Things I've noticed about Morocco:
#3 Much like bees, Moroccans have an insatiable sweet tooth. This is more than fine by me.
In the second of my catch up blogs, I introduce our weekend at the wonderful coastal town of Asilah.
I want to start this by mentioning two things I learnt over the weekend.
1) Never follow John on farm walks. He will take you on shortcuts. This is not necessarily a good thing.
2) Shortcuts in farmland often lead into bogs.
On Friday afternoon John, Lexy and myself hopped on a train to Asilah. Situated on the coast about 3.5 hours North, the town is home to a small but beautiful medina, long stretches of isolated and windy beaches and the best mint tea I have ever tasted. Sold by the glass (5-6 dirhams-not only tasty but cheap!) this beverage is as good as gold on a cold night or with breakfast. Actually, it's just good any time.
After discovering that we were the only guests at our hotel (not such a bad thing as we made a bit of a mess-I'll explain further on) we set out on a meandering walk through the city, passing the tacky cafe with pink paint and mirrors covering every surface, through a main square and onto the main street (or what we assumed to be) where we quickly ascertained it was low season as we were hounded for business. "You want a good room my friend?" was played over and over in our ears as we repeatedly turned down offers of "good accomodation on the beach front with heated water and accessible kitchens". One gentlemen started talking at the train station and somehow ran into us 3 more times before he returned home himself. For the record, it looked dodgy and we stayed in our original accomodation, the Hotel Sahara.
The evening meal is worth a mention as it saw the return of the BBQ grill and John proving his manliness by lighting and cooking sausages. After a cold hour and a half (whilst tourists took photos of us from the medina wall), the fire was finally lit and the sausages were put on. It actually wasn't bad, and half way through we were joined by a group of Moroccan teenages who came to the sea wall to drink wine and smoke. Classy. Afterwards in frustration we quite literally ditched the grill off the side of the wall and went and had tea. Never again.
On the Saturday morning after a late start and breakfast of Moroccan Pancakes filled with Nutella and a Mint Tea we bought lunch and snacks and started out on what would become quite the adventure. We were looking for a place called "Paradise beach", that Lonely Planet said would be 3 kilometers out of town and the local newsstand worker said was 5. Apparently this beach was where the locals go; cleaner, nicer long stretches of golden sand and clear ocean water. Somewhere, we took a wrong turn. After about 2 kilometers and no signs of anything on the map that was drawn for us by said newsstand worker, we asked a random for direcions.
Yousef, our chosen random (also apparently an interior designer), then proceeded to invite us into his car (a new silver volvo) and take us to an isolated patch of farmland. I don't think I've ever been as nervous as when John said "Clem are we being stupid?" as we got into the car.
I want to point out that I would NEVER normally advocate this choice of action (and Mum, I promise we will try hard to make sure it wont happen again).
HOWEVER.
Yousef turned out to be a really nice guy. He even took his car off road along the dirt track into farmland to try to get us closer to the beach. When it became too much for the volvo, we got out, and he pointed us along a rough track and said "keep walking in that direction, you'll come to a small cafe and that's Paradise Beach".
We kept walking. We never found the cafe, but what we did find was miles of isolated, effectively deserted and beautiful beach. We saw maybe 4 people in our time at this beach. It wasn't "Paradise Beach", but it was a paradise. Eating our lunch of bread and cheese and oranges in the sun on the beach was perfect, and the yells and screams that we let out as we ran to the water seemed to mark one of those moments of genuine, spontaneous happiness.
After lunch we got our creativity on and wrote massive intials in the sand and then climbed the hill to take photos.
After further chilling at this beach, we started back towards home. On this walk, we were lucky enough to see some amazing views of the coastline and Atlantic Ocean in a completely untouched, rough and wild way. At one point as we were walking along a dirt track towards the main road, the track became submerged in water. John was in the lead, and decided that cutting across the grass would not only save us AT LEAST 15 seconds off our journey, it would avoid the water. Wrong. Three steps into said shortcut, our feet sank into what is best described as bog. Muddy water seeped through our shoes and socks, and as gravity took over and pulled me towards the ground, my hands sunk into what was supposed to be grass. Shrieks of laughter ensued as we ran back onto the dry ground and assessed the damage.
Shoes came off, and jeans were rolled as we walked the rest of the way in socks (apart from Lexy who had sandal type shoes-clever move). At the road we again tried to hail a random (in a white van type vehicle if you please) but settled on a cab back to the hotel where we remembered that none of us had bought changes of shoes or socks, and that canvas shoes actually take a fair while to dry when soaked. We ate dinner feeling like "such tourists" with our feet in plastic bags in our shoes, John wearing his pajamas as a change of clothes and laughing at our mistake.
Sunday was spent gandering at the medina, where the walls are painted in all shades of blue, aqua and green highlights on shining white walls and clean paved paths. Lexy set out to draw some doors, whilst John and I chilled on a walkway in the sun, watching the ocean and other tourists taking photos.
We decided to have lunch on the sea wall where we were 'adopted' by a kid. He walked over, and at first glance seemed to be doing some sort of rain/interpretive dance, but then wouldn't leave. After giving him bread and cheese in an apparent exchange for a handful of sunflower seeds (??), we rested, and he stayed put. We ended the afternoon as we headed along the beach to the train station.
