Category: Meandering in Morocco

Yesterday, our Riad owner delivers us to the Casablanca airport (named Mohammed V) airport after a lovely breakfast. The Riad owner, by the way, has told us about Mr. Peacock. You can’t cage him up or he will wither and die. And a female needs to be out with him so he will spread his feathers…

We are close to wrapping up our Moroccan journey. We left Marrakech this morning by train. Shared a compartment with a young couple plus baby from Montreal. Turns out they will be on the same flight as we tomorrow morning. And then transferred to a local commuter train in Casablanca which took us directly into…

Everywhere I’ve gone in Morocco, men have taken great pleasure in addressing me as “Ali Baba”.  It seems advanced age combined with a less than kempt beard has earned me the sobriquet.  It’s enough to make me consider dressing in a djellaba and start looking for some gullible followers, or at least beg a few alms.  However, I…

I signed us up for a cooking class so that we could leave Marrakech with a good taste in our mouths.  We were supposed to meet our host/instructor at the Bab Doukkala mosque along with ten others who spoke English.   After yesterday’s rat-in-a-maze misadventure trying to scout where the mosque was ahead of time, I convinced Ella…

…and the rest is up to Allah Today was about charting the journey.  After striking another palace off the list of Medina destinations (a nineteenth century ruin that was crumbling to dust), along with some tiled tombs (of sultans turned to dust), we picked out three different museums that we hoped would give us a closer…

Dar Si Said: Museum of Regional Handicrafts, emphasis on carpets, lives in an 18th century palace. A small one. As you might guess, lots of tile,a few fountains and arches. There were explanations in Arabic, French and English, of the different regions and how the carpets differed from region to region. Musee Tiskiwin Marrakech: Moroccan…

Day 2 in Marrakech and we’ve successfully navigated the Medina again. High five for these two old folk. Breakfast, where else? The rooftop terrace. A study session in our room. Between google maps and our paper map, the route looks clear. Sort of. We wind around for 20 minutes and come to our first goal….

…and a million other people! That would be the Bahia Palace inside the Marrakech Medina.  Built by Ba Ahmid, a fat 19th century sultan who made sure there weren’t many stairs, and who named it after his favorite wife, Al Bahia, “the brilliant.” It has courtyards with fountains and geometric inland tile as well as exquisite…

Above the crowded bustle of a Medina’s streets will invariably be the towering minarets blaring prayers, like Allah’s air raid siren, five times a day.  No matter how much chaos goes on below, spiritual order is maintained, and with it an eerie sense of clerical control.   Traveling from the Atlas Mountains to the Atlantic we passed…

Oy, into the chaos we plunge. We arrived in Marrakech this afternoon. Our last day with Ali and now we are on our own for the remainder of our time in Morocco. About a 4 hour drive, including one stop for tea and a police checkpoint where Ali got pulled in for speeding. Believe me,…

Yesterday. If it weren’t for the prayer broadcast from the minarets five times a day, I would have thought that we were mixing with the holiday crowds on the coast of France.  I’ve given up trying to exchange pleasantries in Arabic; the lingua Franca in Essaouira is French.  And it seems like there’s a crepes vendor every…

Grubb thinks it’d be fun to chart the path to our room. From the entrance into reception, pick up the key Back across reception and up to the next level, thread through salons Out to a terrace, walk across, turn left, walk a little farther Then turn right, step up into a hall and continue…

In Taghazout, the crashing of the surf was our night music. Here in Essaouria, the continual cawing of the seagulls drowns out anything else. Except for the music on the square. We are not far from the fish market where the gulls are on an endless quest for discarded fish parts. Leaving windows open last…

Ice cream.  Wherever we’ve gone so far, there seems to be a shortage.  If it’s listed on the dessert menu, the waiter is quick to be apologetic.  (Of course we have yet to see a waitress.)  If indeed it appears, it is dripped in lacy swirls on pomegranate seeds, or cake.  The markets lack ice cream vendors.  (Ella says “Sorry Jamie,…

Villa Maroc has many nooks and crannies, hidden staircases, and levels of suites and salons. For us, it is delightfully unique. Grubb tracked our path from outer door to our room. He will post that. I will try to do justice to the room. The door (up 3 flights of narrow stairs) opens onto a…