally whipped across my skin, and we flew over waves. It was such an adrenaline rush. We all took turns driving and riding the jet-ski for the next 45 minutes. Once our time was up, we went back to our spot on the beach to lay down. Two of my friends, Alina and Jason, had visited Morocco during Christmas break where they befriended their tour guide Abdul. They had stayed in contact with each other, and extended an invitation to Abdul to join us in Taghazout for the weekend. He took a 2 hour bus ride from where he lives, and met up with us on the beach. The group, now 7 of us, spent the rest of the afternoon on the beach, soaking up rays and swimming.
After a while, we grew hungry and were in dire need of some refreshing smoothies. We found a smoothie stand on the main road in town, and Abdul helped us order. He recommended a drink called "fruits secs," and without knowing what was in it, I ordered one too. It was amazing- a creamy avocado smoothie with almonds, dates and figs blended it. We all enjoyed our smoothies, and then took a little walk. We ended up at an outdoor market of sorts, where vendors sold jewelry on blankets on the floor, Berber music blared out of a tiny boom-box, and where you could buy all sorts of random crap. Abdul helped a few of the girls barter for lower prices, which is the norm in Morocco. After a bit of shopping, we found a dinky little restaurant and got a pot of tea. Moroccan tea is incredible- it's a strong mix of black tea, fresh mint, and 46 lbs of sugar. Tea is served in a silver pot, poured from a substantial height to create a foam, and into a small glass cup (much like a double shot-glass). We snacked on salted almonds and cashews, and sipped our tea. Afterward, we went back to the apartment to get cleaned up for dinner. We didn't actually clean up, but rather changed out of our bathing suits. In fact, none of us showered throughout the entire trip. When in Rome, right?
Dinner: we went to a restaurant on the main road of town, essentially opposite of the smoothie stand. We sat down at a long table, now as a group of 8 as Morad had come to join us. We waited for our meal to arrive and soaked up the atmosphere. The sun had recently set, and it was a calm period of dusk just before nightfall. We sat around a large, plastic table, soaking in our surroundings. The voice of the imam began to blare over the speakers as flocks of men slowly drifted towards the mosque directly in front of us. We sipped our drinks, and alas the food arrived. We feasted on two tagines, one made of goat and the other of fresh fish that was caught that afternoon. A tagine is essentially the first ever crock-pot- throw a bunch of veggies, meat, and 35 different spices in a clay pot with a cone-like clay lid, place over a hot charcoals, and let her cook all day. I had never had goat meat before, but it was delicious. The meat fell right off the bone and didn't have a gamey taste as I had much heard about. This could be because of the fresh olives or lemon that were also cooked in the tagine, giving the dish an exciting, well-rounded flavor. We ate not with forks and knives, but rather our hands, scooping up each bite with freshly baked bread that much resembled pita.We then got an order of couscous. By that point, I had stuffed myself silly, but I still tried it anyways. I was taught how to properly eat couscous- with my hands. I reached in to the clay platter, placing my hand knuckle deep into the moist couscous. Then, I curled my fingers towards the palm of my hand against the wall of the dish to grab a small heap of coucous. After lifting my hand filled with couscous out of the dish, I began to roll the couscous around like those Chinese meditation balls, occasionally squeezing it in my hand to compress the grains. After a little while of this, the couscous formed a ball, much like a matzah ball (or for my non-jews, a dumpling), and popped it right into my mouth. And, that, my friends, is how to properly eat couscous. It was awesome! After dinner; we walked across the street and Abdul bought a giant watermelon off the back of a truck. We walked the watermelon home, sliced it up, and brought it to the roof. As we snacked, Abdul began to show us how to wrap a turban like the Saharans, as he leads tours throughout the Sahara by camel. We each took a turn, and Abdul wrapped his long scarf around each of our heads, one by one, to create the turban. It was insanely fun, and us Caucasian kids looked absolutely absurd. After a little while, we hit the sack as the next day required that we get a good nights sleep.
