This morning I went to the hammam for my first time ever. Lonely Planet, who has done a terrible job of guiding me on this trip, tells me that they are a fantastic cultural experience and I will not regret it or be weirded out or anything, but I was totally weirded out by the whole thing.
Hammams are like a communal bathhouse and are gender segregated so us dudes can be dudes, amirite, fellas? and are popular because many Moroccan houses don't have running water, or at least, not hot water.
I had meant to go to one of the older ones in Fez or Marrakesh, but obviously I was too busy having kick-ass adventures and sleeping late to make it to one. Fortunately, there are two in this town (three if you count the one at the fancy hotel but that one costs $40 so I do not count it)and one is right beside my hotel.
I finally woke up early enough to go (men get the morning, women get the evening, I don't know why this is but I'm sure there is a very sexist reason for it)and gathered up an extra pair of underwear, my flippy-floppies, and a towel. I was a little concerned about what would actually happen inside as I had no idea if I would have to be butt naked or bring my own soap or what. Lonely Planet spends more time talking about pubic hair trimming than what you're supposed to wear inside the hammam (seriously), so I was very glad I had that with me.
When I went inside there was this incredibly ancient frail man who spoke with a combination of mumbled spanish/arabic and very forceful but vague hand gestures. He was the worst at charades, and all he was trying to do was tell me to follow him. I was only wearing my underwear and flip flops and he led me through 4 smelly tile chambers until we arrived in the main bath room. He then produced a disgusting piece of soap with lots of little black hairs embedded in it and told me to sit down. There was one other dude in the room who was younger but just as skinny, like, almost arms-for-legs skinny. The old dude then proceeded to scrub me (i was a little worried about what was going on because he wasn't happy that I had only paid $3CDN) but he wasn't messing around and scrubbed the heck out of my neck, back, and hair and then told me to do my chest and legs, but was never happy with my work because (i think) I wasn't doing it vigourously enough. After a little of this he made me understand that he was finished.
I think he wanted a tip, but I had no money and he didn't speak english or french so who the hell knows?
Anyways, it was weird as hell and, while I am kind of glad I did it because now I know, I don't think I will ever do it again. I'm leaving morocco tomorrow so i really had to get it done. Also this means the next time I rap at 'ya it will be from Spain. Adios!
Showing posts with label chefchaouen. Show all posts
Showing posts with label chefchaouen. Show all posts
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Plains of Africa
after i recovered from the food poisoning I went to go pick up the pictures I had dropped off the day before. The guy had told me to come back the next day so I did, i thought i was too late, but the place wasn't even open. Some guy told me they'd be open at 3pm, I looked at my watch and told him it was 3pm, but his watch said 2.
This was upsetting to me for a number of reasons, but it highlights a very serious problem in Morocco: nobody knows what time it is. To be more like the western world and gain an hour of daylight productivity and conserve electricity, they are on daylight savings time. This system usually works fine in Canada, except for all the discussions about whether or not we are being cheated out of an hour of sleep, and if so at which end of daylight savings, but in Morocco, it is a nightmare. This is because nobody outside of Rabat and central Casablanca understands how it works and even most bank clocks are set wrong. When my flight was coming in to Al-Masir airport in Agadir the pilot said something very strange about being unsure of what time it was because the airport was reporting a different time than the airline due to confusion over daylight savings (horrifyingly, the non-assigned seating discount airline with no meals was correct and the international airport/transit hub for southern morocco was mistaken). Why do they do daylight savings? Nothing seems to get done here anyways and this just makes it worse.
