Day 155: More of Marrakech

It seems to do anything, or get anywhere in Marrakech, you pretty much need to cross through Jemaa el-Fna (the main square) to get where you’re going. Fortunately, we didn’t have to linger long, and were able to cross a corner of it to follow a small street (full of twists and turns and moments where we thought we were lost) to Marrakech Museum, then to another (much more impressive) Islamic school. After these, we thought we would wander, but got lured into a Moroccan pharmacy, which led to being lured to the tanneries of Marrakech. We agreed, because we were told there would be an auction. There wasn’t. We upset a couple more volunteer “guides” before we crossed back through town to see more of Marrakech at night. Although, that certainly didn’t last long, especially after we walked onto the square and immediately heard a fellow tourist get reprimanded for taking a photo that she insisted she didn’t take.

The museum was like visiting someone’s private art collection in a restored palace. Which, maybe that was exactly their goal. I was much more impressed with the old Islamic school we wandered through.

I’ve been intrigued by these herb shops that we saw EVERYWHERE in Marrakech. I didn’t really know what to make of them- were they cooking spices? medicinal? We finally got pulled into one and found out that they are both. It was actually really interesting to be in and fun to try all of the different kinds of herbs. I didn’t get the sachets for breathing well (seems it would be incredibly beneficial when you have a cold) and I wish I would have. Instead, we got some tea to go with the Moroccan tea pot I wanted to get before we left.

I was thrilled with our visit in the Herboiste, thinking we didn’t get ripped off, it was a pleasant exchange, we learned something, I got some pictures, Andrew got some videos, the Herboiste got a sale… and then they suggested we go to the tanneries for the auction. I didn’t necessarily need to see another set of tanneries- but I was curious what a Moroccan auction was like. Immediately some dude they knew- or they didn’t know sprang out from nowhere to lead us. Off we went. He traded us off to another man who took us around a very barren set of tanneries. And then predictably led us into a leather goods shop.

So when I shop around in foreign countries- I never really know if it’s a reasonable price at the first quote. So, I typically shop around. I price check everywhere and then walk away. Walking away is the best way to get the price down as low as they will go before I even start bargaining. In Chefchaouen, a popular leather purse design was going for about 150 durams. When I asked this dude, it was 700. I laughed. like out-loud in his face “No effing way, dude” kinda way. Because if you’re going to mark it up that much- well, that’s just rude! I signaled for Andrew to leave. We both walked out. I didn’t even respond to the shopkeeper how much the bag should have cost because I didn’t even want to consider buying it from him after he initially marked it up so much. On our way out, BOTH guides were waiting for a tip. Presumably so because they weren’t going to earn any commission from the ridiculously overpriced leather purse I didn’t buy.

I didn’t have much- Andrew didn’t have anything. I fished around in my pocket and handed it to one of the guides. He looked at me like I was crazy. And because there was no auction, because the shop-keeper marked his price up sooo high, because BOTH guides were standing there demanding money for services I didn’t ask for, I grabbed the coins back. “Fine, if you don’t want it, then I do!” And we walked off, me apologizing to Andrew for dragging him to a non-existent tannery. At least it didn’t cost us anything…

Shopping for Moroccan tiles and tea-sets on the other hand, cost a thing or two…

Day 154: Marrakech

Marrakech was considerably more touristy than the previous Moroccan cities and towns we visited. The kind of touristy when you know they must have dropped a small fortune to be there. Lots of European vacationers. Lots of older couples. Lots of money. We walked through Jemaa el-Fnaa in the morning and had an entirely different experience than we had at night. Circles were formed around snake charmers, fortune tellers, monkey handlers, and even a magician.

It sounds exotic, but it felt anything but. It felt dirty. Snakes were often laying on hot stones, monkeys were dressed up with cuffs they held onto to as if to try to keep it off of their necks. Everyone asked for money. You want a picture? You have to pay. You want your fortune read, henna on your hands, the opportunity to hold an imprisoned monkey? You have to pay. The magician was friendly enough to invite me to do some of his tricks myself, but I was clueless, and more likely the butt of his jokes in lieu of being a fabulous assistant. Which, maybe, in his eyes, made me a fabulous assistant. That is, until he handed over his stage to the man missing a leg to ask for his own share of money.

