I’m not sure what was more uncomfortable, standing there knowing I was being scammed (twice) or peeing out of my butt for two days in a row. Either way, it was all happening in Morocco.
Distilling the essence of “The Western Kingdom” is difficult since I had such a mixed experience, not to mention I was only there for 12 days. My exposure to the country was limited to the specific cities and activities I did.
To start with, I was inundated with shades of orange among the dirt roads and walls of the old cities. That ever-present color palette created the perception of sandy air. It’s like there was a desert nearby or something.
Even though I didn’t have enough time for a proper trip out to the Sahara, I saw a decent amount of barren landscapes on day excursions and train rides. Side note: public transportation a la buses and trains was surprisingly simple and reliable. However, certain passenger trains had small cabins with two rows of seats facing each other. That was quite crammed, when you factor in that many people ignore their ticketed seat assignment and sit wherever they feel like. That being said, my trips were more or less on time and adhered to the estimated duration.
Back to the architecture. The construction of the medinas seemed drab at first, but unique patterns started to reveal themselves upon closer look. The sophisticated detail of mosques and palaces was a joy to admire. Small elements showcased the French, Spanish and Portuguese influences. Outside the kasbahs, modern museums, apartments, and sport complexes were sprouting up in the larger cities. The contrast must be confusing for birds flying overhead.
Apart from the buildings, the souks are a congested tapestry of handmade figurines, colorful spices, knockoff apparel, and…well, tapestries. Though these markets are oft crowded and a risk for pickpockets, each walk through provides an opportunity to see, hear, or smell something new. Continually discovering new stalls, listening to painful negotiations, and inhaling the scent of freshly blended citrus was like being part of a complex ecosystem. I can’t count how many times I was called “Ali Baba” either. Apparently it means “strong man” or something in that ball park. But the definition was given to me by a guy running a scam, so I’m not sure he was a reliable source. Besides the flattering nickname, I was called Spanish, Italian, German, and even Chinese at one point. There’s a first time for everything, I guess.
Speaking of the people, this is another area where I’m hot and cold. The proprietors of the hostel I stayed in were incredibly generous, intelligent and interesting. Their easygoing vibe set a good standard at the beginning of my time in Marrakech.
From there, my impression began to deteriorate. In the streets and souks, I feel like they saw foreigners as walking dirham. While one vendor could be aggressive about getting your business, another would stand firm on an outlandish price. If it wasn’t someone trying to sell you something, it was a deceitful “friend” attempting, and sometimes succeeding, at wrapping you up in an elaborate con.
One contingency of people that were completely pleasant were the ex-pats. In every city I visited, there seemed to be a healthy community of middle-aged French or Spanish couples. Perhaps they’re content with life because they moved to a place where their retirement money will have a longer runway. Regardless, both groups are navigating the mixture of cultures with class.
*Mint tea photo courtesy of Jud Mason
To end on a high note, I have to mention the cuisine. I’m talking about tajine. I’m talking about cous cous. I’m talking about mint tea. I was either unfamiliar or uninterested in all of those things before my visit. Now, I’m an avid fan. It doesn’t get much better than spiced meat and vegetables slow-cooked in a special clay pot. As a shocking revelation, mint tea was the preferred beverage of choice between my friend Jud and I. Not beer. Somehow not beer. I can’t forget about the abundance of shawarma as well. Always delicious, occasionally detrimental to the digestive tract. It was a staple meal for us, while also being ridiculously affordable.
The cost of food and beverage in Morocco is actually an interesting topic — there was an incredible range in price depending on the establishment. It’s not groundbreaking that street meat was cheap, around $2.50 USD for a wrap with fries and tea. Alternatively, a meal at a nicer restaurant was closer to $15-$20. Still a reasonable price when you compare that to an outing back home, but it’s expensive when you’re on a traveler’s budget. Lastly, a liter of beer was over $10. Hey, I never said I didn’t have any beer. That’s almost an Oktoberfest rate and I found it absurd. It went down easy though.