Anyways, I decided that the photo developing guy's watch must also not be set for daylight savings so I went for a walk for an hour. Chefchaouen is a beautiful city in a spectacular mountain range with fantastic views down into the valley and of the peaks across, so, after a delicious coffee at a cliff side cafe, I decided to get up as high as I could on the road for the best possible view. It was just a beautiful walk. I was standing on a kind of view point on the edge of a windy hillside road, admiring the city and the mountains, when these kids came up to me. The kids here are usually pretty friendly but shy of foreign people so we both said "hola" and I thought that was that, but then he stood right up infront of me and said, "STYLO! STYLO! ONE DIRHAM!" and I was like, what the hell, get away from me you filthy urchin, because the kid was on his way home from school and dressed nicely, which means his family was probably doing better than I currently am. His friends then came up to me and started grabbing at my hands and trying to force them into my pockets so I would give them all the money they were obviously full of (kids here think tourists are like pinatas full of money) but they were dissapointed when the bulge in my pocket was a $2 disposable camera (because it meant i was too poor for digital) and they started demanding my watch. You're not supposed to give these kids anything because it encourages begging, harassing tourists, and staying out of school, but I wanted to get ride of them so bad I almost gave them my last dirham - the only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that this would only give them a taste for meat.
The first kid then pulled a dead fucking bird out of his pocket (just like in Dumb and Dumber) and started trying to show it to me. I was kind of scared he was going to throw it at me or something but i was able to make him put it back in his pocket by saying bird in french and have him correct me because it was apparently a male bird. He then started grabbing at my pockets and at my hands with his filthy dead-bird-hands until they finally decided I was more trouble than it was worth. They left me standing infront of an amazing view with my freshly-diseased hands clasped firmly behind my back. I then went and washed them for 5 minutes at a carwash.
When I returned to the photo place it was open but the guy said one hour. I had a nap and came back, and the guy was ignoring me so these locals kids could print gay-ass pictures of them hanging out in fields or posing with their hair all sissied-up. He finally got me my pictures, and I was pretty happy with them, except for the big finger prints he put on two of them from touching them before they dried, but whatever, it was a pretty good price.
Also, one thing I have noticed is that, as much as Moroccan dudes love to harass tourist women and stare at them and generally make them feel like the filthy whores all non-muslims really are, a few moroccan girls have been giving me The Eye (not the evil one, I bought a blanket with a design specifically to prevent that). Likely it is because they do not think that I look like someone who hits women (the fools)and could get them out of this country, but it also suggests that moroccan men are not so irresistable as they themselves believe.
This was upsetting to me for a number of reasons, but it highlights a very serious problem in Morocco: nobody knows what time it is. To be more like the western world and gain an hour of daylight productivity and conserve electricity, they are on daylight savings time. This system usually works fine in Canada, except for all the discussions about whether or not we are being cheated out of an hour of sleep, and if so at which end of daylight savings, but in Morocco, it is a nightmare. This is because nobody outside of Rabat and central Casablanca understands how it works and even most bank clocks are set wrong. When my flight was coming in to Al-Masir airport in Agadir the pilot said something very strange about being unsure of what time it was because the airport was reporting a different time than the airline due to confusion over daylight savings (horrifyingly, the non-assigned seating discount airline with no meals was correct and the international airport/transit hub for southern morocco was mistaken). Why do they do daylight savings? Nothing seems to get done here anyways and this just makes it worse.
Anyways, I decided that the photo developing guy's watch must also not be set for daylight savings so I went for a walk for an hour. Chefchaouen is a beautiful city in a spectacular mountain range with fantastic views down into the valley and of the peaks across, so, after a delicious coffee at a cliff side cafe, I decided to get up as high as I could on the road for the best possible view. It was just a beautiful walk. I was standing on a kind of view point on the edge of a windy hillside road, admiring the city and the mountains, when these kids came up to me. The kids here are usually pretty friendly but shy of foreign people so we both said "hola" and I thought that was that, but then he stood right up infront of me and said, "STYLO! STYLO! ONE DIRHAM!" and I was like, what the hell, get away from me you filthy urchin, because the kid was on his way home from school and dressed nicely, which means his family was probably doing better than I currently am. His friends then came up to me and started grabbing at my hands and trying to force them into my pockets so I would give them all the money they were obviously full of (kids here think tourists are like pinatas full of money) but they were dissapointed when the bulge in my pocket was a $2 disposable camera (because it meant i was too poor for digital) and they started demanding my watch. You're not supposed to give these kids anything because it encourages begging, harassing tourists, and staying out of school, but I wanted to get ride of them so bad I almost gave them my last dirham - the only thing that stopped me was the knowledge that this would only give them a taste for meat.
