Travelogue #1 – Morocco

Salaam Wa Aleikum,

 

Ca va?  Nous esperons que oui!

 

We’re writing to you from a “cyber” in Fez where, as we speak, our newest friend is making us a cd of Morrocan rap music.  It sounds pretty good and is making a great background to this, our first, dispatch from L’Afrique du Nord.

 

The cyber-guy is typical of the Morrocans we’ve met, in that he is going out of his way to be helpful.  Just five minutes ago, we had a slew of men helping us make a call at the teleboutique.  One guy leapt over the counter with extra change and dialed the number for us while another fed coins into the phone as we struggled to avoid getting cut off for the FOURTH time. 

 

Yesterday was even better.  It being Shabbat and the last night of Chanukkah, we were inspired to seek out the remaining vestiges of Morrocan Jewry.  The Jewish Center was unmarked and had two guards out front, but everyone knew where it was.  Fortuitously, when we wandered in, we met Moise, one of the synagogue’s founding fathers.  He immediately took us under his wing, called his granddaughter in Boston to share his excitement over meeting us, and had his driver show us to the secret synagogue.  When we returned that evening, he insisted on taking us home for dinner after the service.  The Sephardic synagogue was beautiful, decorated completely in carved wood and chandeliers (although Phil couldn’t really see this as she got stuck behind the curtain in the empty women’s section.)  The experience was poignant as the congregation consisted of only 10 old men keeping the traditions alive.  Moise explained that everyone’s children had left Morocco and weren’t interested in coming back since opportunities are limited for them here.

 

After services Moise and his driver (one of 5 he employs) took us back to his palatial home for a delicious Sephardic dinner.  As his servants brought out plate after plate, Moise confessed that he didn’t usually attend Friday night services, but showed up just to bring us home for dinner!  We were touched by his and his wife’s hospitality and were amused by their excitement over the grand finale of “Star Academy”  (the French version of the American Idol TV talent show.)  We obligingly sat through at least a dozen sappy but spectacular musical numbers— one of which included bikini-clad women wearing full-lengths overcoats and flashing the audience periodically from cages hung from the ceiling.  Moise’s wife, Georgette, found this display of French excess rather distasteful, but their opinion was divided over which contestant should win.  Afterwards, we shared family photos and played with our digital cameras.  Moise and Georgette were such wonderful hosts, and we were so pleased to be in their home instead of our unheated, wicked cold, budget hotel.  Phil even ate the meat– fish AND brisket!  They also served us mushrooms, because it is well-known in Morocco that Ashkenazi Jews like mushrooms on Shabbat.  We told them that our family eats Spaghetti with wheatballs on Fridays.  It was kind of hard to explain wheatballs en francais.

 

Today we went to cooking school.  It was great fun to spend the day in the kitchen of a fancy hotel, laughing and joking with the cooks, who, of course, loved Phil because she speaks 6 more words of Arabic than every other tourist here.  We made all kinds of traditional Morrocan food including pigeon pie, tagine (of course), and eggplant salad.  It was incredible to get to cook with hand-made fillo dough!!  But we were stunned when our teacher offered us some Chai– not because it was Chai, but because it was TRADER JOE’S!!  He couldn’t figure out why we were so shocked, and we’re still perplexed about where it came from.

 

Yesterday, we went to the Hammam– the traditional Moroccan steam bath.  Our guide from the day before, Dris (our new grandfather) recommended it especially, but Moise and Georgette poo poo’d it.  We couldn’t really figure out why since we loved it, although we did have to pay an outrageous tourist rate (5 bucks each).  Phil had the best experience:  there were tons of women and children hanging out in the steam-filled room, scrubbing each other with black soap, and dumping hot water over themselves.  A nice Berber woman scrubbed Phil down.  I’ve never been bathed before or seen so much dirty, black skin peel off me!  After the scrubbing, which was a little painful, and a lot of questions in Arabic regarding my marital and child-bearing status, I got a nice, but also painful, massage.  Then my masseuse/bather and a bunch of other women washed my hair and delighted in dumping bucket after bucket of water on my head while giggingly asking me again about my husband.  It was great!!  I can’t wait to do it again. 

 

The Hammam was much better than the movie theater.  You all know how much we love to go to the movies.  We like it even better in foreign countries, where it provides a unique insight into the local culture.  The theater was a grand old cinema but in disrepair.  We paid a toothless old woman 20 cents to show us to some seats, but we couldn’t figure out why seating was restricted to the last 5 rows.  During the movie (X-Men), men came in and out, argued loudly with their friends, and seemed to be smoking an awful lot of hashish.  Not only that, but there were some interesting lapses in the story– entire reels appeared to be missing.  In fact, the whole film lasted 45 minutes.  Then, we were treated to what looked like a Moroccan comedy about a hen-pecked husband.  We didn’t last too long, as the movie theater was even colder than our hotel, and we were a little worried about the unseemly activities going on around us.

 

Besides wacky adventures, we’ve been enjoying doing what we always do:  wandering.  The Medinas in Fez and Meknes are labarynthine medieval cities teeming with activity and countless surprises to discover.  From severed camel heads to hand-stuffed mattresses to the softest leather jackets you’ve ever felt, to hand-woven scarves, pure musk, huge silver-plated bridal chairs and gold wedding belts, to welders making beds and artists making intricately carved wooded panels there’s lots to buy and see here.  Phil bought a birthday present for her dad, and,

continuing his tradition of wearing the best of local fashion, Josh bought his very own Jelaba– a pointy-hooded, floor-length robe that men wear over their suits.  Everyone loves Josh in his Jelaba.  Just last night, a bunch of cops took one look at Josh, peered under his hood to double-check, and excitedly exclaimed, “C’est un Jelaba Moroccain!” 

 

Tomorrow’s our last day in Morocco and then we’re off to Mali.  Stay tuned for more adventures from West Africa and keep us posted on your own.

 

xoxoxo -Phil (Sarah) and Josh