So, now you might be asking yourself if I would recommend a trip to Morocco. Honestly, it’s difficult to say. Just because I had a mediocre experience doesn’t mean everyone will. I know people that have thoroughly enjoyed themselves. I will say this: my next jaunt to Africa will be elsewhere. Maybe I would have a different opinion if I had more beer and less diarrhea.
By the Numbers
Days in Morocco: 12 AirBnBs: 3 Public Transportation Rides: 10 Camel Rides: 1 Medinas Visited: 4 Barbershops Seen: Infinite MAD Spent: ~$3,889.71 USD Spent: ~$403.24 (Conversion rate of 9.646)
For those interested in visiting one day, here’s a list of where I went and how I ranked stuff: (click the top left button of the map to expand the list view)
It’s a 1980s song where the lyrics are often mistaken. It’s a 2010s film I’ve never seen. In 2019, I did my own rocking in Morocco. The first time I’d set foot on African soil. Will it be the last? Keep reading.
My friend Jud and I decided that we wanted to link up and explore the wonders of this North African country. I’d heard friends rave about it. Contrarily, while in Europe, I’d heard incredibly poor reviews. Still, it seemed like it was worth taking the chance.
I landed in Marrakech about 3 days ahead of Jud, so I had a chance to familiarize myself with the customs and surroundings. As with many, if not all, of the poorer countries in the world, cash is king. When I arrived, I planned to get some in the airport. I retrieved my bag and noticed just about everyone exchanging money at a single, very central currency counter. I searched for an ATM without any luck and decided to follow suit with the rest of the crowd. FYI – brutal conversion and service fees. There are plenty of cash machines in the city, which I’m sure charge far less per withdrawal. Since my goal was to take a local bus into downtown, I needed it right away, unfortunately.
That plan was a somewhat wild ordeal. No surprise, even in early November, Morocco is hot. I walked about 15 minutes in the baking sun to the bus stop. I was trusting Google Maps even though it had a warning about uncertain schedules. The warning was accurate. I waited there for what seemed like over an hour. Many, many other buses came and went. Just when I was going to surrender for a taxi, the L20 arrived. I was without question the only white person on board. I ignored and/or smiled politely to the onslaught of stares.
A mere 30 minutes later, I was dropped off outside the southern wall of the medina. That’s what a “kasbah” (“casbah” in English) is by the way — an old city or fortress.
I walked among the cramped, often dead-end streets before I found my hostel for the next few nights. The check-in process was interesting as there was no formal reception and no one to greet me for several minutes. That being said, there was a cool vibe with 3 floors surrounding an open-air courtyard with rooftop hangout areas as well. The 2 proprietors took time to sit down and chat with me about life as well as some pointers about the main attractions.
After a shower to wash the 20+ hours of travel off, I did a cursory walk around the main square. It was a blistering cacophony of…just about everything.
Motorbikes weaving around cars that barely had enough space to traverse the streets.
Mosques.
Walls within walls.
Snake charmers.
Juice vendors.
Handcraft stalls and pushy shirt-sellers.
Plenty of barber shops.
And let’s not forget shawarma.
I was mainly prepared for orange facades and the mix of French and Arabic culture. It was a lot more than that. I grabbed some food from a small eatery and headed back to the hostel to digest this first impression.
There wasn’t enough time to take a 2-3 day excursion out into the Sahara, so I booked a day trip to the Ourika Valley instead. The itinerary was super appealing on paper, so I had decent expectations. It promised a visit to a Berber village, a look at how Argan oil and handcrafts are made, as well as a trek to a waterfall and a camel ride.
It was mostly a let down. Everything was a crowded tourist trap, nature walk included. The camel ride especially was disappointing. The boys were lasso’d to one another, and it was just a 10-15 minute walk next to a main road. The village built into the mountain was sweet to gaze at from afar, but I’m not sure it was enough to save the day. Still, it was $45 USD (including tip for the guide) so at least it was affordable.
