Across to Africa (Morocco)

“Understanding is always a journey, never a destination“ - Richard Fortey

8 miles separate Spain from North Africa; a distance hardly noticeable when looking at a map of the Mediterranean. What that map wouldn't show you is the distance in culture. Morocco is an Islamic country which is 99 % Muslim – what a great place to visit for a white, Catholic - American traveling alone! The people are reserved and very traditional. They are not thrilled to see tourists meandering around the streets of their cities, but they do tolerate it, and let's face it, who would want to see tourists in their city? I first arrived in Tangier, a port city which has always been considered the gateway to Europe from Africa. This was culture shock number two so far on my trip; as soon as I got off the ferry I was approached by hordes of people wanting to take me to different places throughout the city and in exchange for their services as guides, I would be obliged to pay them. I was absolutely mystified with the chaos around me. One second I would be getting asked to go somewhere in basic and broken English, and the next, men were screaming at one another in Arabic (a completely foreign language) over their right to guide me. I simply pushed through these masses until I was at a map, and then pointed to where I needed to go. The first person who I made eye contact with was the winner, and next thing I knew I was driving through the streets of Tangier in the backseat of a Mercedes Taxi and being stared at by locals as the Muslim prayers were blasted through the streets by loud speakers. I could have sworn I saw this level in Call of Duty. Somehow, miraculously, I made it to a hostel. Sitting in the lobby, happy to be alive, I sipped on Morocco's famous mint tea while being treated like a king. I didn't know what had happened in the previous hour; it was a blur, but I was safe and in Africa – a realization I came to only after I had time to think.

After the night in Tangier, I decided to go deeper into Morocco ( because I must have not gotten my proper dose of insanity yet ). It was a 4.5 hour train ride down to Fez; a city known for it's “old world” feel. Here, I met with a host of other travelers. We explored the Medina, or “old part” of the city, in detail. This is where the market is – you may remember it from Aladdin. However, I don't remember Aladdin walking past butcher shops with camel heads hanging from hooks, or being asked for money by beggars with no teeth, or complaining about the stench of death all around, or stepping on dirty and sickly cats, or needing to keep his hands in his pockets for fear of them being picked, or being approached by con man after con man who blew columns of thick smoke up his ass, or............. well, I think you get the point.

Good exists in Fez as well, once you get past all the questionable odors. For instance, the walls in the Medina are, some of them, over 1,000 years old, and still function as barriers for street traffic. The buildings seem to be made of mud and straw, and have architecture similar to the kinds of pueblos you made in your 4^th grade diorama project. The streets are filled with culture, whether it be the unreadable characters of the Arabic alphabet, or the traditional dress of the men and women, you feel as if you are no where in the world but in Fez. I don't give great advice, but if I were to give someone some about Fez it would be to never get frustrated with the people, always haggle with anyone trying to sell you anything, appreciate the different world you are in, and lastly, don't stay for more than two or three days; any day after that and you are, as they say on Everest, in the “Death Zone”, deteriorating not from oxygen deprivation, but from population aggravation.

Tangier and Fez were many things: shocking, frustrating, simple, interesting, even beautiful in some very unique ways, but I will absolutely never forget these two cities. They made me aware of what I thought I knew; the world is a very strange place. Once you think you have figured it out, you walk into a blind man selling VCR remote controls in a puddle of mud – back to square one.