Welcome to my next travel chapter, “Moroccan Moments”. A daily recount of all those insane, comical, heart-warming, challenging
and yes, a bit bizarre, happenings that are bound to color my time in Morocco. So grab your nearest techno device,
order in some tajine and pour an extra-large mint tea, it’s going to be one heck of Mo”Rockin” time!!
and yes, a bit bizarre, happenings that are bound to color my time in Morocco. So grab your nearest techno device,
order in some tajine and pour an extra-large mint tea, it’s going to be one heck of Mo”Rockin” time!!
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MYTH VS. TRUTH - MOROCCO CONCLUSION - November 26th
As any traveler to a foreign country, I carried more then just luggage. I held a few preconceptions of what Morocco and its people would be like. Beliefs largely based on first hand traveler accounts and yes, I hate to admit, a few public media assumptions.
Over the past month of intra-Moroccan travel I have validated some beliefs, disproved others and arrived at my own conclusions – the goal of every trip.
As any traveler to a foreign country, I carried more then just luggage. I held a few preconceptions of what Morocco and its people would be like. Beliefs largely based on first hand traveler accounts and yes, I hate to admit, a few public media assumptions.
Over the past month of intra-Moroccan travel I have validated some beliefs, disproved others and arrived at my own conclusions – the goal of every trip.
“Moroccan shop owners are pushy and in your face.”
Ha! Aggressive bartering was nominal compared to all the pleasant shopping experiences. Even in Marrakech’s revered souqs (market places), only a handful of shopkeepers pursued a purchase beyond their invisible shop boundaries. They offered a price, you countered and if they didn’t agree to your price point, they would say so. No chase, no guilt tactics, you were free to go. “Moroccan men are sexual predators, especially toward western women.” Seriously? I found the men to be very gentle and respectful. Sure there may have been a few sleazy stares or prolonged glances but you could receive the same behavior in your own hometown. Be aware of your surrounds, don’t go out with strange men and do not encourage amorous behavior (by way of revealing clothing). You’ll be fine ladies. |
“Moroccans are the friendliest people on the planet.”
I found this statement to be the most true and accurate representation of Morocco! People are genuine, hospitable and respectfully curious about you and your travels in their country. Open yourself to the people and I promise you will discover the true Morocco.
I found this statement to be the most true and accurate representation of Morocco! People are genuine, hospitable and respectfully curious about you and your travels in their country. Open yourself to the people and I promise you will discover the true Morocco.
“Morocco is a spice haven.”
I’m on the fence with this one. Yes, Morocco abounds in exotic spices, usually displayed in 12-inch tall trianglular mounds found on every street corner, but I question the use of these spices. Or lack thereof. Rarely did a meal have an intense depth of flavor. Tasty, yes, but methodically mild. The cuisine also lacked heat, i.e. chili spice. Hardly approaching one-star on Reggie's spice richter scale, I missed this favored cooking component. Final note, restaurant menus lacked variance. Tajines, stewed meats with vegetables, have so much potential (especially with the cornucopia of accessible spices) but Moroccans are creatures of habit. You will find the same three tajines at every restaurant along with couscous, lightly spiced meat skewers and Moroccans favorite eating utensil, bread. Does one person seriously require 3 loaves of bread per serving? |
“Moroccans drink the most tea in the world.”
It is true, Moroccans love the taste of their sweet mint tea almost as much as the presentation itself- pouring from a small teapot suspended a few feet above tiny, shot glass sized vessels. It is also true you will be offered a cup of tea at least once per day by a stranger, often from a Berber, one of Morocco's nomadic people. But to say Morocco has the highest tea consumption in the world is impossible. Now if we add coffee to the hot drink consumption statistic Morocco may just have it. Made popular during the French occupation, espresso grade cafes can be found on every street corner but unlike Paris, Nice or Bordeaux, 9.9 times out of 10, the clientele will be entirely male. I recognize not every traveler will have identical experiences. The thoughts and experiences shared above could be solely my own. But this is why we travel. To determine our own experience-based beliefs. What will yours be? Begin your trip to with a blank canvas and let Morocco paint a personal masterpiece! |
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TREAD LIGHTLY (RESPONSIBLE TOURISM) – November 20th
As I look back on my time in Morocco, I can’t help but recall some of the most violating acts of tourism. Not direct forms of disrespect or callous behavior, but those often overlooked elements of Moroccan culture and lifestyle that should be considered whilst traveling.
As I look back on my time in Morocco, I can’t help but recall some of the most violating acts of tourism. Not direct forms of disrespect or callous behavior, but those often overlooked elements of Moroccan culture and lifestyle that should be considered whilst traveling.
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The first factor, Clothing. Your choice of attire is viewed by Moroccan’s as a sign of respect, not only for yourself but family and friends as well. Male tourists need not worry as much as females, although I do suggest smart dress over tattered tank tops and board shorts. Ladies should focus on conservative clothing. Wearing skimpy skirts and low cut tops in a Muslim country isn’t only insensitive it’s unnecessary. Sure you may receive more stares and a catcall or two, but at what cost? Your dignity? Congratulations, you’ve just strutted the true “walk of shame”. Of course I’m not insinuating you wear a hijab, veil, or jellaba, a hooded full-body robe, but I am encouraging modesty.
Another aspect to responsible travel is water consumption. Golf courses, water parks and 20,000 bed Club Med resorts are popping up all over Morocco and their appetite for water is insatiable. Modernized cities and their lavish residents are another culprit. Skirting water away from subsistent farmers and suburban dwellers to fill swimming pools and water their green lawns...in the desert? Water is Morocco’s most cherished, yet neglected resource and the choices we make will ultimately affect the rural inhabitants most in need. |
1. Don’t be a fool, pass on a pool. Avoid riads or hotels advertising swimming pools and/or Jacuzzi tubs. You’re in the desert for goodness sake. Backstroke in a sand dune if you must but please do not support these unnecessary embellishments at the cost of rural communities drinking water.
