Culture Shock to the 10th Degree
Trip Start
Aug 16, 2005
1
28
43
Trip End
May 02, 2006
Chefchaouen,
Morocco
Saturday, January 7, 2006
Folks, I don't even know where to begin. I could write a book already and we have only been here four days. The border crossing was easier than expected, largely thanks to Mohammed 1 (there have been 174 since). Arrived in Ceuta which is actually Spanish territory in Morocco though clearly the "change" had begun. Met a man there at the ferry station and after about 30 minutes of consideration, doubting and discussing we agreed to be accompanied by him across the border into Moroccon territory and on to the town of Tetouan where we would spend our first evening rather than try to travel to Chefchaouen by night. Took a bus to the border, about a 30 minute ride, got off, walked about 100 meters across the border and into Morocco where we stood outside on a sidewalk and waited to have our passports stamped, the whole time Mohammed keeping a watchful eye over us from a distance
Food Prep
.Arrived in Godforsaken Tetouan about 45 minutes later. Turns out this is a real "hassle" town, full of very aggressive "tip" seekers and helpful Mohammeds. Mohammed had thus far helped us get to the border, across it, into Tetouan (where we needed to go like we needed a kick in the A??), helped us change our Euros into Durham and fixed us up in a "nice" place called Pension Bilboa, a dark, dreary, freezing cold, mattress-falling-through-the-springs, shower/toilet/sink for a bathroom kind of place. We then had dinner at the great cheap place "all the locals eat at" before we were whisked off to the "market" which we were soooooooooo fortunate to have caught on its "last" day we are told. The market ended up being a one hour demonstration in a fancy living room of sorts of beautiful, traditional Moroccan rugs and carpets while we were generously offered some Moroccan Whiskey (EXTREMELY sugary mint tea we have since had with EVERY meal). You've all probably caught on by now that all these wonderful "favors" were Mohammed's numerous attempts at earning an extra buck off commission from anyone of the businesses we were so graciously taken to. Now...I know this may all sound real obvious but this guy was real good and we were pretty intimidated upon arrival so to have a male (Muslim Moroccan no less) escort to ward off a good deal of unwanted pestering, or worse, we both agreed it was worth the pain, even down to the 30 minute "discussion" with the poor rug sellers when the show was over and they realized these two poor backpackers weren't gonna buy a darn thing...
We were pretty worn out from all the hassle and just the shock of entering the Arab world. Women alone, especially western women, walking the streets is cause for some curiosity and sometimes unwelcome attention
Fresh Bread Anyone?
. It is intimidating only because (unlike other countries where women draw similar unwanted attention) one is very aware here that this is a male dominated society, and openly so. It is presumptuous of women in many places to even look a man in the eye or simply walk into a "male-only" cafe, of which there are many. This is unsettling, at best, for me.The next day was a real doozy at the bus station trying to get out of Tetouan and head to the town of Chefchaouen. The whole ordeal took almost two hours and involved about 5 Mohammeds, several Moroccan policemen, one off-duty Spanish speaking officer, a near brawl between one of the Mohammeds and one of the policemen, one angel from heaven, kicking sheep waiting in line with the rest of us to board the bus, drunken beggars and wandering "salespeople." I don't mean to scare anyone, but the smartest thing we did that morning was finally ask the cops who were directing traffic to help us out in our situation. Once on the bus it was smooth sailing...pretty much...
The official languages of Morocco are Arabic and French as a secondary language. However, in the north part of the country, about 50% also speak Spanish. Further south 4 dialects of Arabic are spoken with Berber influences. I have had to exercise my rusty French some so far and anticipate having to do so more the further inland we head, away from the north
Fresh Meat at the Local Market
.Two things have made a wonderful difference with our experience here in Chefchaouen. The first was TEAM CANADA, 2 guys we met staying out our hostel from Edmonton, Alberta. I believe we met them the first night in our hotel and ended up hanging out together the next 4 or 5 days. These guys were really cool, had traveled Morocco for the last 2 months, had all kinds of really helpful suggestions and introduced us to some wonderful locals. All this and they were just really fun to hang out with, it was like sibling rivalry for the last 5 days (they left today), and of course logistically speaking it certainly didn't hurt having 2 men to accompany us in the city streets. The second wonderful thing, thanks to Team Canada, was Mohammed 2, our official guide who took us on our 8 hour hike through the mountains and invited us into his home for the sacred holiday on January 11th, to share in the animal slaughter and subsequent meal.
Come to find out, we were here in Morocco for a very important holiday. I have still not gotten a straight answer on the official name of this day in a language that I understand, but basically the tradition consists of the slaughter/killing of a sheep (or apparently a goat will do, or several) in each person's home and then a feast of its products about one hour later
Hike in the Rif Mountain Range
. It is a sacrificial killing of some sort and everything shuts down for that day. Mohammed invited us to his home for the meal that day and also to the slaughter if we were so inclined early that morning. I admit I was intrigued but I could have passed. Team Canada on the other hand just HAD to see it and so the 4 of us got up bright and early for the walk to Mohammed's family home (they had been there before). Showed up at about 8am that morning, sat down to some tea and waited... Shortly after arriving I noticed that the "bathroom" like many in Morocco is a squat-over-the-hole-in-the-ground type and that it was in the living room separated from us by nothing other than a small curtain. So Bonnie and I left occasionally to do our deeds in the city dump just up the hill. YES...we preferred the city dump to the hole in the living room.
