Tag Archives: Morocco

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Travel Flashback: More from the Road in Morocco (1996-1997)

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(Kingston, Ontario, Canada)

My visit to Morocco involved quite a road trip.  After visiting Casablanca, Safi, Marrakech and the Oukaïmeden ski resort, we drove through the sparsely settled interior to my friends’ place in Ifrane.  Ifrane is an atypical Moroccan town:  it was developed as a winter sports resort and is home to a proportionately very large expatriate population.   One of the reasons is the modern Al-Akhawayn University:  you can see it in the picture at the top of this post.

Wow! It's Oued Ouaoumana!
Wow! It’s Oued Ouaoumana!

The long journey from Oukaïmeden to Ifrane contained two of my most vivid memories of Morocco:  the discovery of a watercourse called “Oued Ouaoumana” and my very first encounter with “kefta”.  The watercourse’s name highlights the fact that “W” is not a letter that occurs very often in French (the colonial language of Morocco).  As for kefta…

Before the kefta caper, we had to deal with this unexplained detour...
Before the kefta caper, we had to deal with this unexplained detour…

We had been on the road for quite a while and we were all getting quite hungry.  However, as we were definitely off the tourist trail, dining options were extremely limited.  Near the town of Beni Mellal, we found a roadside stall (not even a shack) that appeared to be patronized by truck drivers.  My friend told me that they served kefta – something I had never heard of before.    He ordered some for me, explaining that they take ground raw meat and serve it in a kind of pita.

The petrol district in the town of Ifrane, Morocco
The gas station district in Ifrane, Morocco

I felt myself go very pale.  I was starving but I had never been much of a red meat eater.  The prospect of eating it raw from this remote, ramshackle and unrefrigerated roadside stall made me very uneasy.  We were still several hours from Ifrane – wasn’t this asking for trouble?  This is precisely the kind of thing that all the travel books tell you not to do!  Upon receiving my order of kefta, I found out that my friend had neglected to tell me one very important fact:  they do in fact cook the meat before putting it in the pita.   I don’t think I have ever felt so relieved.  It tasted good, too.

A view of downtown Casablanca, Morocco, with the Hassan II Mosque in the background
A view of downtown Casablanca, Morocco, with the Hassan II Mosque in the background

My trip to Morocco reinforced just how much variation (from palm trees to ski resorts!) there can be within a country, even one that is relatively small by Canadian standards.  And Morocco, of course, is only one small part of a very large and diverse continent that straddles both the northern and southern hemispheres.  Speaking of the southern hemisphere...it’s almost time to go!  Did I mention that I might do some skiing this summer?

Posts from Base Camp

Travel Flashback: Marrakech, Morocco (1996)

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(Kingston, Ontario, Canada)

The above photo was indeed taken on the “Road to Marrakesh”; we drove to the famous Red City after shaking off my jet lag in the coastal city of Safi.  This was my first and so far only time in Africa; Marrakech (which is the local French spelling) was the first time that I felt like I was close to a desert.

The Vegetable Souq in the old part of Marrakech, Morocco
The Vegetable Souq in the old part of Marrakech, Morocco

We may have been relatively close to the desert, but it was still cold.  We were all wearing winter costs; in fact, after Marrakech, we would go skiing in the Atlas Mountains at Oukaïmeden.  Still, despite the cool late December temperatures, I also saw my first camel on the outskirts of Marrakech.

Dinner at Stall 26, Djemaa-el-Fna, Marrakech, Morocco
Dinner at Stall 26, Djemaa-el-Fna, Marrakech, Morocco

I’ve never seen anything like the Djemaa-el-Fna before.  It’s a huge square on the edge of the old city and is impressive during the day…but it was like another world altogether in the evening.   There is sensory overload, with what seems like a massive carnival every day.  There were ornately dressed water sellers, traveling musicians, hawkers of various kinds…we even saw snake charmers!  It was quite cosmopolitan here, with people from all over Northern Africa, including the nomadic Tuareg (also known as the “Blue People”, as the indigo pigment from their clothing often stains their skin blue).  We really felt like we were on an ancient trade route.

