Sahara Summer

Waking up in the middle of the Sahara desert threw me for a loop the second day in Morocco. I’m used to waking up freezing under the covers in my bed on the ship, but this morning I woke in a bit of a sweat, lying on top of my covers with all my clothes and shoes on from the day before. Still scared of the potential scorpions, I didn’t want to take any risks of finding them in my shoes or pile of clothes in my backpack. I went to the bathroom tent to brush my teeth with the bottle of water I had saved from the day before, and changed into another pair of Aladdin pants. Since Morocco is a strict Muslim country, women (and most men) have to cover both their knees and most of their arms. Although it was hot, it was good sun protection, so I didn’t mind. I was just glad I purchased enough pants in Turkey so I didn’t have to wear the same pair for the four days in Morocco. For the long sleeves I have to say props to Johnny for giving my a fishing shirt for my birthday, because not only was it light weight and breathable, but it didn’t show any sweat which other people had some troubles with. So if you’re ever heading to Morocoo- invest in some lightweight pants (preferably balloon pants) and fishing shirts, and you’ll be golden.

After a breakfast of bread and honey, the group was shuffled into 4 wheelers to head out even deeper into the desert. We bumped and jumped over the arid landscape, passing dunes, cliffs, and dried up caverns where it looks like water runs through when it (seldom) rains. Our first stop was a dam in the middle of nowhere. It’s fairly flat, so when villages appear it’s a great surprise. The dam was a vast man-made lake that held all of the water for the surrounding area during the summer months. It provided both drinking water and electricity, so no one was allowed to swim in it, but the temperature was reaching 116 degrees Fahrenheit, so it was pretty tempting to take a quick dip.

We continued on, the landscape changing rapidly from sandy desert to dry mountains. At the base of the mountain we were lucky to visit a Berber Village. These villages were mostly made of mud huts and housed extended families. The one we visited was strategically placed next to a small river. The entire village was self sustainable as they had all resources needed for survival- chickens, homegrown grapes, shelter, water, friends, family. True, the standard of living wasn’t quite what we were used to in the US, but each person we met was friendly and happy. I was so glad I took French in grade school because I was able to learn all about their home life by conversing in French. One woman of the house even taught us how to make traditional Moroccan tea- green tea mixed with lots of sugar and fresh mint.

In the afternoon we finally made it out of the desert and into Marakesh. We were given a bit of free time before dinner when we checked into our hotel, so we took that time to explore the city. Many of the shops are closed in the afternoon to prepare for the Ramadan feast, so there wasn’t much we could do, but it was fun to just walk around the city (even though it was so hot, it literally felt like we were sitting in an oven.)

Dinner was our final event of the evening. We had a large five-course meal of traditional Moroccan food. Again, everything was cooked in a tagine, rich with spices. The meal was great, but would not have been complete without the belly dancing show that accompanied it. All that I know of belly dancing is from Epcot center in Disneyworld and of one surprise show at a restaurant in Roanoke, so my impressions of belly dancing were skewed for sure, but the dancing in Morocco was on a whole other level. I had seen the costumes one could purchase in the markets, but I had no idea how skimpy they really were. The dancer that shook her hips and grabbed patrons to dance with her at this restaurant was scantily dressed and didn’t quite move in the traditional way of sexy stomach rolling. In fact, with the awkward promiscuity, everyone felt pretty uncomfortable. Thankfully the show didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. At the end of the dinner and show, it was 11pm and I was ready to hit the sack again, thankfully in a hotel where I wouldn’t have to check under my pillow at night.