The first kid then pulled a dead fucking bird out of his pocket (just like in Dumb and Dumber) and started trying to show it to me. I was kind of scared he was going to throw it at me or something but i was able to make him put it back in his pocket by saying bird in french and have him correct me because it was apparently a male bird. He then started grabbing at my pockets and at my hands with his filthy dead-bird-hands until they finally decided I was more trouble than it was worth. They left me standing infront of an amazing view with my freshly-diseased hands clasped firmly behind my back. I then went and washed them for 5 minutes at a carwash.
When I returned to the photo place it was open but the guy said one hour. I had a nap and came back, and the guy was ignoring me so these locals kids could print gay-ass pictures of them hanging out in fields or posing with their hair all sissied-up. He finally got me my pictures, and I was pretty happy with them, except for the big finger prints he put on two of them from touching them before they dried, but whatever, it was a pretty good price.
Also, one thing I have noticed is that, as much as Moroccan dudes love to harass tourist women and stare at them and generally make them feel like the filthy whores all non-muslims really are, a few moroccan girls have been giving me The Eye (not the evil one, I bought a blanket with a design specifically to prevent that). Likely it is because they do not think that I look like someone who hits women (the fools)and could get them out of this country, but it also suggests that moroccan men are not so irresistable as they themselves believe.
my moroccan friend
During the day of my last post I had a very strange encounter with a young moroccan in a sandwich shop. He started talking to me in semi-understandable english and invited me to hang out at his house later. I thought it was a scam or something and told him maybe, but when I returned to my hotel room the next morning there was a mysterious piece of paper with a phone number and a name waiting for me. I had no idea what was going on, I kind of suspected it was some kind of spy thing and I was about to be asked to go on a mission to defeat terrorism or something, but I called it and, after a lot of confused arabic on their end and me repeating the name written on the paper, I finally got to talk to my sandwich friend.
I had nothing to do (and was kind of curious) so i met up with him and two of his friends infront of the big mosque in the centre of town. One of his friends, Achmed, was kind of weird and wearing a suit that was too big for him, and the other guy, whose name I cannot now remember, introduced himself to me as having been a cook in a moroccan restaurant in fez. These guys were all from Fez and occasionally had some sort of beef with the locals because in Morocco the north hates the south. I asked if there were arabic rappers representing both areas but the guys didn't understand me.
We went back to their house which wasn't too far away, and my main friend Jalalie put on a terrible american movie to make me feel comfortable in his home. I don't know the name or any of the actors, but it was about this rich couple who went on a fishing cruise in the carribean but the husband was rude to the mexican cabin boy (or first mate, it wasn't clear), so the mexican guy might have burned down the boat on purpose (or he might not have, that was also not clear) to get revenge. Then the mexican guy and the rich wife ended up washed up on the beach together and they thought everyone else was dead but then the husband turns up and things get weird because the mexican guy is totally jealous (there was a scene where the americans were doin' it and the mexican guy was listening through the thin boat wall with a pained expression on his face) and so nothing goes right and the woman leaves her husband for the mexican, but then her husband finds a boat and seems to repair it so the woman and the mexican steal the boat but it starts leaking and somehow the woman KNOWS that her husband rigged it to sink or something. The husband then kills the mexican, but a year later help comes and only rescues the woman because the husband is off fishing for both of them and the woman steals his lighter. There was also a bizarre voodoo sublot/series of unrelated cutscenes that might have helped the rich guy kill the mexican (I was explaining the movie to my friends but even I had trouble with this part). It was weird because every time there was nudity (frequently) I'd start laughing my face off because it was so incredibly corny but the people I was with would get super embarassed and fast forward. Who were they trying to fool?
After that they started showing me their empty liquor bottles and pictures of the three of them getting drunk in that house like that would impress the hell out of me because they are totally wild party badasses, but it just made me think I was hanging out with the biggest dorks in Morocco.