Very freshly squeezed orange juice at Stall 60, Djemaa-el-Fna, Marrakech, Morocco
Very freshly squeezed orange juice at Stall 60, Djemaa-el-Fna, Marrakech, Morocco

We took full advantage of the atmospherics and ate freshly prepared street food at the market stalls.  I had some kind of couscous for dinner at Stall 26 but I remember Stall 60 even better.  Here, I had freshly squeezed orange juice from local oranges…it was, without question, the best orange juice I have ever had.   There is definitely something to be said for eating and drinking locally!

My friends with our guide "Hajj", in Marrakech, Morocco
My friends with our guide “Hajj”, in Marrakech, Morocco

As Marrakech attracts a lot of travellers and Morocco had rather high unemployment at the time, anybody who looked like a tourist was persistently accosted upon nearing the old city.  They didn’t want to harm us…they just wanted to be our guide.  It was often a rather hard-sell approach.  The old city is very confusing and it is a good idea to have somebody with you, at least for your first trip inside.  Of course, they are motivated to bring you to certain shops where they will get a commission if you buy something, but having a guide also stops other potential guides from soliciting your business.

Inside the Medersa in Marrakech, Morocco
Inside the Medersa in Marrakech, Morocco

To avoid making a bad decision, we hired a trusted and licensed guide through our hotel.  “Hajj” took us through various souqs and made sure we got back to our hotel safely.  We went back to Djemaa-el-Fna on our own later and spent quite a bit of time at the perimeter politely declining assistance.  Djemaa-el-Fna itself is not difficult to get around so it wasn’t necessary to have a guide for that.  Once we were inside the square, the soliciting stopped.

I’ll have one more post on Morocco soon.  As for the vague clues I gave in my previous blog post about our summer travel destination, I can give one more:  we are not going to the Olympics!

Posts from Base Camp

Travel Flashback: Roman Ruins in…Morocco! (1997)

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(Kingston, Ontario, Canada)

In addition to skiing in Morocco, I also had the equally unexpected opportunity to visit Roman ruins while there.

The ruined city of Volubilis is located about 33 km from the  Moroccan city of Meknès and within an hour’s walk of the town of Moulay Idriss.  Volubilis was one of the most remote outposts of the Roman Empire and was at its prime in the second and third centuries (A.D.).

The "Capitol" of Volubilis, as seen from the Basilica
The “Capitol” of Volubilis, as seen from the Basilica

In stark contrast to most Roman ruins in Europe, Volubilis was virtually unvisited by tourists.  Perhaps it was the time of year, but we had the place almost to ourselves.  And it was big:  not quite as big as Ostia Antica perhaps, but it definitely had more of the large, ornate public buildings that we associate with the Roman Empire at its peak.

Picnicking among the ruins at Volubilis, Morocco
Picnicking among the ruins at Volubilis, Morocco

Unlike Ostia Antica (and probably Pompeii), there were very few tourist services at Volubilis.  We came prepared, however, with a picnic consisting largely of fresh bread, olives and mineral water.  We ate right in the ruins themselves:  other than prohibitions against walking on the mosaics, I don’t recall any parts being closed off to visitors.  It was quite special to eat food that the ancient Romans themselves likely ate at that very spot nearly 2,000 years ago.

In front of the Basilica at Volubilis, Morocco. This photo has not yet graced the cover of a best-selling album.
In front of the Basilica at Volubilis, Morocco. This photo has not yet graced the cover of a best-selling album.

As my friend and I were in a band, we took a number of pictures with a view to turning them into album covers some day.   Needless to say, these were not always sombre views reflecting on the decline of an ancient empire.  However, a few songs (notably the cult classic “I am Volubilis”) did eventually result from our visit.

I quite enjoyed the less-visited parts of Morocco.  I didn’t feel very comfortable in the big city of Casablanca (which is definitely nothing like the movie of the same name) but smaller places like Azrou and Safi were very welcoming.   I’ll dig through my archives to find some more (non-digital) photos of Morocco and share more of my recollections from this most interesting destination.

Here, you can see some of the mosaics (completely exposed to the elements) of Volubilis.
Here, you can see some of the mosaics (completely exposed to the elements) of Volubilis.

