Morocco!

I know, I know. I’ve gotten really bad at updating the blog. Friends, family, teammates…I’m sorry.

Here it goes.

Two weekends ago, I went to Marrakech. I have a friend, Moni, who spent some time during his childhood there and is now currently living in the city, so I figured I’d take a trip and get shown around by a local. I left Barcelona EARLY on Friday morning to catch a bus with about 15 or so other CIEE students who were also traveling to Marrakech for the weekend. After a short flight, we were greeted by warm weather and sun, a much needed treat after a cold and rainy week in Barcelona. I met up with Moni outside baggage claim then he delivered me to my hostel on his motorcycle (I know…right?!). After dropping my backpack and chatting with the two staffers for a few minutes, Moni and I set out for the day. We started out wandering through the Souq, the market close to the central plaza, Djemma Fna. It was still fairly early and things were just starting to open up, so I decided to leave the shopping to another day and enjoy the sun and have a cup of coffee. After people watching, catching up, and a cup of STRONG coffee, we headed to the Bahi Palace, an old royal building with beautifully tiled walls and courtyards full of fragrant orange trees. After wandering through the palace, we decided to go across town to the Majorelle Gardens, a beautiful house and gardens previously owned by Yves Sant Laurent. The gardens were a nice quiet haven from the bustle of Barcelona and Marrakech. After the gardens, I had lunch on my own in a restaurant near my hostel. I chatted a bit with my waiter, enjoyed chicken couscous (the food so nice they named it twice), and got a Susan Freeman sunburn (read: just on the nose). After lunch, I met up with Moni again and we did more sightseeing. We went to the new part of the city and had a cup of coffee, then went over to his house where we had tea with his parents. Moni’s parents don’t speak English or Spanish, however we were able to find ways to communicate. They asked about my family, my school, my study abroad experience, and took this opportunity to break out the family photo albums (they were both especially proud of their daughter’s recent wedding).

After tea, we returned to Djemma Fna to stroll around the night market full of performers, stands selling dinner, and families out enjoying the evening together. It was at this point that I realized that Morocco is truly different than any other place I had visited before. This exotic and bustling scene full of Berber dancers, foreign food, snake charmers, and crowds of people in traditional dress was unlike anything I had ever seen before and moreover, it was an image of everyday life for people in Marrakech. After more of Marrakech´s mint tea, I returned to my hostel and went to bed.

Saturday morning, I woke up EARLY to catch a bus to Essaouira, a small beach town a few hours from Marrakech that Jimmi Hendrix used to frequent. We arrived around lunch time so we decided to go to the port to buy fresh fish and then pay someone in the market to cook it for us. After lunch and shopping (LINEN PANTS!), we strolled around the Souq some more then walked on the beach, took pictures of camels (no joke), then enjoyed a leisurely dinner and cup of tea before heading back to Marrakech.

After two early mornings back to back, I enjoyed a relaxing morning on Sunday. I had planned to meet Moni around 1ish in Djemma Fna, so I took this opportunity to wander around a bit on my own.

As I wandered around the plaza, I noticed a crowd of a couple hundred young people holding signs in what was at the time, a very peaceful protest. I asked a few people what was going on and it was explained to me that a country-wide protest had been called by a group of students and recent graduates who were calling for governmental reform. Background: Morocco has a constitutional monarchy with an elected parliament. The king is wildly popular, however the parliament is incredibly corrupt, inefficient, and ineffective. The cost of living has been rising over the past 10 years and unemployment has been rapidly increasing. The protest called for more transparency, a halt to corruption, and a more functional democracy. After about a half hour or so, the crowds dispersed and I continued on my stroll. The protest had been, for the most part, peaceful. There was no violence, only a small and very removed police presence, and from what I saw, no damage to stores, restaurants, buildings, etc.

Though the protest had been peaceful, almost all the shops and restaurants had closed. I walked around for a bit then met up with Moni to do some hardcore shopping and haggling in the market. Each time I purchased something, I had Moni haggle for me and then was told by the shop owner that I was lucky and "was getting the Moroccan price". Thanks for telling me that had I been on my own, you would have screwed me. Vale.

