Alright, so this past weekend my program in Granada organized a trip to Gibraltar and Morocco during our fall break. I like maps:
Alright so our basic itinerary went: Granada-Gibraltar-Tarifa-Tangier-Asilah-Rabat-Salé-Rif Mountains-Chefchaouen-Ceuta-Algeciras-Granada.
We left Granada early on Thursday morning, and drove to our hotel in Tarifa, Spain. We had the afternoon and evening to explore Gibraltar, which is one of the strangest places I've ever been. The locals speak English with a British accent, and Spanish with a thick Andalusian accent. We crossed the border on foot to Gibraltar and had a tour of the city. We went through a cave, visited a lighthouse, went to the Ape's Den, and walked up to an old fort. We had dinner in a pub, and while we walked back it started raining. Very British. Another interesting thing about Gibraltar is that in order for it to grow, they've filled in the coast and pushed back the shoreline. Seems too me like this would be difficult, but as it's very densely populated, I guess they didn't have much of a choice.
Rock of Gibraltar
Barbary macaques. Apparently you can get fined 500 pounds for feeding them, but the guy behind me was giving them peanuts. Legend says that if the monkeys ever leave Gibraltar, that it will no longer be under British rule. During World War 2, Winston Churchill had to order more monkeys to be brought in from Morocco and Algeria because there were only 7 left.
The Moorish Castle's The Tower of Homage. It started being built in the 8th century, and has survived being captured and recaptured numerous times, before the British took it it 1713. Spain still tries to claim Gibraltar belongs to them, but they had people vote on it twice, once in 1967 and again in 2002. Both times, something like 90% of the population turned out and voted over 99% "No" to giving Spain power. The people of Gibraltar enjoy being British.
The next day, we woke up early and took a bus to Tarifa, Spain, where we would take a boat to Tangier, Morocco. We met our tour guide for the weekend, Fattah, and loaded another bus. Fattah works with a group called Morocco Exchange, that was founded in order to offer students the opportunity to interact with the culture on a deeper level. For that reason, we got to stay with families, had time to meet local students, and other things you wouldn't normally do on a long weekend visit.
Fattah took us to a Women's Center called DARNA, where we toured and had lunch, Couscous with chicken and vegetables, and our first Moroccan tea. I love tea, Moroccan tea is green tea with mint and a TON of sugar. Delicious. However apparently diabetes has become a problem in Morocco, and I think I can figure out why. There is so much sugar in there that it doesn't even dissolve. DARNA is a center for women who don't have an education to learn basic literacy, a trade, and they have services that help people look for work, write resumes, and practice interviewing. Literacy for women in Morocco is somewhere around 40%, although the Moroccan people as a whole seemed to be amazing with oral language. I asked one young women how long she'd been studying English, and she said for about 6 months in a class, and she watches movies. And her English was definitely better than my Spanish. Plus she spoke Darija (Moroccan Arabic), French, and learned Standard Arabic in school. They all thought it was funny when I would try to read the Arabic on the signs and such, some of the letters are still hard for me.
After lunch, we went to Asilah, a coastal town, where we toured the old city and went to the beach for a bit. It was beautiful.
One of the trades DARNA teaches is traditional weaving. Apparently this is not a very popular option at the center, but I thought the looms were neat.
On the way to Asilah we stopped to ride some camels. I can't imagine doing a long journey on a camel, as it's not very comfortable. I think that's probably why you would have your camel carry your stuff and walk beside it.
Ocean Views. Absolutely perfect weather. Got splashed by a particularly huge wave.
After this, we drove to Rabat, and met our homestay families for the next two days, my roommate Jackie and I and our friend Rosie were placed with a women named Farida and her 6 year old daughter, Riham. They came to pick us up from our bus and walked us home. Dinner was chicken tajine, and more bread than you could ever want. But it was delicious. After dinner we went for a walk through the market, along with Samantha, another American girl who lived with Farida. This was my first experience with Moroccan men and their...some people call it harassment, I didn't find it to be that strong, but I'd imagine it would be extremely annoying if you lived there. I was looking around the shops and one guy, maybe 25 years old was dancing with a mannequin. This was pretty funny, and he caught my eye and I was laughing. He started yelling at me, and the American girl said, un-bothered, "You're worth more points, just don't make eye contact." She said the hardest part about living in Rabat is that she always sticks out, no matter what.
Our beds in Rabat.
Market, and the beautiful colors.
The next morning, we got up early and had breakfast, more sugary bead, and sugary tea, and left to go to Salé, where we visited an NGO that Fattah started with 4 other guys when he was 17. Makes me feel a bit lazy, better get my NGO up and running. The organization is called Hope for Salé, and they work with kids and young adults from the shanty towns. For the kids they fund summer camps, and work to keep them in school, and for young adults they run programs similar to DARNA, aimed at educating people so that they can find a job. They actually find employers and ask them what they will need, for example, some high end hotel chain has an agreement with Hope for Salé to hire 100 people, after they have taken their classes, in English, French, Accounting, what have you. This allows Hope for Salé to design classes specific to what the employer is looking for. We also had got into a lively conversation with some Moroccan college students about the video of Gaddafi's death. It was very interesting. The king gave them a huge building too, and it got a lot of press because he made whatever government people were working in there move out.