2. Replace golf tees with Moroccan teas. The water and chemical fertilizers used to maintain golf courses are astronomical. If you must tick your international golfing bucket list check out “La Pause”, an eco-friendly all-terrain golf course, situated in the desert just outside of Marrakesh. These sand traps will challenge the best of ‘em. 3. Limit personal water consumption. Instead of a 20-minute shower, allow yourself 10 and when brushing teeth, turn off the tap. Simple as that. |
A final component of responsible tourism revolves around shopping. Any opportunity you have to visit a cooperative over a mass produced outlet shop, please do. Whether shopping for a Berber carpet or world famous Argan Oil, purchasing from a cooperative ensures your dollars go where they belong – in the same hands performing the arduous labor to create such products.
This isn’t meant to be a soapbox rant just a friendly reminder of our tourist responsibilities. Tread lightly my friends. Shokan Bezzaf.
This isn’t meant to be a soapbox rant just a friendly reminder of our tourist responsibilities. Tread lightly my friends. Shokan Bezzaf.
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TICKET OR BRIBE? – November 18th
As the passenger on a motorcycle you’re never really sure how fast you’re traveling or what’s going on directly ahead. You simply hold tight and let the world whizz past in your peripheral vision. But somewhere between daydreams of winning Jauntaroo’s Best Job Around the World and singing Whitney Houston classics to an audience of trees, shrubs and pavement lines, Clay slammed on the brakes. “What, is my singing that bad?”
Craning my neck around his broad shoulders and Evel Knievel helmet an enormous gun meant my curious glance. Radar gun, that is. Busted!
Decked out in a crisp blue uniform complete with shiny silver buttons, polished leather boots and stark white elbow length gloves, the young, slender motorcycle officer looked every bit of legitimate.
Not only were we speeding but Clay had crossed the center line to pass another vehicle. A car hardly fit to be on the road, I might add.
While the young officer and his supervisor flipped through Clay’s documents, I thought it a perfect opportunity to interject humor. “We trade our BMW for yours,” I mused. Their version a much bulkier touring version of Clayton's. Like excited dogs, they wagged their heads in agreement. To sweeten the deal, I even threw in a blonde on the back of their bike (i.e. ME) in exchange for Clayton's control of their radar gun. No luck.
Handing back the paperwork, the young officer delivered our sentence. 300 Dirham for speeding and 700 for crossing the center line. 1,000 Dirham…$120!! Our jaws about hit the pavement. Sensing our unease, the officer kindly offered to drop the 700 fine and only collect 300 because we were "friendly". Handing over a pile of crumpled Dirhams, quite literally all we had left, the officer delivered our fine to his supervisor. We assumed he would return with a formal ticket but the only paper we received was in the form of a 100 dirham note. Searching his almond brown eyes for answers, a confident guilt stared back. Straight up bribe. We save 100 dirham while you and your partner gain 200. The police department never knows the yellow BMW with Kiwi and Yank on board ever existed. Backshish at its finest.
Clay mused it was only a matter of time. I teased, “For what, the speeding ticket or a bribe?”
As the passenger on a motorcycle you’re never really sure how fast you’re traveling or what’s going on directly ahead. You simply hold tight and let the world whizz past in your peripheral vision. But somewhere between daydreams of winning Jauntaroo’s Best Job Around the World and singing Whitney Houston classics to an audience of trees, shrubs and pavement lines, Clay slammed on the brakes. “What, is my singing that bad?”
Craning my neck around his broad shoulders and Evel Knievel helmet an enormous gun meant my curious glance. Radar gun, that is. Busted!
Decked out in a crisp blue uniform complete with shiny silver buttons, polished leather boots and stark white elbow length gloves, the young, slender motorcycle officer looked every bit of legitimate.
Not only were we speeding but Clay had crossed the center line to pass another vehicle. A car hardly fit to be on the road, I might add.
While the young officer and his supervisor flipped through Clay’s documents, I thought it a perfect opportunity to interject humor. “We trade our BMW for yours,” I mused. Their version a much bulkier touring version of Clayton's. Like excited dogs, they wagged their heads in agreement. To sweeten the deal, I even threw in a blonde on the back of their bike (i.e. ME) in exchange for Clayton's control of their radar gun. No luck.
Handing back the paperwork, the young officer delivered our sentence. 300 Dirham for speeding and 700 for crossing the center line. 1,000 Dirham…$120!! Our jaws about hit the pavement. Sensing our unease, the officer kindly offered to drop the 700 fine and only collect 300 because we were "friendly". Handing over a pile of crumpled Dirhams, quite literally all we had left, the officer delivered our fine to his supervisor. We assumed he would return with a formal ticket but the only paper we received was in the form of a 100 dirham note. Searching his almond brown eyes for answers, a confident guilt stared back. Straight up bribe. We save 100 dirham while you and your partner gain 200. The police department never knows the yellow BMW with Kiwi and Yank on board ever existed. Backshish at its finest.
Clay mused it was only a matter of time. I teased, “For what, the speeding ticket or a bribe?”
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"THE CATCH" - November 17th
Morocco is full of kind, thoughtful and genuinely friendly people. So why do we, tourists, often turn a cold shoulder to their cordial advances? “The catch”. When the friendly banter morphs into a sales pitch. “Come to my families shop”, “I am a tour guide”, “Only look, don’t need to buy”. Almost as predictable as their one-liners are our responses. “I have no money” or “I will come back tomorrow”. This game of cat and mouse has lead many of us to raise the proverbial red flag before a local can even say hello. But what about those people who truly just want to chat? No strings attached. Moroccans are social by nature and if you avoid all conversation, you miss the true essence of Morocco. |
Okay, so how do you recognize the ulterior motive chatters from the non? Answer. You don’t. The best advice is to open yourself to the conversation and when or if the “catch” begins, thank them for their kind friendship but say you don’t want to buy anything. Wish them well and be on your way. If they latch on, walking next to you despite the lack of conversation on your end or trying to block your exit out of the shop, you will need to be more forceful with words. Not aggressive just assertive. And ALWAYS end the exchange with a smile and congenial, “Shokran my friend.”