Jalalie would also tell me all these bullshit stories about talking his way out of trouble with the police and having family all over europe, and then he started talking about his Japanese girlfriend. I didn't believe any of it, but he told me about the problems they were having and showed me text messages they'd sent (both in terrible english, I have no idea why they didn't pick an easier language), and then videos and pictures of them hanging out. After this I really started to feel sad for the little guy and I offered to help him write a love letter to his girlfriend. I think it was a pretty good letter, and I was very happy to do it because he seemed like a very nice dork and i didn't buy carbon offsets for any of my flights so this was the least I could do.
He (or the cook friend) then made a chicken tajine (which is like a stew and usually pretty good) and we mowed down. It was pretty great. After that we played this weird card game that was like crazy 8s, except the suits were Swords, Vegetables, Pies, and Weird Shield Things, while listening to moroccan and algerian music.
The next day I bumped into him at the same sandwich shop and he invited me to hang again. I had some shopping to do and a local is always good for telling me when i'm being cheated (which is always) so i invited him to come along. I was having pretty decent success and even bought a blanket, although i suspect Jalalie or his family profited from my purchase in some way, but I can't prove it. After that we went and hung out at his house with the same friends.
We were watching this bizarre bollywood movie that was a rip off the matrix, james bond, and crouching tiger/hidden dragon but was kind of a comedy about a rich uncle who couldn't decide which nephew to give his money to when he died. Moroccan people love indian movies. I noticed that the empty liquor bottles were still displayed artfully on top of his DVD player so everyone could see they were dealing with a wild child party boy or something and not a strait laced muslim school boy.
We hung out for a long time, but it got really weird because Jalalie's friends started whispering shit to him and then they started asking me strange questions about my job and how much money I make. They were surprised at how little I earn (I know, Moroccans think I'm poor -or maybe they don't and it was just an act, you can never be sure) and started being really shady about how much I'd like to earn and stuff without telling me what kind of work I'd be doing. Jalalie even tried to get me to shake his hand to making 20 000Dirhams ($2400ish) a month while avoiding my questions about what the job was. They had wanted me to drink with them and were really dissapointed that I wouldn't and now I knew why - they wanted to trick me somehow!!!
Eventually they came out and told me that I could make 20 000 dirhams a month plus free room and board if I would work for them as a carpet salesman. Moroccans have the most annoying sense of humour so I thought for sure he was messing with me and I started laughing, but they all got kind of offended and demanded to know why I thought selling carpets was not an honourable profession. I couldn't tell them that I didn't believe in the product and couldn't imagine staying in morocco for a long time and working in a dusty ass carpet shop trying to trick english speaking retards into dropping $150 on a small rug, and then no doubt being guilted into buying lots of the product so i could "resell it in canada" (which has been a big theme with carpet salesmen here) and probably being asked to help smuggle drugs or people into europe. They pestered me for like half an hour and only stopped when I told them I wanted to follow my dreams in canada or something. This worked because Moroccan education in english generally involves learning lots of rhymes (wine makes you fine but whisky makes you frisky) and retarded idioms, like "follow your dream."
After that it was kind of awkward and I wanted to leave, but I had already paid money for half the tajine so it was either maintain my sanity or lose my money. I've lost enough money in this country. I ate and it was good, but the next day I had terrible food poisoning. Do I think they did it on purpose because I turned down their scam? Not with any certainty, but we haven't talked since.
I had nothing to do (and was kind of curious) so i met up with him and two of his friends infront of the big mosque in the centre of town. One of his friends, Achmed, was kind of weird and wearing a suit that was too big for him, and the other guy, whose name I cannot now remember, introduced himself to me as having been a cook in a moroccan restaurant in fez. These guys were all from Fez and occasionally had some sort of beef with the locals because in Morocco the north hates the south. I asked if there were arabic rappers representing both areas but the guys didn't understand me.