That basically brings us to Jud’s arrival. Our Moroccan adventure was essentially split into four parts based on where we spent our time.
MARRAKECH (PT. II)
Jud was more or less my sugar daddy on this trip — covering the AirBnBs and some other transportation costs.
We met up at the first accommodation in the north medina, which was somewhat difficult to find even with a map and specific instructions. Thank the lord for their very specific blue front door.
Even though he had been traveling for 20+ hrs with no sleep, we decided to go for a wander. I was familiar with some of the souks and the main square but that’s about it.
After some time weaving through the maze, we were approached by a “friend” who “just wanted to practice his English.” Many of the vendors and street goers are aggressive in getting your attention. It wasn’t a surprise. But this guy implanted himself into our walk, since “his house was the same way we were going.” Once he brought up taking us to a tannery, I knew it was a scam. An elaborate one.
The thing is, a tannery at its peak definitely looks worth a visit. I’ve seen some enticing photos, this dude even showed us one. The reality was not the same.
I tried explaining what would happen to Jud since I was almost wrapped up in the same scam a few days before. I thought we would arrive and be able to leave at the entrance. Our guy was in the midst of handing us off to his pal, the friendly tannery tour guide, when I asked how much it would cost. “Don’t worry about price,” he said (as if it was a dumb question). Jud and the guide continued ahead as I walked dejected, 30ft behind. It was a very uncomfortable feeling.
The place was in absolute shambles. It was apparently the last day of its operation for the next while. But we “had to see it” because “the Berber people are down from the mountains” and “only for today.”
The shallow pools used to color animal hides, normally filled with a beautiful array of bright tones, were completely brown and smelly. The dredges of mud and pigeon shit used to seal the stain. It was abysmal.
A 5 minute spiel ended and we were shepherded to a shop that sold the completed goods. Yet another handoff, this time to a salesperson. After we clearly weren’t interested in buying anything they let us leave. The first two guys magically appeared a few steps away from the shop and asked us to pay them for their services. An argument ensued from my end since I was never told the price. It wasn’t a good look, but I was careful not to be taken advantage of. Since Jud is a stand up guy, he paid them something to leave us alone.
Be warned: if you’re ever in Marrakech, don’t accept a tannery tour from anyone other than an agency or your accommodation.
On our walk back to the AirBnB we had to fend off another guy pining for money for trying to show us the way even though we didn’t need him and he didn’t know where he was going. That left me with a sour impression of Marrakech. I mean, I guess you can’t blame them for trying to make money, but honesty when prompted is kind of the decent thing to do.
The next day we made our own tour of some main attractions. First we visited a very disappointing tomb. It was a 40 minute line to see an intricately tiled room for a handful of seconds. Then, we went to a place called Bahia Palace which was built in the 19th century by the head of government. I didn’t realize it at the time, but the main courtyard was surrounded by 12 rooms, used by his 24 concubines. An incredibly detailed place, with carved molding and ceramic designs aplenty. Afterward, we checked out the highly regarded Secret Garden. It was nicely manicured, though I couldn’t help but think that it was only championed because it was a refuge of greenery in the middle of the desert.
So 1 success out of 3 made for an unimpressive day out. However, we finished it off with a rooftop sunset, a liter of beer and some shawarma.
A mistake was made somewhere along the way in terms of street meats eaten because that night was the beginning of a few rough days for the butthole. Another lesson learned.
Personally, I was happy to bid farewell to the hectic ambush of Marrakech for something more relaxed. The following day, Jud and I boarded a bus bound for “the blue city.”
ESSOUIRA
We enjoyed a pleasant yet windy walk along the coast to reach the medina. There was significantly less people and a lot more open space. Our AirBnB host walked us up a few flights of narrow stairs to reach his flat. He showed us our room and the excellent rooftop eating area where we would later watch the sunset.