We walked around the square (Jemaa el-Fnaa), the mosque, the El Badi Palace and then went back to the square for dinner at the stalls. My favorite part of the day was probably listening to the storks chatter on the walls of the El Badi Palace. I’m not usually one for bird watching, but I could have watched these giant birds all day long. There were huge nests on the walls and they were so loud, it sounded like someone was taking a more colorful sounding jack-hammer to the walls of the ruins.

Day 148: La Tour Hassan

La Tour Hassan is the tall red sandstone tower, a minaret that was supposed to be the largest minaret in the world, with what was supposed to be the largest mosque in the world. Unfortunately, the Sultan in charge died in the middle of construction, and the minaret only reached half of its intended height. There are 200 columns also unfinished, yet providing a really wonderful area to sit and talk or, my favorite; people watch.

On the other side of the square of half finished columns, the mausoleum of Mohammed V contains not only his tomb, but those of his two sons, King Hassan II and Prince Abdallah. My favorite part of the mausoleum were the guards that stood outside every door and inside every corner of the mausoleum. I walked out of the dim interior to a blinding sun above and nearly walked into a column outside. The guard at that door laughed and agreed with me that the sun was too bright! Seriously, the sun is crazy bright. I’ve been blinded since we arrived in the UAE- had a brief respite during the snowstorm in Jordan, but then was blinded, again, by the light in Israel and now Morocco.

Because we were too late to rock the kasbah (that’s for you, Mindy) the day before, we went back to check out a cafe that our new friend Catherine recommended. We walked through the garden, at a different entrance of the kasbah and directly to the cafe. We had our first official tea a la menth in Morocco (mint tea) and ohmyyum is all I can say. I’ve been drinking way more tea than coffee on this trip, and I have to admit, I think I like the mint tea more than the chai in India and Nepal. They call it ‘Moroccan whiskey’ here because everyone drinks it all. the. time. (Although I don’t really get why they call it whiskey- because no way could I drink whiskey as often as they drink this tea. I think ‘Moroccan water’ might be a better term for it… But… I don’t think I’ll be changing any minds any time soon.)

Another thing I don’t quite understand are the motorbikes. They really are motorBIKES with pedals AND an engine. From my observations, it seems as though the pedals are used to kickstart the engine, but I’ve also seen some people pedaling their motorBIKE with the engine running. I don’t get it. They’re pretty cute though.

After we had our fill of the kasbah, we debated what to do for dinner. Andrew and I are very different travelers. I’m used to traveling without the internet at my disposal and making decisions as I go. He looks up cities, hotels, restaurants online- seeing where to go and where to avoid, and is way more prepared than I ever am. Great, right? He’s prepared. I’m spontaneous. The perfect balance. In the perfect travel world, yes. In our travel world, not. so. much. This overwhelming difference between the two of us sometimes results in stony silences during dinner. Stony silences that include agreeing on what to order and even sharing our food- poutily (is that word?) and silently, until one of us caves and starts talking. Lindsay said her family wondered what we do when we just want to be alone. Well, we don’t always have that luxury. Frankly, I don’t feel safe being alone in Muslim countries. Men leer. They catcall. It makes me uncomfortable. It makes Andrew extra protective. So instead we wrap ourselves up in our own little worlds like we did tonight at dinner until one of us realizes how ridiculous we are being and we talk our way out of it.

Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes it’s real hard. But we get through. And then Andrew teases me the next morning “Remember when you were mad at me for wanting to eat at a Trip Advisor restaurant?” and I fire right back “Remember when we ate at the Trip Advisor restaurant and it sucked, was expensive, and I was still hungry after?” I give him the “AND what?” face. He rolls his eyes. We carry on.

Day 145: Casablanca

Waking up to french toast after the day of travel it took to get from Tel Aviv to Casablanca was unbelievable. Our couchsurfer hosts, Catherine and Bryan, were already proving to be the most amazing hosts. ever. We had breakfast with them, got some directions for our first day in Casablanca, and set out in the direction of the Hassan II Mosque on the shore of the Atlantic.

We arrived too late to go in for a tour of the interior, but both of us enjoyed walking around the mosque and people watching. Women lounged in the sun with their shoes off, girls rollerskated through the columns, families posed for pictures. It felt more like a Saturday at the park, than it did outside of a mosque!

I’m constantly amazed at the size of the mosques we’ve been through around the world. This mosque holds roughly 25,000 people inside its main hall. I always think of my hometown’s population of (roughly) 10,000 and compare.