We went back to their house which wasn't too far away, and my main friend Jalalie put on a terrible american movie to make me feel comfortable in his home. I don't know the name or any of the actors, but it was about this rich couple who went on a fishing cruise in the carribean but the husband was rude to the mexican cabin boy (or first mate, it wasn't clear), so the mexican guy might have burned down the boat on purpose (or he might not have, that was also not clear) to get revenge. Then the mexican guy and the rich wife ended up washed up on the beach together and they thought everyone else was dead but then the husband turns up and things get weird because the mexican guy is totally jealous (there was a scene where the americans were doin' it and the mexican guy was listening through the thin boat wall with a pained expression on his face) and so nothing goes right and the woman leaves her husband for the mexican, but then her husband finds a boat and seems to repair it so the woman and the mexican steal the boat but it starts leaking and somehow the woman KNOWS that her husband rigged it to sink or something. The husband then kills the mexican, but a year later help comes and only rescues the woman because the husband is off fishing for both of them and the woman steals his lighter. There was also a bizarre voodoo sublot/series of unrelated cutscenes that might have helped the rich guy kill the mexican (I was explaining the movie to my friends but even I had trouble with this part). It was weird because every time there was nudity (frequently) I'd start laughing my face off because it was so incredibly corny but the people I was with would get super embarassed and fast forward. Who were they trying to fool?
After that they started showing me their empty liquor bottles and pictures of the three of them getting drunk in that house like that would impress the hell out of me because they are totally wild party badasses, but it just made me think I was hanging out with the biggest dorks in Morocco.
Jalalie would also tell me all these bullshit stories about talking his way out of trouble with the police and having family all over europe, and then he started talking about his Japanese girlfriend. I didn't believe any of it, but he told me about the problems they were having and showed me text messages they'd sent (both in terrible english, I have no idea why they didn't pick an easier language), and then videos and pictures of them hanging out. After this I really started to feel sad for the little guy and I offered to help him write a love letter to his girlfriend. I think it was a pretty good letter, and I was very happy to do it because he seemed like a very nice dork and i didn't buy carbon offsets for any of my flights so this was the least I could do.
He (or the cook friend) then made a chicken tajine (which is like a stew and usually pretty good) and we mowed down. It was pretty great. After that we played this weird card game that was like crazy 8s, except the suits were Swords, Vegetables, Pies, and Weird Shield Things, while listening to moroccan and algerian music.
The next day I bumped into him at the same sandwich shop and he invited me to hang again. I had some shopping to do and a local is always good for telling me when i'm being cheated (which is always) so i invited him to come along. I was having pretty decent success and even bought a blanket, although i suspect Jalalie or his family profited from my purchase in some way, but I can't prove it. After that we went and hung out at his house with the same friends.
We were watching this bizarre bollywood movie that was a rip off the matrix, james bond, and crouching tiger/hidden dragon but was kind of a comedy about a rich uncle who couldn't decide which nephew to give his money to when he died. Moroccan people love indian movies. I noticed that the empty liquor bottles were still displayed artfully on top of his DVD player so everyone could see they were dealing with a wild child party boy or something and not a strait laced muslim school boy.
We hung out for a long time, but it got really weird because Jalalie's friends started whispering shit to him and then they started asking me strange questions about my job and how much money I make. They were surprised at how little I earn (I know, Moroccans think I'm poor -or maybe they don't and it was just an act, you can never be sure) and started being really shady about how much I'd like to earn and stuff without telling me what kind of work I'd be doing. Jalalie even tried to get me to shake his hand to making 20 000Dirhams ($2400ish) a month while avoiding my questions about what the job was. They had wanted me to drink with them and were really dissapointed that I wouldn't and now I knew why - they wanted to trick me somehow!!!