After shopping, we decided we wanted to go get dinner and watch the FC Barcelona game on TV. As we were walking to the restaurant, a crowd came RUNNING towards us and Moni grabbed my arm and dragged me through the small alleys and streets of the Medina. As we dodged groups running and motorcycles shooting down the passage ways, I realized something was really wrong. Somehow Moni got me back to my hostel and firmly told me that the riots had started and I was to stay in my hostel and not leave until he told me it was safe. Obviously I ignored that advice and went out to take pictures and experience the riots first hand. As I was walking through Djemma Fna, things seemed pretty tame, so I decided to try to go find dinner. As I was walking down one of the streets off the plaza a crowd of people came running from behind me. I froze, not knowing what to do. Then a crowd came running from the opposite direction. It was clear something was wrong again, so I decided to run in the direction of my hostel (behind me). As I pushed through the crowd, it became evident I chose the wrong direction. I saw some people getting up against the walls trying to let the crowds pass, so I did the same. At that point, I saw a group of about 50 riot gear-ed police officers with shields and using their batons. A young Moroccan kid, probably around 16 or 17, saw that I had no idea what to do, so he grabbed my arm and signaled for me to follow him. He led me right into the crowd of police officers who started to run towards us but realized we weren't rioters (once I started screaming "I'M A TOURIST!"). One police officer and the Moroccan kid helped me navigate my way through the crowd and back to safety in the plaza.
A smart person would have decided to go back to their hostel at that point. However, I decided that I hadn't gotten enough pictures and I wanted to know what was going on. I kept my distance from the crowds and approached groups of young boys and men who were watching from a distance. I asked what was going on, if they were involved, what the goal of the riots were; everything. Many of the people I spoke with explained that they had been involved in the protest earlier in the day and were deeply distressed that it had turned to chaotic, violent, and destructive. People explained that the rioters had been damaging property and had been throwing stones, bottles, and pieces of pottery at the police officers. A rush of "activity" came through where I had been observing, and the young Moroccan who had helped me earlier led me into a hotel on the plaza. The old man who worked at the hotel pulled me up and chair, disappeared into the back room, and returned with a glass of tea for me. I spoke with him, the young Moroccan, and a few other people who had gone inside to get away from the violence for a bit. When I asked if the recent events in Tunis and Egypt contributed to the protests, one young man explained that the recent revolutions had shown that positive change was potential, however, the people involved in the political movement learned that they wanted to use different and less violent means.
After more picture taking, ducking into the hotel, and talking with young people, I decided that it was time to head back to the hostel and get some sleep.
My trip to Morocco made me uncomfortably aware of my gender. While I was walking around with Moni, men would rarely look at or speak to me. However when I was walking around alone during the day, I had people grab my arms and try to lead me into their shops, whistle, hiss, yell things in various languages, and most disturbingly, stroke my long hair. However, my experience during the riots were completely different. It was fairly clear I was out of place. There were NO white women out (most tourists had sought refuge in their hotels and hostels) and the few tourists who were out alone. While I was walking around I had people offering to help me find my hotel and ask if I was lost or okay. Aside from the stampedes, if I was near a crowd of rowdy protesters, they would calm down until I was at a safe distance. The hotel owner bringing me a chair and tea and constantly making sure I was alright (I kept explaining that I was interested in what was happening and didn't feel unsafe). However, the best example was the young Moroccan. After he helped the dumb tourist get out of the crowd of riot gear clad police officers, he kept an eye on me until I went back to my hostel. If things were starting to pick up he would say "Elizabeth, sígueme" (oh ps our common language was Spanish, not English. This was the case with most people I spoke with) and lead me to the hotel. I felt more unsafe and uncomfortable during the day while I was walking around than I did at night.

Since Morocco: Life has been pretty routine. We had midterms this week, which are always fun times. Not much has been going on other than the usual routine (class, work, run, exploring with friends).

Tomorrow (as in in 4 hours) I'm leaving to visit Mari Padilla, my Wellesley roommate, in Bologna, Italy. And you know what that means...lots of hugging and referring to each other as "my roommate". Can't wait.

That's enough for now. Hasta.

New obsessions: finally not having to run alone, the coffee machines at UPF, having it be ON, RACHEL HERVATIN WHO LOVES READING MY BLOG (I see you girl...)

p.s.
Running community (Dad, John, Crosby, Susan H, Brooke, Wolks, teammates in general)- My right foot has been bothering me (not a new annoyance; xc 2009). It's particularly tender in towards the front of the arch. It's particularly painful when I run up or down hill, fast running that puts me up more on my toes, and when I wear my Frees (I've stopped wearing them for now). I've been icing and rolling it on a tennis ball. Any suggestions? Taping? Inserts? Yes I know taking it easy and time off.

If you're interested in news coverage on the protests in Morocco from the weekend I was there, here are some good articles courtesy of my clipping service (aka Dad):

http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/20/weekinreview/20logan.html?_r=1&emc=eta1
http://www.nytimes.com/2011/02/21/world/middleeast/21morocco.html?emc=eta1
http://www.metro.co.uk/news/856068-protests-spread-to-streets-of-morocco