It was early evening, so we got a restaurant recommendation and took a casual stroll. The wind was bitter after the sun was too low to pierce the slender streets. Jud and I made a wildly unnecessary, in-person reservation considering we were the only people in the place for the first 20 minutes of our meal. A pair of girls (Dutch and American) were eventually seated with us and we chatted for over an hour. I was continually distracted by what was going on with my insides that I didn’t eat or contribute much.
We parted company somewhere in the chilly avenues of the old city and returned to our a accommodation. That night, I nearly oozed the bed, which I’m assuming is a brand new sentence. I roughed it through until morning and turned to a medicinal solution.
It was a low-key start to the day. Breakfast overlooking the sea, no big deal. Afterward we strolled around the port which was bustling with vendors and gulls hoping for fish scraps. We were walking along the top of the sea wall when a rogue wave crashed over the rocks, completely soaking Jud. It was possibly the most direct hit the ocean has ever made. Somehow, I was lucky and only got a little salt water mist on my camera.
Once Jud changed into dryer clothes, we explored more of the city streets and gates. We saw the 18th century cannons and people making handcrafts.
We roamed the beachside path outside the medina for quite a while. There were kitesurfers, ATVs, and camel rides happening even though it was largely deserted. I wondered how different the vibe would be if it was more lively. Perhaps the wind was a deterrent. Strong gales whipped us back from time to time, took my hat for a ride once, and created an invisible sheet of sand that peppered our faces. We took refuge on a tree-lined cafe patio to have lunch.
That evening, after soaking in the sunset, we tried a traditional Moroccan restaurant. It looked upscale based on the fancy table dressings and golden wall decor. However, the entrance was awkward considering basically everyone looked up from their dishes to stare at us. We had the good fortune of sitting side by side facing them, so that was fun. The food was solid though, so we left happy despite having spectators for every bite.
The remainder of the evening was uneventful. We woke up for another rooftop breakfast and then caught a bus back to Marrakech to snag a train to Casablanca.
CASABLANCA
It seemed like nobody had anything good to say about Casablanca. “It’s a very industrial place.” “There’s nothing interesting to do there.” “Meh.”
I guess we should have listened.
The AirBnB was super nice, with lovely hosts, but the city left something to be desired. It was the most sprawling, but the least interesting in terms of visuals. There were some newer buildings under construction, but no consistent theme.
Apologies for this unimaginative section. The absence of descriptive writing reflects the blandness of the location.
We made our own walking tour to look at the purported interesting architecture. An old post office and bank, several hotels, and then some more banks. It didn’t offer enough to get my camera out of the backpack. “Meh.”
Even the medina was dull. Maybe it was the path we took, but there seemed to be very few remnants of history and alluring sights. We followed a boring street for a while until we got to Rick’s Cafe. Again, my expectations were different from reality. It was sandwiched between two other buildings and had a security guard out front. It appeared rather new and lacked any sort of unique 1940s vibe. I mean, the design was inspired by the movie, but that was difficult to ascertain from the exterior. The interior probably did a better job but since we didn’t want to get gouged by steep beer prices we passed.
Instead, we made our way along the water to check out the world’s third biggest mosque — Hassan II — an ominous sight, with a low layer of fog hugging the building. The minaret is the second largest in the world, so that had no problem sticking out of the translucent white blanket. Unfortunately, we were there at a weird time so we missed out on taking a tour of the inside. It was still by far the most interesting attraction we saw on our journey around the city.
(As a caveat, we didn’t visit La Corniche, which is apparently the beachy area where “the golden youth” hangs out. The nightlife was supposed to be decent there, but I’ll have to give that a shot on another trip.)
RABAT
Since we were unimpressed with Casablanca, we spontaneously decided to take a day trip to Rabat, which was a short train ride up the coast. It turned into a very worthwhile audible because it was easily the coolest place we encountered across our entire Moroccan adventure.