All that being said, there are a few particular “catches” to look out for. First, the medina mobs. Gangs of young kids and teenagers who feed on lost tourists. The winding back alleyways of medinas are no joke and whether lost or not, these wide-eyed, innocent looking kiddies will offer to walk you to your next destination. Some claim to be walking the same direction while others “just want to help”. A few blocks, alleys, tanneries and souqs later, when you arrive at your destination, your little friend will turn to you with big brown eyes, extend his hand and whisper, "Give me money". If you refuse to fork over the unexpected dirhams dear sweet Charlie Brown may just transform into a crazed Chuckie doll. Best way to approach the situation is to state up front, before joining their company, you WILL NOT pay for their help. “Take me if you please but it is free.” Not the most firm of bonds but sometimes a word pact is all you need.
All that being said, there are a few particular “catches” to look out for. First, the medina mobs. Gangs of young kids and teenagers who feed on lost tourists. The winding back alleyways of medinas are no joke and whether lost or not, these wide-eyed, innocent looking kiddies will offer to walk you to your next destination. Some claim to be walking the same direction while others “just want to help”. A few blocks, alleys, tanneries and souqs later, when you arrive at your destination, your little friend will turn to you with big brown eyes, extend his hand and whisper, "Give me money". If you refuse to fork over the unexpected dirhams dear sweet Charlie Brown may just transform into a crazed Chuckie doll. Best way to approach the situation is to state up front, before joining their company, you WILL NOT pay for their help. “Take me if you please but it is free.” Not the most firm of bonds but sometimes a word pact is all you need.
Another possible “catch” arrives in a teacup from the hand of Berber (nomadic Moroccan tribe). Graciously accept the tea because this is a chance to chat with one of the most friendly and interesting cultures in Morocco but if the sales pitch begins, kindly offer to look at their wares but state outright you are not purchasing. Compliment their products (compliments are worth their weight in gold) and upon leaving offer to pay for the tea. They will decline, the practice of offering tea is one of the most sacred Berber traditions, but your gesture to pay will leave you both satisfied.
So yes, you may fall prey to "the catch" on occasion but if you don't open yourself to the people, you will never discover the true joy of Morocco. |
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SIDI IFNI - November 15th
“Hola, como esta.” “Bonjour, ça va”, I sung back to the weary looking hotel owner. A bit perplexed the lady persisted. “Quieres una habitación?” “Oui, duex personne madame…” and as the final word, “merci”, trailed off my lips it hit me like a double French espresso - This lady was speaking Spanish, not French. Embarrassed but relieved, I abandoned my meager Frences (Morocco’s second language after Arabic) and embraced mi lengua favorita- Espanol.
“Hola, como esta.” “Bonjour, ça va”, I sung back to the weary looking hotel owner. A bit perplexed the lady persisted. “Quieres una habitación?” “Oui, duex personne madame…” and as the final word, “merci”, trailed off my lips it hit me like a double French espresso - This lady was speaking Spanish, not French. Embarrassed but relieved, I abandoned my meager Frences (Morocco’s second language after Arabic) and embraced mi lengua favorita- Espanol.
Claimed by the Spanish after the war of 1859, this southwestern Atlantic port was rebuilt to signify the Spanish enclave and renamed Santa Cruz del Mar Pequena. Pumping money, manpower and infrastructure into this once sleepy fishing village, the Spaniards erected a huge port to accommodate large-scale fishing operations along with expanding an already extensive African slave trade to their shores. The town remained a Spanish enclave until 1969 when the UN forced them to relinquish control. Sidi Ifni was reborn.
Remnants of Spanish days gone by are not only heard in the language but seen everywhere you look. The old fishing port, usually shrouded in a spooky Atlantic spray, along with the abandoned airfield, now a dusty fallow expanse, remain eerie reminders of a failed expansion. Faded art-deco Spanish buildings, rounded window frames and wide “calles” (streets) further exemplify this ceded commune - nowhere more so then the charming seaside esplanade. |
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Running alongside the red rocked cliffs, blue stone pillars capped with a white wash railing line the wide, brick esplanade while dozens of Ifni’s best-preserved Spanish buildings flank the other side. Restaurants serving café ole’s & paella with Spanish guitar instrumentals floating from overhead stereos are enough to transport you to the shores of Granada, Valencia, Barcelona… “Allah Akbar”…. Chiming from the town minaret, the Muslim call to prayer carries you back to reality. As do the dozens of men in long hooded garments scurrying down the promenade to mosque. Yes, this is still very much Morocco.
Ifni’s atmosphere is a representation of one of my favorite parts of both cultures… Tranquilo. Nothing happens quickly in Ifni. The most rapid activities exhibited by surfers running to catch a wave. The vibe is a welcome relief after some of Morocco’s more modernized cities but come with a healthy dose of patience. And if you’re like me, turn into the devil incarnate when hungry, be sure to order meals before the belly grumbles. Most restaurants operate on, “Ifni Time”. |
Bands of international surfers further color the unique Ifni scene. Traveling in dusty 4X4’s, wearing knit caps during the height of summer and mingling atop roof top terraces (where the surf is best monitored), they love the laid back vibe almost as much as the near by breaks.
Just far enough south to avoid mainstream tourism, Ifni has no proverbial to do list or must see’s, instead Ifni is all about atmosphere.
Just far enough south to avoid mainstream tourism, Ifni has no proverbial to do list or must see’s, instead Ifni is all about atmosphere.
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TO FISH OR SURF - November 13th
Dropping a line or dropping in on a wave? Reeling in a fish or reeling in the white wash? A simple fishing community or Morocco’s top surf spot?
How about both!
Splintered blue fishing boats and an active portside fish market remind visitors of Taghazouts modest past but it’s the broken surfboard signage, board rental companies intermingled with cheap holiday apartments and hundreds of tourists decked out in neoprene and knock off surf apparel that have made Taghazout Morocco’s quintessential surf town.
Dropping a line or dropping in on a wave? Reeling in a fish or reeling in the white wash? A simple fishing community or Morocco’s top surf spot?
How about both!
Splintered blue fishing boats and an active portside fish market remind visitors of Taghazouts modest past but it’s the broken surfboard signage, board rental companies intermingled with cheap holiday apartments and hundreds of tourists decked out in neoprene and knock off surf apparel that have made Taghazout Morocco’s quintessential surf town.