It was largely uneventful trip sharing a compartment with two Italians and a Moroccan until Lexy and I were offered an orange by the Moroccan man. A single, quite large orange, which an hour before we had said we were craving (and he didn't understand English).
We were stunned.
Needless to say much laughter ensued, continuing as we left the train and walked back to the medina in Rabat.
I was reminded in Asilah of the constant relationship between wealth and poverty. The two pictures below explain more than words ever could about this divide and the way in which it is both hidden and blatantly obvious. One one side of the street there was a slum; the other, a brand new multi storey development.
I can find no stronger support than these photos when I say that the contrast between rich and poor is staggering and clearly defined whilst being confronting and challenging. Knowing that a development that oozes wealth from every white brick can go up within plain view of a large slum made of tin sheets and tarps is painful.
With this in mind, I go out into another week of volunteering at the hospital. I will try to do a mid week blog, and then another after the weekend of which we plan on spending at least one day in the imperial city of Fez.
Love love!
Clem xx
#3 Much like bees, Moroccans have an insatiable sweet tooth. This is more than fine by me.
In the second of my catch up blogs, I introduce our weekend at the wonderful coastal town of Asilah.
I want to start this by mentioning two things I learnt over the weekend.
1) Never follow John on farm walks. He will take you on shortcuts. This is not necessarily a good thing.
2) Shortcuts in farmland often lead into bogs.
 |
| The Asilah Medina view from the water |
After discovering that we were the only guests at our hotel (not such a bad thing as we made a bit of a mess-I'll explain further on) we set out on a meandering walk through the city, passing the tacky cafe with pink paint and mirrors covering every surface, through a main square and onto the main street (or what we assumed to be) where we quickly ascertained it was low season as we were hounded for business. "You want a good room my friend?" was played over and over in our ears as we repeatedly turned down offers of "good accomodation on the beach front with heated water and accessible kitchens". One gentlemen started talking at the train station and somehow ran into us 3 more times before he returned home himself. For the record, it looked dodgy and we stayed in our original accomodation, the Hotel Sahara.
 |
| At the top of the hill to "paradise" |
On the Saturday morning after a late start and breakfast of Moroccan Pancakes filled with Nutella and a Mint Tea we bought lunch and snacks and started out on what would become quite the adventure. We were looking for a place called "Paradise beach", that Lonely Planet said would be 3 kilometers out of town and the local newsstand worker said was 5. Apparently this beach was where the locals go; cleaner, nicer long stretches of golden sand and clear ocean water. Somewhere, we took a wrong turn. After about 2 kilometers and no signs of anything on the map that was drawn for us by said newsstand worker, we asked a random for direcions.
 |
| One of these was Paradise Beach. It didn't mater which one. |
I want to point out that I would NEVER normally advocate this choice of action (and Mum, I promise we will try hard to make sure it wont happen again).
HOWEVER.
Yousef turned out to be a really nice guy. He even took his car off road along the dirt track into farmland to try to get us closer to the beach. When it became too much for the volvo, we got out, and he pointed us along a rough track and said "keep walking in that direction, you'll come to a small cafe and that's Paradise Beach".
We kept walking. We never found the cafe, but what we did find was miles of isolated, effectively deserted and beautiful beach. We saw maybe 4 people in our time at this beach. It wasn't "Paradise Beach", but it was a paradise. Eating our lunch of bread and cheese and oranges in the sun on the beach was perfect, and the yells and screams that we let out as we ran to the water seemed to mark one of those moments of genuine, spontaneous happiness.
After lunch we got our creativity on and wrote massive intials in the sand and then climbed the hill to take photos.
 |
| I feel this photo sums up the size of the beach quite nicely |
Shoes came off, and jeans were rolled as we walked the rest of the way in socks (apart from Lexy who had sandal type shoes-clever move). At the road we again tried to hail a random (in a white van type vehicle if you please) but settled on a cab back to the hotel where we remembered that none of us had bought changes of shoes or socks, and that canvas shoes actually take a fair while to dry when soaked. We ate dinner feeling like "such tourists" with our feet in plastic bags in our shoes, John wearing his pajamas as a change of clothes and laughing at our mistake.
 |
| I'm so witty. |
We decided to have lunch on the sea wall where we were 'adopted' by a kid. He walked over, and at first glance seemed to be doing some sort of rain/interpretive dance, but then wouldn't leave. After giving him bread and cheese in an apparent exchange for a handful of sunflower seeds (??), we rested, and he stayed put. We ended the afternoon as we headed along the beach to the train station.
It was largely uneventful trip sharing a compartment with two Italians and a Moroccan until Lexy and I were offered an orange by the Moroccan man. A single, quite large orange, which an hour before we had said we were craving (and he didn't understand English).
We were stunned.
Needless to say much laughter ensued, continuing as we left the train and walked back to the medina in Rabat.
I was reminded in Asilah of the constant relationship between wealth and poverty. The two pictures below explain more than words ever could about this divide and the way in which it is both hidden and blatantly obvious. One one side of the street there was a slum; the other, a brand new multi storey development.
 |
| Slum life |
 |
| Development that oozes wealth. |
With this in mind, I go out into another week of volunteering at the hospital. I will try to do a mid week blog, and then another after the weekend of which we plan on spending at least one day in the imperial city of Fez.
Love love!
Clem xx
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