This is the neighborhood hope for Salé pulls people from. The construction reminded me of Tijuana a bit. The underlying goal of the NGO is to help people from this area better themselves, and by helping on person, they hope to help an entire family.
After Salé, we went to see the the Roman Ruins of Chellah, which was an important city for growing wheat for the empire. In the 14th century the mosque and royal tombs were added, but the town was no longer in use. The Lisbon Earthquake in 1755 damaged a lot of what was left.
This was also the first time I'd seen grass in a while, there's not very much grass in Spain.
Fattah showed us a pond with eels, and threw eggs into it, reminiscent of a tribal ritual for fertility. The eels came out eventually, and I quoted The Princess Bride for the rest of the day. (the SHRIEKING eels.)
We went back to Rabat and had lunch with our family, then went over to another home-stay to take a quick dance lesson (my hips don't move that way), and MORE tea.
Tea
After that, we met up with Moroccan students who are learning English. We explored Rabat's Kasbah, the markets, had coffee, and a lot of interesting discussion. Another thing this trip made me realize was how truly powerful an American passport is. These girls shared with us their ambitions to travel, to France, to England, to Las Vegas, but expressed how difficult travel was on a Moroccan passport. And there I was, moving freely across borders without even applying for a visa.
Group Picture. Will, Imame, Narjis, Bebo, Jackie, Hajiba, Me, and Brian.
After we said goodbye and found our way back home, we did probably the most foreign thing I've ever done. We went with families to the Hammam, which is an Arab bath. When we told our new friends we were going, they kept laughing at us, and I can only assume that they were imagining us totally confused in there. We went, with scrubbers, and olive oil soap, into a large steamy room full of naked Moroccans, (Women, por supuesto) and washed. Now, our director Javier, like to say "what happens in the Hammam, stays in the Hammam," but I will say that I've never been more thoroughly exfoliated. After we were clean, we got Henna tattoos, and went back home for yet more food, and dress up.
Rosie and I with Farida and Riham, and Fish Tajine, with even more bread. Good thing one of the words I know in Arabic is bread.
The next day we got up and said a hurried goodbye to our hosts, and went to see the Mausoleum of King Mohammad V.
Hassan Tower, in front of the Mosque that never got finished because the Almohad Dynasty ran out of money. The minaret would have been much taller than this, but the top fell in the earthquake as well.
King Hassan II. By having the mausoleum built in front of the Mosque, the King is trying to tie himself to the Almohad's and show his legitimacy as commander of the faithful.
Next, we set off to the Rif Mountians, where we had lunch with another family who the founder of Morocco Exchange met hiking. I assumed that this family got paid to meet with us, but Fattah said that they would bring them tea, or sugar, but that they opened their home to us because they believed that they could learn something from us, and that we could learn something from them. We talked about life in the mountains as opposed to the city, and the difficulties in healthcare, education, and the economic challenges of this 360 person village. They asked us a lot of questions about our hobbies, and if we lived in the mountains too.
Lunch, and after lunch we walked up to this view of the village from the top.
And finally, Chefchaouen. Here we did all of our shopping, as people speak Spanish here, and enough English to bargain. The whole town is also blue-washed, and Fattah said it was because it was Moses favorite color. haha. We had a closing meeting, and some of us stargazed from the roof of our hostel. It was beautiful. We got up at 6:45 in the morning to go for a walk outside the city gates.
View from the top of the hostel in the morning.
View of the whole city. This picture doesn't do a great job of showing it, but it really is very blue.
After this, we loaded up the bus again, and drove to Ceuta to cross the Moroccan-Spanish border. We said goodbye to Fattah, as he couldn't go any further with us. Here, I saw another example of my American Passport and it's power. I was directed to skip the line for stamps and to have my stamp checked, which actually made me feel pretty guilty because so many people were waiting. I later learned we crossed at the big drug trafficking point between Morocco and Spain. After that, we took a taxi to the docks, and got on our boat to Algeciras, Spain. Four hours later, I was back in Granada, home safe and sound from my African adventure.
After the entire experience, I think the most striking moment for me happened in the first day, talking to students in Tangier. We talked about the Arab Spring, religious tolerance, the Moroccan government, and the Kings referendums in response to what happened in Egypt, Libya, ect. Before I went, I knew that the Moroccan people were not permitted to speak out against the king, but hearing them talk about it, as "a quick way to prison" was so unbelievable to me. One of the girls explained it by saying, "I know where the line I can't cross is, but I don't believe in any lines." After studying other cultures, and being a generally open minded person, I think I'm very good and looking at where someone comes from, and seeing how those experiences have shaped their views, beliefs, and actions. However, this experience forced me to look at my own cultural biases, something I don't do nearly as often. As an American, I grew up learning that my Constitution and my bill of rights were fundamentals, but for the Moroccan people, even the Constitution is a "gift" from the king. In their views, speaking out against him was not prohibited for governmental reasons, but for religious ones, but in effect, it protects him from critique at all.
Anyway, before this experience, my verbiage was always, "I am from America," rather than "I am American," and I'm thankful that this trip made me look at my own cultural bias, as it is an important part of who I am and how I see the world.
The End.