Built around the main coastal road, just 15 miles north of Agadir, Taghazout town connects a long stretch of sandy beach break, perfect for beginners, with mammoth point breaks for the Kelly Slater’s out there. Not wanting to show anyone up I decided to stay on the beginner beach, appropriately named “Hash Point” by the bands of hippies who first discovered this laid back community. But the only “green” I was going for was on the face of each wave. Those few moments of brilliance worth the hours of salty spin cycles in between. |
Entering the race for glory, local talent. Those spindly, buck ten boys who can cut back, switch foot and hang ten with jaw dropping ease. Some may see these “sick moves” as inspiring but I just view them as annoying. Here I am, biceps burning and paddling like a demon to catch the wave when…Whoosh! Local dude glides directly in front of me effortlessly pirouetting across his board reminding me just how amateur I am.
Kelly Slater once said, “Surfing is like the mafia. Once you’re in – you’re in.” I would like to ask Mr. Slater how the heck you get in. Signed - a frustrated but keen surfer. Tomorrow is another day. |
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“OLIVE YOU” – November 12th
What’s small, oval and comes in green, black and dark purple varieties? Olives!
Since birth, I’ve loathed these briny orbs. Their flavor even too salty for a girl who has been known to travel with a personal salt-shaker. Chopped up on pizzas, sprinkled through salads and soaked in vodka martinis, I tried to like these antioxidant rich fruits (that’s right, fruits not vegetables) but not one ever made me convert. Until Morocco.
What’s small, oval and comes in green, black and dark purple varieties? Olives!
Since birth, I’ve loathed these briny orbs. Their flavor even too salty for a girl who has been known to travel with a personal salt-shaker. Chopped up on pizzas, sprinkled through salads and soaked in vodka martinis, I tried to like these antioxidant rich fruits (that’s right, fruits not vegetables) but not one ever made me convert. Until Morocco.
Maybe it’s because I’ve given up bread in one of the world’s most carb heavy countries, round loaves of bread the preferred utensil of choice, and required a filler while waiting for my next lemon chicken tajine or veggie couscous. Or is this newly discovered flavor profile a product of age? What I once considered “Eww Gross” now a dignified and cultured snack. Whatever the reason, I find myself doing the unthinkable day in and day out. Reaching into the “complimentary” platter of olives served with nearly every meal and taking down a cool Moroccan-dozen.
I'm Regina and I'm an olive-aholic. |
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IN DA HOOD – November 11th
Congregated around Essaouira’s main traffic roundabout, dozens of local entrepreneurs jingle, jangle and dangle sets of shiny keys in an attempt to claim your business. Their product…rental flats.
Sure the riad hotels of Essaouira’s medina (walled city) are central to shopping and dining but if you plan to stay for over a week rental flats are the most economical way to go, especially during low season (October-March). We landed a two bedroom flat with parking for the motorcycle in an area we fondly refer to as, Da Hood.
Congregated around Essaouira’s main traffic roundabout, dozens of local entrepreneurs jingle, jangle and dangle sets of shiny keys in an attempt to claim your business. Their product…rental flats.
Sure the riad hotels of Essaouira’s medina (walled city) are central to shopping and dining but if you plan to stay for over a week rental flats are the most economical way to go, especially during low season (October-March). We landed a two bedroom flat with parking for the motorcycle in an area we fondly refer to as, Da Hood.
In Da Hood, we chow down at local digs for a fraction of the tourist medina price. Like our poultry perfect rotisserie men. Golden crispy outside with juicy interior, these local chefs turn out consistently good birds for the neighborhood masses. If we have a taste for seafood, the portside fish market sells legendary king crabs for our dining delight. Utilizing our one pan kitchenette we boil the crab legs to a fire engine red before simmering garlic and butter to life for an even richer dish. To satisfy the ever present sweet tooth, our local bakery offers sinful selections (the best byproduct of the French occupation) for next to nothing. It's rare we leave without a box of late night snacks. Da Hood is also a haven for corner shops – about a dozen in one square city block. You know, the family-run stalls where products are stacked from floor to ceiling, half of which bare a thick layer of dust with expiration dates reflecting the late 90’s. And to wash it all down, gin. When our sore, tweaked out bodies call for a post kitesurfing G&T we use a small metal teapot for mixing and shot glass sized glasses for sipping. Classy bartending we like to think. Pinkies up!
Da hood is also known for its gang life. Riding battered bicycles around their concrete jungle between games of pavement soccer, these prepubescent rough and tumble kids offer simultaneous head bobs as we zoom past. Their non-verbalized welcome (and more so acceptance) to “their” hood. Our other daily gang encounter – the corner mafia. A group of old men who are more of a permanent fixture then the concrete used to pour the sidewalk. Only Allah himself knows what they talk about from morning to night, but the conversation never loses interest.
The best part of da hood, quiet. We can finally sleep in! Waving adieu to the loud riads of town (rooms built around communal courtyards) not even our alarms are enough to wake us. Thank goodness for sparrows. Flying through our open air flat (less the metal bars on all windows), they chirp “good morning” amongst our fallen morsels of crab and pastry. Life in Da Hood is soooo Good! |
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ROLLING WITH THE PUNCHES - November 9th
As most of you know, I am in the running to win Jauntaroo’s “Best Job Around the World”. After two elimination rounds, I have been chosen as one of 5 finalists to compete in an all-inclusive paid interview somewhere in the world.
As most of you know, I am in the running to win Jauntaroo’s “Best Job Around the World”. After two elimination rounds, I have been chosen as one of 5 finalists to compete in an all-inclusive paid interview somewhere in the world.
I will never forget the moments following the Top 5 announcement. The news hitting me like a hundred rickshaws in New Delhi rush hour! Falling to my knees on my hostel bathroom floor a series of cries, prayers and words of thanks all streamed from my trembling lips. My world, which tends to spin quicker than a saucy Spanish salsa, came to a halt. The only thing I could see was my dream. To become Jauntaroo’s Chief World Explorer.