The main city had a slightly modern European vibe in terms of the layout and architecture. We made our way through the medina quickly until we reached the kasbah nestled on the mouth of an inlet. Inside, there were beautiful alleys of white and blue houses from around the 12th century. It would have been an awesome place to get lost in for a few hours. However, some guy took us on an unwanted 20 minute tour, whisking us through the place before requesting a ridiculous amount of money. A 2 hour walking tour in any major European city has more information and costs a quarter of what this guy was trying to charge. It was the only downside to the entire excursion.
Once we left his company, we found a free art museum inside a gorgeous palace courtyard. Then, we took a jaunt by the water and had lunch on a nice cafe patio.
From there, we made a gigantic loop around the freshly constructed part of the city until we wound up back at the train station.
Rabat had the potential to be a great 2-3 day destination, if only we had known beforehand.
On our last day, we took a train back to Marrakech and then a taxi to the airport. Jud disappeared through security in the early afternoon but my flight didn’t depart until around 7am the next morning. I made a quick trip back into the city to spend the rest of my dirham on some decent Christmas gifts. I rearranged my luggage for another 20+ hours of travel and stayed up chatting with friends until I was able to go to my gate.
Due to the lack of sleep and new destination excitement, I left my laptop smushed between bins at the security checkpoint. Surprisingly, I didn’t panic when I noticed hours later.
Thanks to a random travel mate connection, I was able to get it recovered. It was a painful and expensive process receiving it in Mexico, but now it’s back in my possession. Hooray! I’m going to blame that ordeal for the tiny abyss between posts.
Next I’ll have a summary of Morocco as well as a big look at my European leg. Hopefully sooner than later. Stay tuned!
When did we first get to Brussels? The end of May. Wow. Can’t believe it’s been that long already.
Andrew and I got off our bus and met up with a few people at the AirBnB where our group of 15 would call home for the weekend. It was a very eccentric place. There were a lot of mannequins and old time knickknacks everywhere. Interesting decor choices for sure.
Jud and his band mates arrived a few hours later. After a few beers at the apartment, we went out to find some food at Hip Square, a semi-central hangout place with a bunch of restaurants and bars surrounding Saint Catherine’s cathedral. It was a popular spot, with tables and people spilling out into the cobblestone area. As it was still light out until almost 11pm, we stayed there for a while before heading back.
A few of us hung out in the sketchy street catching up when the final group of festival goers arrived. Time went on and we eventually got chastised for making too much noise so we turned in.
The band were first to leave in the morning and then our clan of 9 got breakfast and caught the train out to Zottegam. We disembarked, and had a 30 minute trek through the small town. As we were walking, Erin and I ran into an older gentlemen who was curious where we were from. He was a resident who was sometimes a guest professor at UVA. It really is a small world. We continued down some neighborhood streets and dissected a few wheat fields before finally ending up at Dunk!Festival.
We had about 6 hours to spend between the main stage and the forest stage until Gifts From Enola played. It was a small festival but a pretty cosy setup. The band did an interview for the local radio station and then had fans coming up to them saying very complimentary things. One guy from Spain said they changed his life and got him into the entire post rock genre of music. A loyal follower since the MySpace days. Incredible on all accounts.
When it came time for them to play, it was epic. The sound was solid, the performance was great and the light show was ridiculously on point. Really good crowd turnout and support as well. I felt proud to know them. Unfortunately we had to hurry out to catch the last train back to Brussels without being able to congratulate the band. They were able to stay overnight and enjoy themselves.
DUNK!FEST ALBUM
The next day our group of misfits started with a Belgian waffle and had an impromptu tour of a few notable city sights — Grand Place and Manneken Pis to be specific. The little boy peeing is really little. He was dressed up for us though, which is something.
We hung out in a park until we were joined by Gifts. After a few hours chilling, we wandered back to Hip Square and split our time between a few different seafood restaurants and beer joints. Brown bars are a Belgian staple — kind of a dive bar, but known for their old wooden construction, dim light and smelly toilets. This wording comes from a city map, but I can verify. The insane thing is each beer was served in a specialized, branded glass for that particular beverage. At every bar. That’s dedication. And an 8.5% tripel was €3.80, which would’ve easily been $8 in the US. Sauce.