The call finally came for the slaying so we all walked downstairs to the sort of concrete barn/room where 2 sheep and 1 goat faced death. I will not go into too much detail about what ensued, because even for me, this was a bit much. It is a very normal, natural act of tradition and ceremony here, and I struggled to put my mind around that, but I just couldn't. This was the topic for much discussion naturally amongst us and it was pointed out to me that the animals I eat back home must of course be killed and cleaned as well before they reach that neat, and nicely packaged Styrofoam bundle at the grocery store. This is very true, but I didn't' have to watch those animals have their necks sliced, their limbs twitch as the nerves slowly follow and their eyes roll to the back of their head, after which they are blown up like balloons at a carnival so that their hide can more easily be stripped from the entrails. Nope, I'll pass on all that next time I am invited to "watch."
After the massacre was over, the women got to work cleaning the animal and the children began cooking it over burning coals on the rooftop
Last Call to Prayer
. Needless to say that when mealtime came I just had to pass on the sheep/goat heart, lungs, liver, etc. I filled up on bread as best I could and watched in awe and admiration as my fellow companions dug in. I can't decide if I respect them more or less for it! I am joking a lot about all this because it was yet another major culture clash for me but all in all it was a really nice day and the family's generosity and kindness humbled me. They are quite proud and happy to share their home and food with perfect strangers, traits I have encountered over and over again in people who have little even for themselves...We walked back to the hostel after our visit, which lasted most of the day. Was interesting along the way to jump over blood puddles and streams running down the streets and carcasses hanging all over the pace, lamb and goat skins piled up next to them. The smell of fresh blood was a nice added bonus.
One last and most amusing (in hindsight) situation I would like to recount for you all involved us and our 2 baths in the last week. The weather is very cold here, especially at night, and hot water is a rare commodity. Locals opt to bathe at the Hamamms, public bathhouses where men and women go to get clean (separately of course). We were told from other travelers that this would be an exquisite experience, that the steam rooms, massages (which are optional) and hot water were incredible
One of the Carcasses Hanging to Dry
. So off we went, the two of us ignorant fools, our backpacks stuffed with a new (not necessarily clean) set of clothes, to one of the local Hamamms. We thought we knew what we were doing and figured we'd just take cues from the other women as to the dos and don'ts of bath etiquette. From the minute we got there we could tell this was not going to be the pleasant experience we had so enthusiastically awaited. The naked women at the "counter" where pretty standoffish from the get-go and communication was an issue as they only spoke Arabic. We thought we succeeded in communicating that we were there to bathe and that we would like the massage or scrub down as well. From that point on nothing was explained or answered so when it came time to disrobe (which I don't think we even did in the right room) we naturally got down to our birthday suits and proceeded to take our spot sitting on the bare tiled floor next to some hefty older women who were bathing each other. Just as I began to get situated I realized I had forgotten something from our bag so I walked across the room, a total of about 20 feet when a lady started hollering at me and pointing to my lower half and then at the young girls in the room as well. She was apparently trying to tell me that I should have my underwear on because there are other younger females around. The ladies around shook their heads at me in disapproval and when I made it back to our spot on the floor I warned Bonnie not to go anywhere nude, whether we were in a bath or not! As we sat down and awaited our buckets of hot water I suddenly felt a huge splash of water on my back. The bath had begun apparently! The lady who worked there had splashed the bucket on me and then gone back to her little perch to scowl and stare at us for the remainder of our visit. Needless to say we did NOT get our massage but endured the piercing glares of several disgusted Muslim women for the rest of our lovely bath, the first in 5 days.
Streets of Chefchaouen on Market Day
Come to find out, it is not appropriate to take it All off in the Hamamms. Older women and young girls can, but not the rest of us "childbearig-aged women." Our second and most recent visit, which was today, was much better. Still plenty of odd things and certainly lacking in service but we got our baths, got the famous body exfoliation and massage and literally watched the dead layers of skin float down the tile floor as it left our bodies.
We leave Chefchaouen tomorrow. We have both really enjoyed the town itself, a small town in a valley of the Rif Mountains. It is a beautiful place...cold...but beautiful. Team Canada really made our stay here twice the fun and easier too. Took some great info, tips, and memories... Good luck in Turkey guys!
Not sure what to expect for the rest of Morocco. It has been plenty eventful already! Definitely more challenging than I expected initially but then again a place I knew little about before arriving. Looking forward to a visit to the desert time permitting and the city of Marrakech. Headed to Fes tomorrow...
Wish Us Luck!
Comments
Laughed out loud
Lots of unusual (to us) customs there but I had to laugh out loud when you described the bath house incident. I can just see your face showing your emotions when you were thinking, 'Oh, sh--! What am I doing wrong? What is that broad screaming at me? What am I supposed to be doing, what should I do, what am I doing wrong?' I love you gdaughter and miss you so much. You have got to write a book about your adventures when you get back to the USA!!