Day 2- A little trip to Paradise
We woke up at around 8:30 or so... Actually, I have no idea of what time we woke up, but that seems about right. We got dressed, wearing our bathing suits underneath our clothes. After a little coordination, we headed back towards Sonya's, our new favorite breakfast joint that sits literally on the beach. The waiter recognized us from the day before, and essentially remembered our orders. We ate leisurely, worrying about the cloudy sky, and upon finishing, headed back over to Chris's, the apartment owner, apartment where we met up with Morad. We piled into Chris's SUV, and I managed to get shotgun. The rest of the group crammed into the back two rows of seating, and off we went. We drove along a road which hugged the seaside, our eyes darting back and forth as to not miss anything. We saw camels from a distance, people sitting underneath palm trees, and more donkey-drawn carts. After only a few minutes, we pulled into a small tow called Banana City... or Banana Town... or Banana Ville.. Honestly I forget what the name was, but it definitely began with the word "banana." Stores displayed bunches upon bunches of green and yellow bananas hanging from rafters, piled on counters, and in the back of trucks. Morad parked the SUV and went in to a few stores to buy things for lunch while we waited in the car. He came back maybe 10 minutes later with several liter bottles of water, an entire shopping bag of fresh, flat bread, nuts, vegetables, raw chicken, and fruit. We loaded everything in the car, and off we drove.
As we continued driving, the terrain began to change. The land was no longer flat, but hilly, and then mountainous. We passed through small towns where the ghostlike outlines of women flowed across the dirt road with massive sacks of rice or grain perched carefully on their heads. There were less and less cars, and more and more donkeys. Eventually, the towns began to come fewer and fewer as we climbed the narrow, curving roads of mountains.We got to a fairly decent elevation when Morad pulled the SUV over into the lot of a roadside stand. This stand was actually more like a concrete hut that sold "millions of million year old fossils" most of which looked like nautiluses. A few of the girls bought some fossils and geodes, all while I climbed onto the roof to enjoy an incredible panoramic view. After roughly 15 minutes, our pit-stop came to an end, we said our goodbyes to the American loving store owner, and piled back into the SUV. We recommenced our journey, and the terrain began to change again. The mountains, dusty and dotted with dark desert trees, became smoother and rockier. We began to see streams and rivers, and palm trees and green plants.The sky had cleared up as we moved away from the coast, and now the sun was shining brightly. We reached an unpaved parking lot, parked the car, unloaded all of our lunch supplies, caked on a layer of sunscreen, and began our trek. We had reached Paradise Valley, where we would hike, cliff jump, and swim in freshwater lagoons. As we began walking, we quickly realized that the nature reserves name was extremely appropriate. Paradise Valley was indeed a slice of paradise. We walked (in flip-flops) up and down steep hills, crossed muddy river banks, hopped (and fell) across rocks to cross rivers, through dirt and across boulders. After crossing a river (which we managed to do thanks to Morad's help) we ended up at a muddy bank, shaded by tall palm trees. I look around for Abdul, but he is nowhere to be seen. I see something bright yellow out of the corner of my eye, and there is Abdul, climbing up a palm tree like a monkey. After a bit of "monkeying" around, we walked a few minutes more and came to a small stone house.
The house belonged to a friend of Morad, who greeted us with a big smile. We were invited to sit outside in his hut, man-made from bamboo, old woven carpets for walls, and palm leaves for the roof. The seats were rows of benches that lined the walls, with a low table in the middle. We watched him kindle a small fire in the small, stone pit that sat directly between his house and the hut. He put the kettle on, and invited us to relax as he prepared tea. On the table in front of us, he placed a plate of extremely fresh honey (with chunks of honeycomb swimming in the amber goop), a dish of fresh peanut sauce, and another dish of Argon oil. We dipped fresh bread into the sauces, and snacked on homemade fennel biscuits. He served us the sweet, strong minty black tea which I love so much, and we drank. After our mid-morning snack, we left the house to continue on with our hike, leaving the groceries to our new host. While we were gone, he would prepare a tagine for us for dinner.