A few weeks after, we received word of our departure date; the surreal feeling now replaced with a sense of urgency. How on earth would I prepare for what could be the biggest (and longest) interview of my life? |
Reminiscing on all the hilarious travel stories, heart warming volunteer projects, favorite places, not so favorite places, cultural surprises, unforgettable people and life lessons learned along the way, I found my answer. The only way to accurately prepare for a job developed for travel is to do exactly what I’ve been doing for the better part of 10 years…traveling and encouraging trips one post, blog, email and video at a time.
Of course a professional resume and cover letter would complete my interview arsenal but what makes me the perfect Chief World Explorer would not be found on paper. It would be experienced in person. Through my words, actions, humor, passion, dedication and years of “on the job/in the field” training. I was ready!
Three days before we were set to depart, I opened an email: “The final interviews have been postponed due to a last minute schedule conflict that wouldn’t allow everyone to come together.” Staring blankly at the screen, I desperately tried to process. “This can’t be happening”, I thought. Reading the email over and over, I willed the text to miraculously change but the words only dug deeper into the matrix. |
I tried to find understanding in possible reasons for the delay. Maybe there was a death or illness? Possibly political unrest in their prearranged destination? Or heaven forbid, a natural disaster. Considering reasons only clouded my head further. Time to move on and rely on a lesson I’ve learned time and time again on the travelers road – roll with the punches. When bumps in the road occur, sling your backpack over the other shoulder and keep on truckin’. So that’s exactly what we’ll do.
Jauntaroo is evaluating dates to reschedule the final interviews. As soon as I have a date and destination, I’ll be sure to share it. Until then, please keep the enthusiasm alive and those daily votes coming.
Shokran Bezzaf!
Jauntaroo is evaluating dates to reschedule the final interviews. As soon as I have a date and destination, I’ll be sure to share it. Until then, please keep the enthusiasm alive and those daily votes coming.
Shokran Bezzaf!
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Kitesurfing 101 - November 2nd
Essaouira Morocco is a beautiful stretch of beach renowned for all forms of surfing. Lined with kitesurfing, windsurfing and traditional surf camps, Essaouira is a prime location for learning. Exactly what I intend to do.
First kitesurfing lesson down and only one beach bash to report. Lesson two, body dragging, begins tomorrow. Sounds painful but I’m prepared…Helmet and Tylenol. And so begins my next 5 days in Morocco. Surfing, kiting and exploring the medinas of my last Moroccan port of call. Jauntaroo’s “Best Job Around the World” interviews begin November 8th, the day I wave adieu to this incredible country and bonjour to my next great adventure. |
In preparation for the incredible opportunity, I will step away from my daily Morocco Blog. After the 4-day interview process is complete (location still unknown), I will resume my final Moroccan Moment blogs. Until then dudes and dudettes…Surfs Up!!
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“Where’z it at?” – November 1st
“Where’z it at?” Not necessarily a literal question as much as in easy way to remember the pronunciation of my latest destination – Ouarzazate.
Known as the “door of the desert”, Ouarzazate was traditionally a crossing point for African traders moving from the scorching Sahara north. Today the main form of industry won’t be found on the humps of camels but the TV’s in your living room.
Ouarzazate film studios have hosted a huge amount of Hollywood and international film shoots making it one of the most prominent and important filming destinations in the world. Be sure to visit the Cinema Museum and Atlas Studios for your chance to walk amongst the same sets used for movies such as Lawrence of Arabia, The Mummy, Gladiator, Alexander and Cleopatra. And don't forget those cheesy photos opportunities and the chance to put your boyfriend in Gladiator grade shackles.
“Where’z it at?” Not necessarily a literal question as much as in easy way to remember the pronunciation of my latest destination – Ouarzazate.
Known as the “door of the desert”, Ouarzazate was traditionally a crossing point for African traders moving from the scorching Sahara north. Today the main form of industry won’t be found on the humps of camels but the TV’s in your living room.
Ouarzazate film studios have hosted a huge amount of Hollywood and international film shoots making it one of the most prominent and important filming destinations in the world. Be sure to visit the Cinema Museum and Atlas Studios for your chance to walk amongst the same sets used for movies such as Lawrence of Arabia, The Mummy, Gladiator, Alexander and Cleopatra. And don't forget those cheesy photos opportunities and the chance to put your boyfriend in Gladiator grade shackles.
As one would expect, the town oozes a similar charm to its American role model, Hollywood. All the buildings are a beautiful uniform salmon color, the roads are neat and tidy, palm trees rise out of the marbleized concrete and the main street is lined on both sides by quaint tear drop French lampposts. Not at all what I expected from the desert.
When you’re seeing stars from all the movie magic, retreat to the town square for a spot of dinner. Perfectly manicured and probably the busiest area in town, you might not see Russell Crowe or Brendan Fraser strolling the boulevard but you might just see Osama Bin Laden. His Zero Dark Thirty body double lives in Oaurzazate. Forget the buttered popcorn and raisinets and enjoy a piping hot tajine instead - the greatest show of all is about to begin. Nightfall over the desert. |
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HENNA CAFE – October 31st
Marrakech’s walled medina will draw you in with undeniable mystique but it will also frustrate, test your patience and challenge your budget around every labyrinth pink wall.
Take a moment to consider where your tourist dollars are going. Instead of spending a premium on hot spot cafe cappuccinos or ridiculous sums of money on sub-par henna services, put your money towards a better cause.
Marrakech’s walled medina will draw you in with undeniable mystique but it will also frustrate, test your patience and challenge your budget around every labyrinth pink wall.
Take a moment to consider where your tourist dollars are going. Instead of spending a premium on hot spot cafe cappuccinos or ridiculous sums of money on sub-par henna services, put your money towards a better cause.
Doing a bit of online research, I stumbled upon Henna Café. Located in the medina, just a 5-minute walk from the main square, their mission is to offer free language and educational services to the local community alongside unique and traditional Moroccan experiences for tourists. Offering professional and clean Henna tattoos, delicious restaurant fare on an ultra tranquil terrace and free Arabic classes, tourists can feel good about their dollars recipients - 100% of profits go to those in need in Marrakech.