It’s eye-opening for a girl who grew up surrounded by Christian denominations. There are simply SO many followers of other faiths out there! I sometimes wonder how someone who worships at a huge mosque like this one would feel about the multitude of small churches and parishes in the states. This is just some of what I ponder when sitting outside of something so beautiful and unlike anything you’d find in Northern Kentucky. Is there even one small mosque in NKY? I just googled ‘mosque in Northern Kentucky’ and the results are unsettling. They consist of one for the Islamic Association of Northern Kentucky and the rest revolving around protests in Florence over the construction of a mosque in 2010. Apparently in 2011, the Islamic Association instead sold the property to developers, making 750,000 on the sale. Seriously.

It seems a little coincidental that the sale was ”too good to be true” resulting in them selling the property instead of building a mosque. Next time they should pick a parcel of land near the Creation Museum. I bet the Creationists would shell out some serious cash to not have a beautiful minaret obstruct the view of dinosaurs mingling with Adam and Eve on their museum grounds. The longer we are on this trip, the more I see, and the more people I meet… it becomes increasingly difficult to digest insular thinking.

In the book, “Shantaram” the main character, Lin, says:

“Fanaticism is the opposite of love. A wise man once told me – he’s a muslim by the way – that he has more in common with a rational, reasonable-minded jew than he does with a fanatic from his own religion. Winston Churchill once defined a fanatic as someone who won’t change his mind and can’t change the subject.”

I couldn’t agree more.

I digress. I’m sorry if some of my posts go down the road of being a religious rant. Sometimes- like today, like in the Old City in Jerusalem, like in the Grand Mosque in Abu Dhabi, like in the churches of Old Goa… our days seem to revolve around one religion or the other. It’s incredibly interesting, but as always, reminds me of how little I know of other religions and how much I want to learn about them.

After we wandered around the mosque, we tried to walk through the medina. Every time I hear the word medina, I start singing (to myself in my head, or to Andrew out-loud) “Funky Cold Medina! Bamp. Bamp. Bamp Bamp.” But then I started wondering what a medina is exactly and if the song is related. A ‘medina’ is Arabic for ”city.” Usually it refers to the ‘old city’ and it is comparable to a walled maze of narrow streets, houses, shops, restaurants, fountains, palaces, mosques, etc. Cars are too big for the streets, so it’s quieter, but upon first visit can be rather confusing and makes me think of what it would be like (only way more challenging) if I were to participate in a corn maze.

It’s completely unrelated to ancient walled in cities, yet I cannot stop singing it. Walking through the medina in Casablanca was a bit impossible because the walkways were covered in a thick layer of mud and I’m still stuck with my barefoot ‘water’ shoes with holes on the bottom letting mud seep in.

We walked back through the streets of Casa towards Catherine and Bryan’s apartment. Casablanca doesn’t feel anything like what I thought Morocco would feel like, but then again, we hear it’s the city you stop through getting from Fes to Marrakech, or where you get into Morocco.

Day 133: The Old City in Jerusalem

The Old City is where religions collide or live harmoniously, depending on how you view your glass… Within its walls are The Wailing Wall (also known as The Western Wall) and The Temple Mount for the Jews. Just on the other side of the wall lies The Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque for the Muslims. On the other side of the Old City, a mere ten minute walk (if you know where you’re going and you’re not like us passing it up by accident more than once) is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre for the Christians. It was a long, religious filled day. After spending two months surrounded by Buddhism in S.E. Asia and then two months surrounded by Hinduism in Nepal and India… one day of three different religions was a lot to wrap my head around. It was overwhelming and spiritual at The Western Wall, calming outside of the Dome of the Rock, and familiar inside the Christian Basilica.

We headed to The Western Wall first. It’s the holiest site (right after the Temple Mount) in the Jewish religion as it’s the only remaining wall that surrounded the Jewish Temple’s courtyard. From my understanding, the Jewish Temple and the Temple Mount itself is so important because, according to Judaism, it’s where Adam was created among many other significant events recorded in the Bible. The first temple was built by Solomon (son of David) and then destroyed by the Babylonians. The second temple was built by Zerubbabel and then destroyed by the Romans. It was sometime at the end of this ‘Second Temple era’ that it’s believed the current walls were built by Herod the Great. (I think.) According to  (Jewish) TRADITION! (sing it Mom, I did that for you) it’s believed the third and final temple will be built here.