Before signing off, I just have to share something that I read this week in a rather widely-read travel magazine.  A very brief article on Martha’s Vineyard (in the New England region of the U.S.) purported to provide “some packing inspiration for a classic New England  getaway”.   Believe it or not, the packing list included Hermes shorts ($3,775), Van Cleef and Arpels earrings ($7,250), Tiffany & Co. bracelets ($36,000 and $30,000), and a Dolce & Gabbana handbag ($3,695).  All prices are in U.S. dollars.

The Casablanca Voyageurs railway station on January 6, 1997
The Casablanca Voyageurs railway station on January 6, 1997

With articles like these, no wonder people think traveling is too expensive for them!   Unfortunately, a lot of travel writing is like that.  Don’t be scared off by such recommendations:  they won’t make your trip any better…and they will likely make you more vulnerable to theft.

Posts from Base Camp

Travel Flashback: Skiing in Morocco (1996)

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(Kingston, Ontario, Canada)

I’m going way back for this one!  Until now, I haven’t shared any flashbacks that predate my acquisition of a digital camera in 2008.  However, I’ve decided to take the plunge and scan some old-fashioned prints to go along with this post.

I was invited to visit Morocco by friends who had recently taken up teaching positions in the resort town of Ifrane.  However, before we went to Ifrane, they took me on a unique road trip through El-Jadida, Safi and Marrakech.  Knowing that I loved to ski, they then took me to the Moroccan ski resort of Oukaïmeden.  It is Africa’s highest ski resort and is located about 80 km south of Marrakech in the Atlas Mountains.

Bracing myself against the fierce winds at the top of the Oukaimeden ski resort in Morocco's Atlas Mountains
Bracing myself against the fierce winds at the top of the Oukaimeden ski resort in Morocco’s Atlas Mountains

The drive from Marrakech to Oukaïmeden on December 30, 1996, was unforgettable.  We passed camels shortly after leaving the big city; we then wound our way up the valley and eventually to the resort’s base elevation of about 2600m.   Here, it was definitely winter.   We checked in excitedly to Chez Juju, our home for the next two nights.

While we went to the top of the ski area on the 30th for some photographs on the windswept summit, we only went skiing on the 31st.  It was like stepping back into the earliest days of alpine skiing.  Donkeys (see photo at the top of this post) transported skiers to and from the village.  Our rental skis probably qualified as antiques.  The lifts were all old, slow, decommissioned lifts from France that had little in the way of safety features.   There was no trail grooming and little trail signage; the fierce Atlas Mountain winds quickly dispersed any powder that managed to accumulate.

Pausing for a photo of my ski poles, as I approach the end of one of the Oukaimeden pistes
Pausing for a photo of my ski poles, as I approach the end of one of the Oukaimeden pistes

Despite this, the snow cover was adequate and skiing here brought with it a tremendous sense of accomplishment.  Some of the slopes were rather difficult and we felt like pioneers of a sort.  By now, we had become used to the fact that it can get cold in Africa (as I’m sure many people initially find it hard to believe that it can get hot in Canada) but it was still exhilarating to think that we were actually skiing on a continent rarely associated with winter sports.

An old village, directly across from the Oukaimeden ski area
An old village, directly across from the Oukaimeden ski area

While spending more than one day on these slopes might have been overkill, we were still quite exhausted by the end of the day.  We returned to Chez Juju for dinner and, eventually, some relatively muted New Year’s Eve celebrations.

While our room was exceptionally cold and I had to sleep with my ski jacket on, it was necessarily one of those experiences where you just had to laugh and accept the situation.   We were heading back to lower altitudes the next day, so there would be plenty of opportunities to warm up.

Village in the Ourika valley, on our return from Oukaimeden (January 1, 1997)
Village in the Ourika valley, on our return from Oukaimeden (January 1, 1997)

Here is a British article from 2008 that more or less reflects my experience in Oukaïmeden: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/travel/snowandski/3446834/Oukaimeden-In-Morocco-the-skis-the-limit.html.  It looks like not much had changed over the intervening 12 years!  If anybody has been skiing there in the past few years, I’d love to hear if the planned upgrading has taken place.

Coming soon – more adventures from my pre-digital travel archives!