Mohamed greeted me with a warm smile and calm, cool collected demeanor. A balance difficult to portray when your restaurant is pumping! Despite his ultra busy state, Mohamed took a few moments to speak with me about the Café. |
We first discussed the process for which the café was named, the ancient art of henna tattooing. Mohamed spoke with a genuine and honest tone, teaching me the difference between natural, organic henna (what they use in house) and the cheap henna found in the street. “The uncertified street women use harmful dyes that can be toxic for skin and ….”, Mohamed could hardly finish his sentence before I barged in. “Uh, toxic”, I stammered. My right hand, which had been conveniently tucked out of sight, came flying into frame. “So I’ve been poisoned?” He just laughed and said, “Oh, they got you”. Ensured that my naive henna folly would not spell a premature death, Mohamed next offered a brief lesson in Arabic (turns out I’m not as good as I thought ;-) along with an impromptu “high tea” performance. And I’m not referring to British high tea.
Moroccan tea steeping is an intricate and beautiful process involving green tea powder, fresh mint, sugar, a lot of back and forth mixing and the essential, high tea pour. The greater the distance between teapot spout and cup, the more froth it creates. The froth is Moroccan teas crowned jewel.
Before departing, Mohamed said they were looking for a volunteer to teach Spanish in their language courses. So, consider this my call to action. If you, or anyone you know with a proficient level of Spanish, will be traveling through Morocco please contact Henna Café. Or, if you have any other language skills please open a few weeks of your time to this noble cause. Shokran Bezzaf Mohamed and everyone at Henna Café!! |
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DJEEMA EL-FNA NIGHT MARKET - October 29th
Approaching the same square that charmed, painted and cured me earlier in the day, Djeema El-Fna took on an entirely new personality under the dark veil of night.
A plume of steam rose high into the moonlit sky, engulfing the entire plaza and creating a magical smoke screen effect. Beating drums, clanging castanets, exotic smells and throngs of silhouetted movement played with my ever sense!
The intoxicating ambience combined with a schoolgirls curiosity carried me further into the human gyration. Dodging street performers, veiled lady boys, horse and buggies and shady gambling charades, I finally arrived at the source of the excitement…food stalls.
Approaching the same square that charmed, painted and cured me earlier in the day, Djeema El-Fna took on an entirely new personality under the dark veil of night.
A plume of steam rose high into the moonlit sky, engulfing the entire plaza and creating a magical smoke screen effect. Beating drums, clanging castanets, exotic smells and throngs of silhouetted movement played with my ever sense!
The intoxicating ambience combined with a schoolgirls curiosity carried me further into the human gyration. Dodging street performers, veiled lady boys, horse and buggies and shady gambling charades, I finally arrived at the source of the excitement…food stalls.
“Madam, looking is free.”
“All stalls have same, same food. But mine is better” “No money, no honey” Trumping the street performers in terms of entertainment, the food stall touts were charming but relentless. Practically shoving their menu into your rumbling gut, a slew of food jokes and pick up lines rattled forth. They could even tell your nationality before saying a word. “Hi Miss America”… Nice try buddy. |
Couscous, Tajine and Sheep Brains graced every menu but it was the snails (snot in broth), chickpea soup (lacking the chickpeas) and barbequed chicken skewers that won out. The portions are small but enough and the ambience can't be beat. Like a dinner theatre gone mad, everywhere you look another manic event is happening.
Stroll the entire gauntlet before deciding on a meal – a decision I personally base on the most friendly, charismatic tout. The tout who won me, and my belly over, used the line, “My meat can’t be beat. My tajine make you gleam. And my sweetest sweet, she needs to take a seat.” How can you say no to that? Bon Apetit!! |
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DJEEMA EL-FNA - October 28th
...Where snake charmers blow magical tunes into faces of hissing vipers, monkeys prance around in newborn diapers, enchanting old men promise cures for your every ailment and cross-dressing belly dancers allure onlookers with exquisite facades. Welcome to the most bizarre and magical piece of curbside realty your feet will ever touch, Marrakech’s famed town square, Dajeema El-Fna.
A perfect combination of Arabian mystique and modern commercialism, the sounds are intoxicating, the sights are unforgettable and the undisclosed ‘proceed with caution’ list is huge:
...Where snake charmers blow magical tunes into faces of hissing vipers, monkeys prance around in newborn diapers, enchanting old men promise cures for your every ailment and cross-dressing belly dancers allure onlookers with exquisite facades. Welcome to the most bizarre and magical piece of curbside realty your feet will ever touch, Marrakech’s famed town square, Dajeema El-Fna.
A perfect combination of Arabian mystique and modern commercialism, the sounds are intoxicating, the sights are unforgettable and the undisclosed ‘proceed with caution’ list is huge:
1. If a toothless, leather faced old man approaches with a smile and a snake, walk away quickly. Not because of the cobras painful bite mind you, but the charmers. Once a snake takes up residence around your neck, you’ll have to answer to one persistent and avaricious owner. Snap your new Facebook Pic, crouch next to the other frustrated serpents and when the man asks for 150 dirham (20 USD) laugh and hand him 20 dirham with a kind, "Shokran". I would also recommend waiting to hand him the money until after the snake has been removed from your neck...it could be trained to bite the budgeteers.
2. Next look out for the henna Nazis. Unlike the snake charmers who come to you, they lure you into their den - a 2 x 2 piece of pavement, housed under an oversized beach umbrella with small plastic stools gathered around. The "hennzis" greet you kindly from behind their full coverage scarves, well knowing their exotic eyes and cordial salutation will draw you in. They ask for your hand as a symbol of friendship and…Gotcha! Consider yourself inked. Before you can say, "Inshallah", a cheap version of henna spreads over your hand like poisen through your veins. Try to pull back before the deed is complete and you simply look like a bird poo’d haphazardly all of your hand until the henna wears off…Only a few short weeks). |
3. A final warning accompanies Gnawa musicians and castanet playing, cross-dressing belly dancers. Imagine an invisible 50-footer perimeter around each performer. Once you enter their bubble with camera rolling, you will be mobbed for moolah. They treat a camera like a violating criminal. If the criminal can’t post bail, they remain locked in jail (or in this case, outside of it).
