Morocco: Getting over Myself

(I am catching up on old blog posts I never got around to posting. This one dates from early April, after our week-long vacation in Morocco.)

I like to think I know my own shortcomings.  I will never win any awards for tact, I don't volunteer to do the dishes often enough, and I can be unintentionally short with people in a work environment. 

My biggest flaw when it comes to traveling: an endless capacity for timidity. I am afraid to go into places where I might not be welcome, to look lost or uncertain or to otherwise stand out, even to buy things (as that necessitates interacting with strangers).  Thus one of my goals for 2011 is to learn to talk to people when traveling. Easier said than done.

So when we set off to Morocco, I set myself five challenges, all related to getting over myself enough so I could enjoy my vacation.  It did not go as smoothly as planned, but as they say - two steps forward, one step back...  it's not quick, but at least you're moving in the right direction.

The Casablanca train station, our first morning in Morocco

Challenge #1: Don't let the weather defeat me

I had survived the depressing rain, snow and cold that is a Den Haag winter.  I had braved off-season travel for four months. My brilliant master plan was to go to sunny, warm Morocco for a week in late March, and when I came back to the Netherlands - surprise! It's spring!

But then I saw the weather forecasts: highs in the 40s, overcast skies, heavy showers, and - I kid you not - hail.  This seemed immensely unfair.

I was reminded of a trip to Sicily in April 2010, another vacation I had over-anticipated being perfectly sunny and warm.  Stepping out of our hotel one morning, I was confronted with sheets of rain instead.  Boy, I was pissed.  But a French woman we had met over breakfast was languidly finishing her cigarette as though nothing were amiss.  Before walking nonchalantly into the monsoon, she informed me simply that it was her vacation, and the weather didn't matter.  I wish I could be that cool.

Sample storm in Meknes

This trip I was going to do better.  So when we set off for the ruins of Volubilis, an entirely outdoor activity, I tried not to be anxious about the pelting rain of passing thunderstorms, or the ominous clouds on the horizon.  Instead, I focused on appreciating how shockingly green the countryside around Fez was, how the stony mountains were shrouded in mists as though we were in Ireland, how bright the olive trees and pastel colors of spring stood out against the angry black sky.  Very few tourists get to see Morocco like this.

And then the heavens parted - literally - and the rain stopped precisely for the two hours we spent climbing around the Roman ruins at Volubilis.  And perhaps because of the rain, we practically had the site to ourselves.  There were some lakes of mud, but the air was clear, the wildflowers fresh, the bird song ridiculously idyllic.  Success!

But not so fast: the bad weather plagued us for the rest of the trip, and I had to struggle not to pout (excessively) during multiple dinners marred by chilly weather and spitting rain.  And then there was The Meltdown.  We were in the middle of Marrakesh's giant main square, hundreds of yards from any shelter, when the sky opened and the rain came down so hard it ricocheted off the pavement.  Our umbrella was whipped inside out; my jeans were immediately plastered to my freezing thighs. There was bickering, there was finger-pointing, and yes, there was some pouting.  It was not my finest moment.

Challenge #2: Don't be embarrassed

It's amazing how many different ways I can feel embarrassed while traveling:  Should I not have said that?  Should I not have looked there?  Is she annoyed I can't speak [insert language]?  Was that a stupid thing to do?  Do I look like (god forbid) a tourist?

You know, being a tourist is not all bad.  Typically, you're helping the local economy, and you're constantly performing small acts of cultural diplomacy.  Everyone makes some missteps once in a while; there's really nothing to be embarrassed about.  (Well, most of the time.)

I've already written about our unfortunate encounter when we first set out to explore Fez, and I have to admit, it took me a good few hours to shake that feeling of having done something wrong.  As an irrational byproduct, I was too timid to stop at any market stands or cafes for lunch.  

Finally Jeff put his foot down, and we picked a tiny grill stand with the best looking meat.  I was blown away by how friendly and helpful the men manning the grill were.  When we slipped into the narrow table at the back, below the small tv screening a football match, I felt like we had been welcomed into someone's home.

This was a good warm up for the best attraction Marrakesh has to offer: dinner amongst the food stalls of Djemma al Fna.  As the most popular stalls are ipso facto the ones you want to eat at, there's no room for timidity, or embarrassment.  (I wrote about our three-course Djemma al Fna dinner here - it's in the Almoravid dynasty section.)  Sure, I was still self-conscious and uncertain, but the food was so good, the other patrons so friendly, the scene so interesting, I managed at least temporarily to get over myself.

Challenge #3: Buy stuff

I can see how this might sound like a weird or unenlightened goal.  But it's a real hang up for me when traveling.  I'm often a slow and uncertain shopper; put me into a culturally foreign situation, where I don't speak the language and am uncertain about the exchange rate, and I just shut down.  Morocco takes this vicious cycle to a whole new level.

First, in Morocco, shopping is a full contact sport.  Every price is negotiable, but the negotiating is not the pleasant sort.  Add in a significant information disparity between locals and outsiders and the fact that nearly every tourist in Morocco is there to buy stuff, and I could not help but feel like I was constantly being taken advantage of.  Then flip it around: I also could not help but notice the many ways this tourist-focused souk economy has distorted social relationships within the community.  I will save you my overwrought emotional examples.