Our hike was incredible. Flip-flops made the journey a bit difficult, but we managed. The first leg of the journey was to a sizeable, freshwater lagoon, where local boys were cliff-jumping and swimming around. We joined them, each taking turns jumping. I, of course, did not jump as I am moderately to significantly scared of heights. We swam, jumped, and bathed in the sun for a while. It must have been around noon time when a few of the local boys got out, found a quiet spot, and began to pray. At that moment, I realize how much I appreciate religion because it sometimes permits people to not get lost in daily commotion, and to take time in their lives to stop, breathe, and reflect. We spent a fair amount of time at the lagoon, and then continued on with our adventure. The next leg of the journey required us to climb up a cliff, which I did with the greatest of ease (sarcasm). Once up the cliff, we hiked up steep inclines, and down sharp drops of the narrow, dirt, mountain path. This path wandered up and down, left and right, hugging the natural curves of the gorge on our left. As we climbed higher, the gorge became deeper. At one point, the gorge must have been several hundred feet down, and I was sure to avoid it at all costs. Morad skipped along, leading the group, and I trailed in the back, my lungs heavy from months which lacked any real physical exercise. After 20 minutes or more (I really have no idea how long it took), we reached our second destination: lagoon number 2. This lagoon was much larger than the first, and in order to get to the water you had to climb down a small cliff. I think I began to feel the heat of the day, so I decided to perch myself on a wide cliff ledge under the shade of a dying tree. I watched my group climb down to the lagoon, jump off even steeper cliffs than before, and swim around. Naturally, because I am an old man, my back was seriously hurting, so I laid down on the scorching rocks and dozed off for a while.
We hung out at lagoon number 2 for a decent amount of time, and then carried on with the final leg of the hike. We trekked across sharp, hot rocks (my flip-flops breaking every 3 minutes), up and across boulders, through pools of waist high water (I almost had a heart attack out of fear of falling and dropping my super awesome, non-waterproof camera which I consider to be my child) across small valleys and gorge floors. A stray dog, which are everywhere, joined our group as we grew from 8 to 9. The hike was mostly enjoyable, and we noticed that the sun-bleached rocks became redder and more clay-like. We eventually reached a spot in the gorge where the walls and floor was clay, and there were pools of murky water. This was our destination. We were a bit unimpressed, until Morad said that this is where we should leave our stuff so that it doesn't get ruined, because in order to get to the real destination, we might get a bit muddy. One by one, we took off our clothes (obviously with bathing suits underneath!), left our valuables, and slipped into the cloudy pond. The pool was shallow, but the floor was of a slippery silt. It squished beneath my toes, and I'm not sure if it felt disgusting or awesome. Either way, it was quite the sensation. I swan across, using my hands to clear a path free of water spiders and other creepy-crawlers. We reached the other end of the pond, finagled our way up the slimy clay rock and onto dried-out clay banks. We hiked across, climbing and falling down boulders, until we reached the last lagoon, lagoon number 3. I'm not sure if lagoon number 3 was even a lagoon, or more so a grotto. The depths of this perfect round pool are unknown. People have tried to measure how deep it goes, but haven't been able to succeed. Needless to say, it was incredibly deep. Most of the group took turns jumping off a high, rocky ledge. I, however, carefully dipped my toes in, estimated the danger, looked around, and then dove right in. The water was colder than the other lagoons, as this grotto was completely in the shade. I was surprised when I looked down at the dark water and was able to see my entire leg- the water was the purest, cleanest water I've ever been in. I swam across the small lagoon to the wall which wrapped 3/4 around the pool's circumference. It was almost as if this grotto was a natural, really cold jacuzzi, as the center was fairly deep, and there sides all had ledges that you could either sit on, or perch yourself on so that your body was completely out of the water. I sat on the ledge for a little while, but then got a bit too cold, and began to perch. I looked around at the stone wall and noticed a clan of hundreds of the tiniest, mini-frogs that I've ever seen. They were adorable! Alas, we all became too cold, and decided that it was probably the time to leave to make it back to the hut in time for dinner. We exited the grotto/lagoon/pool, and walked across the caked-up clay, reaching the murky, mud pond. We tried a new approach of climbing alongside the steep banks of the pond, but were unsuccessful. One friend slipped, in slow motion, across the slick, dark clay, onto his butt, and into the murk-pond. Naturally, this event was hysterical, leading us to our big revelation of the day: covering ourselves in mud for a spa treatment. My friends covered themselves completely in the stuff, whereas I was more content with drawing a mustache and goatee on my face. I think someone drew a flower on my back too. After a while of our royal mud treatment and politically incorrect jokes, we went back to the clear water grotto to rinse off, and then back through the muddy pond where we promptly got dirty again.