Feeling overwhelmed, bewildered and out of place is normal for your first - or hundredth - visit to Dajeem el Fna. My advice, purchase a 4 dirham orange juice (.50 USD cents) from one of 2-dozen stands lining the square in addition to half a dozen street food macaroons (.12 USD cents each) and watch the chaos ensue while your imagination runs wild!
Feeling overwhelmed, bewildered and out of place is normal for your first - or hundredth - visit to Dajeem el Fna. My advice, purchase a 4 dirham orange juice (.50 USD cents) from one of 2-dozen stands lining the square in addition to half a dozen street food macaroons (.12 USD cents each) and watch the chaos ensue while your imagination runs wild!
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A TALE OF TWO CITIES - MARRAKECH October 27th
Marrakech is a tale of two seemingly different cities; the ancient walled Medina, dating back to the caravanserais of the Middle Ages and the colonial Ville Nouvelle (New Town), built by the French in the mid-twentieth century.
A confluence of modern and traditional lifestyles, one half of town supports ritzy locals and tourists sipping cappuccinos between shopping sprees at Gucci and Gaultier while 2 miles down the road local snake charmers play oboes, cross dressing belly dancers gyrate to castanets and old beaded men concoct ancient medicinal potions to cure all your ailments.
Marrakech is a tale of two seemingly different cities; the ancient walled Medina, dating back to the caravanserais of the Middle Ages and the colonial Ville Nouvelle (New Town), built by the French in the mid-twentieth century.
A confluence of modern and traditional lifestyles, one half of town supports ritzy locals and tourists sipping cappuccinos between shopping sprees at Gucci and Gaultier while 2 miles down the road local snake charmers play oboes, cross dressing belly dancers gyrate to castanets and old beaded men concoct ancient medicinal potions to cure all your ailments.
Budget European airlines began offering direct services in the early 90’s, enticing weekend warriors to abandon their Greek Island or Spanish Riviera holidays for cheaper, more magical Marrakech getaways. Marrakech responded by converting riads, traditional Moroccan homes with central courtyards, into swanky hotels, 5-star restaurants and European-style coffee houses. The city practically doubled in size overnight and in 2007, the government invested 2 billion dollars to the town’s infrastructure to ensure it could handle the onslaught! It is this divide between mystical and modern, exotic and accessible that launched Marrakech to tourism stardom.
Which bring us to today. Bus loads of European tourists continue to rumble down the main avenue, Mohammed V, from sun up to sun down and a mix of couples, families, budget backpackers and luxury holiday makers all intermingle in the crowded town squares. But don’t fret. Tourists are only a small part of your Marrakech experience. Dive off the main drag and into the backstreets, souqs (markets) and secret alleyways of the medina and you’ll be blissfully welcomed by locals living life as they did thousands of years ago.
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MARRAKECH EXPRESS - October 26th
Morocco has a train? When I first learned of this transportation option, I immediately envisioned India. Overcrowded, dirty and baring that distinct smell of humanity. I was wrong. Grossly underestimating Morocco’s infrastructure, the “Marrakech Express” came as a welcome relief.
Morocco has a train? When I first learned of this transportation option, I immediately envisioned India. Overcrowded, dirty and baring that distinct smell of humanity. I was wrong. Grossly underestimating Morocco’s infrastructure, the “Marrakech Express” came as a welcome relief.
The main train routes run from Morocco’s economic hub Casablanca, to either Marrakesh (3 hours Southeast) or Fez (4 hours Northwest). The choice of first or second-class is yours and if you plan ahead, a handful of high-speed trains can be arranged for the same price as the multi-stop.
Sleek, modern and comfortable, I settled into my plush, high back chair in preparation for the 7-hour journey south from Fez to Marrakesh. “Tap, Tap”. Rapping on the cabin window as he passed, I couldn’t resist the snack cart. “Excuse monsieur. Un café s'il vous plaît. Totally overcompensating for my “wee” knowledge of French, I was sure my accentuated ‘sieur’ and ‘vous’ would demonstrate a healthy grasp of the language. The young waiter just laughed and replied, “You’re Welcome”. Drat, not as good as I thought. |
Staring out the window, the raw beauty of Morocco whirled past. In some places the land is parched for water, the searing Sahara asserting its stronghold. Other geographical pockets are verdant and green, an undoubted combination of natural rivers, lakes and a more recent addition, irrigation. Rich red soil, a listless blue sky and an intermingling of shrubs, palms and olive trees complete the masterpiece. “Looking at the world through the sunset in your eyes.
Traveling the train through clear Moroccan skies…” Crosby, Stills & Nash kept me company throughout the journey.
ERRR!! “Madam, Changer de Trains”. So pleased with the first 3 hours, I assumed the next leg would be much the same. An hour delay and one perspired T-shirt down, train 2 finally lurched into action. Much older, smellier and hotter then the last, I had to laugh. “This is more like it”, I thought. Settling into the midday hot box, I entered the “sleeper hold”. Warm interior plus subtle movement below equals Reggie ZZZ’s.
See you in Marrakech!! |
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THE HISTORY & MYSTERY OF FEZ - October 25th
"Bonjour. Salam. Merci. Shukran." The mixture of French and Arabic comes as an expected but unexpected surprise. A French protectorate from 1912 to 1956, when Morocco achieved independence, Morocco’s portrait bares recent colors of colonialism with broad strokes and overall artistic-style rooted in Arabic.
The town of Fez, North Africa’s last remaining kingdom, is the perfect representation of this balance. The spiritual and cultural epicenter of Morocco, Fez has retained an extremely selective acceptance to modern and outside influences. Home to over one million people, the citizens of Fez, Fassis, may speak French, drink cappuccino's and eat the occasional croissant but they live in a medieval Arabic sprawl, attend madrasas (Islamic schools), base their day around prayer and wear traditional attire.
No better place to see this medieval charm then in Fez el-Bali Medina (the walled city). Radiating exotic character and undeniable charm, prepare to be transported to a fantastical Arabian nights fairy tale.