This set my challenge bar high.  I had to get over (1) hating the expectation that my role as a tourist was to buy stuff, (2) feeling like I could not trust anybody, (3) guilt at bargaining hard, (4) embarrassment at not bargaining harder, and (5) just getting up the gumption to engage in the prolonged conversations with strangers that negotiating over prices in the souk inherently entails.

My solution: stick with small stuff, and chalk up any over-charging as a personal stimulus package.  Some of our purchases were not winners, but others I use every day.  Shopping while on vacation is still a skill I have not fully developed, but at least it's getting easier.  As for Jeff's rug purchase, I wisely sat that one out.

Challenge #4: Communicate in French

In Morocco, a former French colony, French is still taught in schools and is widely used in government and business. I like to tell myself I speak French - but I rarely have the balls to actually break it out. Given that Jeff and I don't speak a lick of Arabic, Morocco would thus force me to interact with strangers in French. Score!

Turns out, thanks perhaps to the tourist industry, most Moroccans' English is as good as my French. Plus I hadn't accounted for the fact that other people would be as interested in practicing their English with me as I was in practicing French with them. 

Still, I did get to use my French to buy train tickets and talk with cab drivers. And I was surprised to find myself slipping back into French when shopkeepers tried to speak to me English (perhaps it's easier to play dumb in a language you don't really know?). 

Touring Meknes with Mohamed and his van.

My biggest French encounter (I do not go so far as to call it a success) was our day-long trip with Mohamed, our driver who spoke French but not English. As we drove for hours - to Volubilis and around the imperial city of Meknes - I was able to carry on a very broken and often repetitious conversation with the ever-patient Mohamed. Jeff helpfully suggested I should feel more comfortable making mistakes in French; I didn't have the heart to tell him I was making a lot of mistakes, but over time Mohamed learned to interpret my recurrent mistakes as my own pidgin French. 

We learned about the four imperial cities of Morocco (Fez, Meknes, Marrakesh, and Rabat) and their associated colors (blue, green, red and white, respectively). We kind of learned about the local agriculture, except I wasn't sure what fèves were (fava beans). I understood what Mohamed said about the hot springs on either side of Fez, the King's olive farm, the great cement works, the multiple ramparts of Meknes, and the many stories about the infamous sultan, Moulay Ismail, and his thousands of horses, slave warriors, and women.  Actually, when I put it that way, I think I did fairly well.  Check!

Challenge #5: Talk to People

Ah yes, the biggie.  It seems like all my friends when traveling are able to bond instantly with people they meet at restaurants, in parks, while shopping, on the frickin' street.  I have to acknowledge this will never be me - my introverted self is just not made of the right material.  But I was determined to have one meaningful encounter with a stranger while in Morocco.

The obvious set-up was our multi-hour train rides between Morocco's major cities.  I even got Jeff to make mini-bagels before we left so we would have something to offer as a way to strike up conversation on our first train ride.  Alas, we had the train carriage entirely to ourselves all the way to Fez.  On the next trip (this time eight hours long), we did have fellow passengers, but they only spoke Arabic (they were elderly and seemed very kind, however).  In the end, my fantasy of bonding on the train proved to be entirely disconnected from reality.

All alone on the way to Fez

Other avenues were no more availing.  At our hotels we dealt primarily with expats; in the souks we felt accosted insincerely by people wanting to sell stuff.  Our bus to Essaouira was full of European tourists, our day-trip to the ksour south of Marrakesh was with a Japanese couple, and our cooking class at an upscale riad was unsurprisingly intended solely for foreigners.

Our penultimate night in Morocco, I had already despaired and accepted my failure on this front.  But then Jeff prodded me (hard) to get over yet another bout of timidity/embarrassment, with two great results: (1) we had a fantastic last dinner in Marrakesh and (2) we met a new best friend.

Our last night in Marrakesh

Every night on our way back to our riad, we would pass an obviously popular grill stand that smelled amazing.  Jeff finally insisted we try it, even though it screamed to me "please no foreigners, let us eat in peace."  I ordered us two sausage sandwiches with all the toppings, and when I didn't have enough cash on hand, they told me to drop off the last bit in the morning.  We stood eating with the other patrons along the sides of the alley.  Perhaps being shrouded by shadows caused our neighbor to address us first in Arabic.  When Jeff apologized for not understanding, our neighbor was delighted for an opportunity to practice his English.

A young professional who works in the new part of town, he told us he came all the way to the old medina at least once a week just to eat at this grill stand.  We talked about the U.S. and travel, his language studies, how we found Morocco.  Wanting to continue the conversation, he invited us for mint tea in the square before he headed back to work.  After another 20 minutes, we exchanged email addresses and parted ways.

It's very hard, in situations where you feel constantly accosted for one thing or another, to remain open to genuine overtures from strangers.  That was the purpose of this challenge, and we were rewarded for our efforts.  Yes, we stopped by the grill stand the next morning with our correct change, and yes, Jeff still corresponds with our new best friend.