The following morning, the group separated into smaller factions and departed for different destinations. Andrew and I hung out with the band until the afternoon as they were the last to leave.
Once we said our goodbyes, we caught the metro down to the southwest part of the city and did a self-guided tour of Cantillon, a 100+ year old brewery using open air fermentation to make lambics. Read: more Belgian beer. Then we returned to the city center and walked around for a bit. We had some insane sandwich called a mitraillette for dinner (hamburger + fries on a baguette), a sweet waffle for dessert, and ended with a flaming absinthe shot at Delirium Village.
Andrew’s flight back to Richmond was the following afternoon — a sad departure. We had an awesome time clowning around. It would’ve been awesome to keep it rolling for another week. Or indefinitely. Whichever.
I spent the subsequent days catching up on some things and trying to arrange my future plans.
I was lucky to meet two generous girls, Amanda (a Canadian working in Belgium) and Aline (a Belgian, well, living in Belgium). Look at you helping me out, Tinder.
I hung out with Amanda a few times, mostly just working and chatting. We went out for a meal of signature Belgian dishes once. I had the Flemish stew, which was ballin. It also happened to be a place that served this beer where the recipe had been lost for 200 some years, so that was a bonus. She charged the entire dinner to her company as well. Extra bonus.
Aline and I met for a few beers one night and got late night frites. She very kindly welcomed me to couchsurf at her place for a few days, a helpful break for my travel finances. Very lucky situation. We watched some movies and the Women’s World Cup and snacked. One night, we went to watch a band at a microbrewery. Beer again. She was fun and open to hosting me longer, but her twin sister was returning from a year and a half abroad, so I thought they should have a chance to spend some time together.
This inspired me to take a 3 day trip to Ghent. It was a short train ride away. A very medieval, historical city that was active from the university there. I went on an evening walking tour my first night to get a bit of the backstory and significance of some landmarks. I learned that Ghent, through Charles V, was basically in control of almost all of Western Europe in the 1500s. Though a lot of the buildings were from that era, most of their facades had been refurbished sometime during the 20th century. Still, there was a castle, several cathedrals and an infamous bell tower which all looked outstanding.
The weather ended up being miserable for my last two days there, but I got a 48-hour city pass to grant me access to the cultural places. I visited two of the art museums, the design museum, the industry museum where they showcase the history of their textile and graphic design processes. I got a bird’s eye view of the city from the top of the Belfort and was able to scope The Mystic Lamb in St. Bavo Cathedral, which is the most stolen piece of art in the world. Unfortunately, I was a few minutes too late to enter the castle, and I missed out on the boat ride due to rain. I crammed a good amount of activities into the two days though. Definitely made the pass worth it.
Overall, my Belgian experience was largely a tour of beer, with a bit of music and culture sprinkled in. Bruges and Antwerp will have to wait until next time.
After Ghent, I went back to Amsterdam to stay with Joyce, who I met in Bali. I wasn’t exactly sure how long it was going to be but I was hoping to stretch it until the 25th of June. I ended up falling into another lucky situation. Through her amazing group of friends, I was hooked up with an apartment and a bike of my own for an entire week.
So, over the course of the 11 days, there was a lot of cycling, an after party with perfect vibes, a free canal cruise, a basketball tournament, a Couchsurfing meet up, and more general exploration. If this is the way my travels go for the next few months, I might have to quit while I’m ahead. Way ahead.
I’m trying to pinpoint what the universe is balancing out with this run of good fortune. There was that one scam in Bali. But I’m not sure if that was horrific enough to warrant this amount of positive action. Or, maybe it’s house money and I’m due for some bad luck in the future. I’m not going to be that pessimistic. I’ll just accept that things are working out for me right now and continue to ride the wave.