We hiked back the way we'd came, my body sore from both the jet-skiing the day prior, and the physical activity of our day hiking. We trekked up and over rocks, through mud, up and down hills, alongside gorges and over flowing streams. We of course, towards the end of the hike back to the house, ran into Peace Corp volunteers from Seattle and California. We chatted with them for a while, who I think were happy to speak with other Americans for a bit. We approached the house, bid them farewell, and went into the bamboo hut. Our host graciously served us water, Coke, and some fruity, sugary soda beverage called Hawaii (which for some reason I thought was absolutely hilarious), and brought out the masterpiece: the tagine. We ate that thing like it was going out of style, and slopped up every morsel with bread. After devouring day's worth of hard work in merely 15-20 minutes, we were served dessert. It was delicious, fresh fruit. We ate honeydew and cantaloupe, fresh apricots and plums, bananas, apples and oranges. I wasn't even hungry, but the fruit was so delicious that I kept eating everything that was served to me. We lounged for a while, letting our bodies digest. The sun glowed gently by this point, and had just begun to set. We thanked our host, and he lead us outside his compound to show us the turtles that swim in the river in front of his house. After our great turtle observation portion of the day, we bid him farewell, and continued on the final leg of the hike, back to the car. Again, more rivers and streams were crossed, more hills were climbed up and down, more flip-flops broke. We reached the SUV and the sun became lower and lower, yet the sky was not dark. We piled inside the car and headed to Agadir city, zooming across narrow curving mountain roads, in search of buying some wine.
After a good 40 minutes of driving, we reached the modern city of Agadir, and it was a bit of a shock. It was so Westernized and modern compared to our tiny beach-town of Taghazout. We went to a "grocery" store which was in my opinion the equivalent of a Sam's Club or Costco. We were all sort of freaked out, as this was highly unexpected. I had begun to feel a bit sick- my throat was sore and I was losing my voice. I bought a liter of OJ and hoped that would fix me up.After an exciting trip to the store, we drove into Agadir to get smoothies. I got fresh squeezed OJ, hoping that it would miraculously cure me. It didn't, but it was mighty tasty. We left Agadir and drove back to Taghazout, having ourselves a mini dance party in the car. We reached our apartment, where we got changed, and headed out to Morad's apartment to hang out. It was really fun there. He had this massive flatscreen TV and was playing the movie Borat on mute, jamming out to music on an iPod, and also to drums and other instruments that his friends were playing. Abdul taught me how to play the drums (or attempted to, but I was a bit uncoordinated). We lounged on Morad's massive couches, talking, learning to play the instruments, and occasionally dancing. It was a fantastic night, but we were all exhausted from the day. And so, the night ended early and we all walked back to our apartment to pass out.
Day 3-The Adventure comes to an end
I woke up feeling as though the angel of death hit me in the face with a brick. I was officially sick with a nasty cold. We went back to Sonya's for our usual breakfast. I ate even though I didn't have much of an appetite, and immediately felt noxious afterward. This feeling stayed with me for a majority of the morning. We went to Chris's apartment, paid him, and organized our journey back to the airport. Along the way we were to stop at a Suk (much like an Israeli shuk, or a mega mega outdoor/indoor market of everything imaginable). I don't really remember the car ride to the suk as I nodded in and out of sleep. We reached the suk and my stomach started to feel better.We wandered around, Chris showing us where to go. Abdul helped up barter with the vendors, but I didn't buy anything. I kind of regret not buying a teapot, but at the time I just wasn't in the mood to be shopping. We didn't have much time there, and soon had to get back in the car to get to the airport on time. At the airport, we said goodbye to Chris, and a sincere goodbye to our new wonderful friend Abdul, and headed into the airport.
Morocco was absolutely incredible. It was one of the best weekends of my life. I can't wait to go back :)
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