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 don’t enjoy wearing sandals, and I can’t help but impute a certain jesting tone behind all the Ali Babas I’ve heard.
It’s been an interesting experience traveling a beautiful country in the midst of global warming parching the land with a severe drought. It’s hard, without feeling callous, to say to Moroccans, “We’ve had a great time, the weather’s been sublime!”
Right. We’re tourists. We don’t have to wonder when the next rain will come. For their sake, I hope it’s on its way, along with an air-lifted supply of ice cream.