When we arrived at the Wall, Andrew and I stood behind a high dividing wall set up in the middle of the square dividing it into a large section for men and a smaller section off to the right for women. I stood and watched the men for awhile performing lots of Bar Mitzvahs with a few older men praying against the wall. It was full of life. There was singing and dancing and younger boys-turning into men were hoisted on fathers shoulders and led back to their awaiting families, with women on the other side of the wall watching all of the activity.

Obviously I could not go into the men’s side, so when I spied the entrance of the women’s side, I marched right in. There was no singing and dancing and cause for celebration. Instead, I was faced with the reality of the wall’s nickname; The Wailing Wall. Women anxiously pushed (but not in a rude way, just in an urgent I need to pray real bad kinda way) their way towards the wall to reach out and stuff a prayer written down into a crevice or lean up against it as they whispered their prayers into the stones before them.

Some women stood a few rows away from the wall with open prayer books and Bibles (I think, I’m assuming, they were Bibles) crying and praying. Some silently. Some out loud. It was powerful. I haven’t been so surrounded by such fierce prayer since… since… I don’t know when. For someone who hasn’t exactly been practicing, I was surprised by how much it took my breath away. There was a certain charge to the air. I’m sure it was the general energy of all of the women there, but I have to think it was more than just their (our) energy alone. As I walked out a mother and daughter walked backwards out of the designated women’s side to the open square, like they couldn’t turn their back on the Wall. It made me smile as I followed, facing them as we walked out at the same time.

Ok, so what’s confusing to me is that even though the Wall is technically a part of Temple Mount, Jews aren’t even allowed on Temple Mount itself because according to the Torah, it is forbidden due to it’s sacredness. I feel I need to take a course on Judaism and Islam in addition to Buddhism and Hinduism. Can one study all of this out of curiosity? If only…

Fortunately, visitors like myself are allowed to cross over The Western Wall into the designated Temple Mount area. This area is also the site of the Dome of the Rock and Al-Aqsa Mosque. Although it’s under Muslim control, The Rock (which resides in Dome of the Rock), according to Jewish TRADITION! is where Heaven and Earth meet. The (Sunni) Muslims regard Temple Mount as the third holiest site in Islam. It is the ‘Noble Sanctuary’ where Muhammad ascended into heaven. The Dome itself is one of the oldest Islamic structures in the world. This ownership dispute between the Jews and Muslims is at the top of the Arab-Israeli conflict.

So just like that, we were out of intense Jewish TRADITION! and in the middle of a calm Muslim garden and pavilion outside of Dome of the Rock. Not allowed inside the Dome of the Rock, Andrew and I sat in the sun until we were kicked out for prayer time.

Moving onto the third religion of the day, we walked through the Old City to the Christian Quarter. I have to admit, walking through the narrow streets and up the stairs past different Stations of the Cross- like where it was ACTUALLY a Station of the Cross (not just a plaque on a church wall), I felt a wave of “Oh Jesus was a real person?” wash over me. When you grow up in the Catholic Church taught to believe in God, it can feel a bit forced and in a way, mythical at times. Or maybe I’m just a bad Catholic… I mean, obviously, I’m a bad Catholic. A few people I went to high-school with probably already have made a list of reasons to back up this claim.

But being in the Old City in Jerusalem and walking past these clearly marked Stations towards the Church of the Holy Sepulchre makes being a Catholic and the plight of Jesus a bit more real. I’ve gone to a Catholic school my whole life, and I’ve never heard that the Hill of Calvary (where Jesus was crucified) is currently an altar that looks like a mini church built inside the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. It makes everything more believable. 

Furthermore, the Sepulchre (tomb) is right at the entrance of the church under a line of candles and more often than not, kneeling pilgrims kissing the rock itself that Jesus is believed to be buried underneath. It is also believed that he will be resurrected at this very spot as well. Today, the Church is shared between Eastern Orthodoxy, Oriental Orthodoxy and Roman Catholics. A Muslim family holds the keys to the Church itself to avoid conflict between the different Christian sects.

Worn out by religion, we headed over to the swanky hotel our couchsurfer host, Meidad was working and told us to meet him. He was full of enthusiasm when he met us and called us out on looking worn out. I think he thought it was from the four and a half months of travel, even though it was more from the day making sense of three different religions and one history. He poured us a much needed glass of wine, directed us to the rooftop restaurant for some warm bread and a beautiful view of the city, and then took us home with him at the end of his shift.