Eventually they came out and told me that I could make 20 000 dirhams a month plus free room and board if I would work for them as a carpet salesman. Moroccans have the most annoying sense of humour so I thought for sure he was messing with me and I started laughing, but they all got kind of offended and demanded to know why I thought selling carpets was not an honourable profession. I couldn't tell them that I didn't believe in the product and couldn't imagine staying in morocco for a long time and working in a dusty ass carpet shop trying to trick english speaking retards into dropping $150 on a small rug, and then no doubt being guilted into buying lots of the product so i could "resell it in canada" (which has been a big theme with carpet salesmen here) and probably being asked to help smuggle drugs or people into europe. They pestered me for like half an hour and only stopped when I told them I wanted to follow my dreams in canada or something. This worked because Moroccan education in english generally involves learning lots of rhymes (wine makes you fine but whisky makes you frisky) and retarded idioms, like "follow your dream."
After that it was kind of awkward and I wanted to leave, but I had already paid money for half the tajine so it was either maintain my sanity or lose my money. I've lost enough money in this country. I ate and it was good, but the next day I had terrible food poisoning. Do I think they did it on purpose because I turned down their scam? Not with any certainty, but we haven't talked since.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
je ne prend pas les drogues
I am now in the city of Chefchaouen in the Rif mountains of northern morocco. It's apparently the marijuana capital of the country and every asshole in the streets is trying to sell it to tourists. If you ignore them its actually a pretty nice place with huge green mountains, good weather, and the whole town is painted a very clear white and blue. Also it's got a lot less garbage than most other moroccan cities.
I got off the bus at a town called Dardalla which you will not find on any map, and soon realised i would have great diffictuly getting to the city, especially because it was a cold night. There was a gas station with a cafe across the street and I was planning on waiting there, except it had flooded or something and there was water and garbage all over the floor and the owner/staff people were sitting outside looking sad.
I then walked across the street and met some very friendly police officers who made me drink their redbull and wanted to hear my bad pronounciation of arabic words. they were pretty solid, especially when they stopped a cab heading out of town and made him turn around and drive me for a very reasonable price. moroccan police get shit accomplished.
finally found a hotel, and the next day i met a very nice australian guy. He was very different from any australians i had previously met, and i quickly found out it was because he doesn't drink. what a difference that makes. we hung out, and were walking around town, getting offered hash from everybody and they all said, "hello my friend, i have good shit, all natural, good price." every single one. same pitch every time. And it didn't matter how many times you told them you weren't interested or didn't do drugs, they'd still follow you down the street yelling at your back. One guy even offered me opium after I told him I didn't want any hash. What the hell?
After that we met up with three guys from new york and hung out in their hotel room complaining about drug dealers and carpet salesmen. When the australian guy and i got up to leave at 4am we found we were locked in the hotel and had to nap on the hard couches and it was cold as hell. woke up two hours later and the reception guys were finally there. they let us out and i slept pretty well in my hotel.
tomorrow i am going to climb the biggest mountain in this part of morocco. much love.
I got off the bus at a town called Dardalla which you will not find on any map, and soon realised i would have great diffictuly getting to the city, especially because it was a cold night. There was a gas station with a cafe across the street and I was planning on waiting there, except it had flooded or something and there was water and garbage all over the floor and the owner/staff people were sitting outside looking sad.
I then walked across the street and met some very friendly police officers who made me drink their redbull and wanted to hear my bad pronounciation of arabic words. they were pretty solid, especially when they stopped a cab heading out of town and made him turn around and drive me for a very reasonable price. moroccan police get shit accomplished.
finally found a hotel, and the next day i met a very nice australian guy. He was very different from any australians i had previously met, and i quickly found out it was because he doesn't drink. what a difference that makes. we hung out, and were walking around town, getting offered hash from everybody and they all said, "hello my friend, i have good shit, all natural, good price." every single one. same pitch every time. And it didn't matter how many times you told them you weren't interested or didn't do drugs, they'd still follow you down the street yelling at your back. One guy even offered me opium after I told him I didn't want any hash. What the hell?
After that we met up with three guys from new york and hung out in their hotel room complaining about drug dealers and carpet salesmen. When the australian guy and i got up to leave at 4am we found we were locked in the hotel and had to nap on the hard couches and it was cold as hell. woke up two hours later and the reception guys were finally there. they let us out and i slept pretty well in my hotel.
tomorrow i am going to climb the biggest mountain in this part of morocco. much love.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