"Bonjour. Salam. Merci. Shukran." The mixture of French and Arabic comes as an expected but unexpected surprise. A French protectorate from 1912 to 1956, when Morocco achieved independence, Morocco’s portrait bares recent colors of colonialism with broad strokes and overall artistic-style rooted in Arabic.
The town of Fez, North Africa’s last remaining kingdom, is the perfect representation of this balance. The spiritual and cultural epicenter of Morocco, Fez has retained an extremely selective acceptance to modern and outside influences. Home to over one million people, the citizens of Fez, Fassis, may speak French, drink cappuccino's and eat the occasional croissant but they live in a medieval Arabic sprawl, attend madrasas (Islamic schools), base their day around prayer and wear traditional attire.
No better place to see this medieval charm then in Fez el-Bali Medina (the walled city). Radiating exotic character and undeniable charm, prepare to be transported to a fantastical Arabian nights fairy tale.
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Fez is the oldest, most well preserved ancient city in the Arab world and has been named a UNESCO World Heritage Site. But despite this accolade, Fassis are humble and proud and the dawn of tourism or any other outside influence hardly causes them to bat an eye. They beat to their own drum and that drum is tradition, intellect and faith.
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I’VE DIED AND GONE TO LEATHER – October 24th
I’m sure by now we’ve all heard of ‘souqs’. Referred to in just about every Arabian nights movie, novel or Travel TV series. But no description can prepare you for the real thing. Souqs are markets on steroids.
My first souqs, of undoubtedly many, spread through the Fes el-Bali Medina (walled city) of Morocco’s oldest Islamic settlement, Fez. Three large arches adorned in blue tiles frame the main entrance of this UNESCO World Heritage Site. Bab Bou Jeloud or as I playfully referred to it, Babaganoush, is a popular area for restaurants, fruit vendors and butchers, located just inside the gate. From here, two main cobbled arteries flow slightly downhill and into the beating heart of the Medina. Pumping people, produce and product through the ancient walks from dusk til dawn. |
“So where are these souqs”, I wondered. Following my guidebook to the proposed location, all I saw were rows of small shops. A dreaded, Bob Marley look a like, hollered out, “This is de souq. What de you need”, his Arabic come French accent catching me slightly off guard and reminding me of one of my favorite Pretty Woman quotes, “Welcome to Hollywood, what’s your dream?” The same principle applies.
The souq can be whatever you want it to be. Overwhelming, helpful, friendly, cut throat, pushy, hospitable. Gestures towards you are usually a representation of how you are to them. If you smile, they return the cheer. If you laugh and have fun with their sales pitch, so will they. If you cross your arms, look down and run away from everyone who talks to you (whether they want a purchase or not) then you have not even given the souq a chance.
Meandering deeper into the souq (and the Medina), shops become closer, streets more narrow, passages ever-more winding and people multiply like bees to the honeycomb. Disorientation is not only common, it’s expected. Allow yourself to get swept away in the rhythmic flow. Replace the reference point or street name you were once seeking, with a product of interest. Let’s see there’s, Pottery Promenade, Personal Care Street, Dried Fruit Via and Leather Avenue - A reoccurring trend in most large-scale outdoor markets around the world. Where there’s one there are many. |
The tanning process remains behind relatively closed doors but even a Fort Knox vault couldn’t contain that stench. Imagine raw sewage mixed with animal remains and a hint of sour milk. Pee- Yew. Hundreds of sheep carcasses pile high with a rank grayish liquid seeping from their newly washed remains. Careful where you step. The sludge at your feet very well could be toxic. The most alarming part of the tannery wasn’t the sheepskins, it was the workers. I can’t imagine working in that environment, that stench, day in and day out. I take my hat off to them, but not my hankerchief (that is still fastened around my permanently scarred nose). Touts are chomping at the bit to show the next tourist the tanneries (for a small price of course) but make sure yours offers a sprig of mint to reduce the smell.
Just remember, souqs are your friends. Open yourself to them and they will open to you.
Just remember, souqs are your friends. Open yourself to them and they will open to you.
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MO"ROCKIN" START - October 23rd
After 3 plane rides, 1 overnight airport campout in Istanbul, a wee layover in Cairo, transit through the city of not so much love, Casablanca Morocco, 2 train connections to Fes and a final 100 meter dash to my hostel doorstep, I arrived to salvation...Internet. What was staring back? CWE TOP 5!!!! Maybe it was the mystical Moroccan music dancing through the stairwell or the blue and white tiles smiling at me from every surface or that intoxicating candle light illuminating the riad floor, but that moment of discovery was magical!
After 3 plane rides, 1 overnight airport campout in Istanbul, a wee layover in Cairo, transit through the city of not so much love, Casablanca Morocco, 2 train connections to Fes and a final 100 meter dash to my hostel doorstep, I arrived to salvation...Internet. What was staring back? CWE TOP 5!!!! Maybe it was the mystical Moroccan music dancing through the stairwell or the blue and white tiles smiling at me from every surface or that intoxicating candle light illuminating the riad floor, but that moment of discovery was magical!
Sleep was hard to come by, excitement racing through my veins quicker then the high-speed train I just arrived on, but when my eyes finally closed dreams of CWE glory raced in. What better way to salute the night then begin the morning with a mojito! Huh?
What is this strange mint-filled drink gracing everyone’s early morning palm? No bartender, on ice, no muddling tool…hmmm. “It’s Moroccan Tea”, the young hostel employee chimed. Made with gunpowder green tea, fresh mint and probably way too much sugar to be deemed healthy, the smooth and sweet tea is synonymous with Moroccan hospitality. Bottoms up to my first of many unforgettable Moroccan Moments! |
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MEN...SHEESH - October 22nd
And it begins! Warned about Moroccan men and their often, full on courting techniques, I received this littlie piece of paper and an ill-fated attempt on my lips. Smack! Whoa there Tanto, you may have shown me which train to take, but that doesn’t sign me over! Thanks for your name, email, Skype, Facebook phone number and marital status…I will not be contacting you. Sheesh! |