Morocco

Morocco was the first country to actually worry me a bit. Prior to this, my biggest worry was getting pick pocketed in crowded public transport, getting gored by a bull, and dying of a combination of hypothermia and trenchfoot walking around the UK. There's really no rational reason I was wary of my first trip to Africa, just the usual fear of the unknown, that this was my first country I'd ever been to that wasn't strictly 'first world', combined with the giant Arabic letters emblazoned on the mountain next to the ferry port on my way in (which the fact that it made me feel a little uneasy proves I'd been watching way too much NCIS). Actually that wasn't really the reason, I just figured they were the Moroccan version of HOLLYWOOD. What really daunted me about Morocco was that while spoke a little bit of German and Spanish, which enabled me to communicate on some level with most of Europe, I had literally zero Arabic and only one sentence of French, and I wasn't sure how far 'I am a small green frog' would get me. I've always been able to get my self out of trouble by talking (ironically usually the way I got myself in trouble in the first place), and I always felt I had a shot in continental Europe, but in Morocco all I had was mime and running.

Luckily I needn't have worried about this, and any apprehension due to any underlying racism was quickly quelled. Actually, to be honest I had a pretty serious case of reverse racism going on before I went to Morocco. As a result of other peoples stories, and from reading many articles on Morocco I had a very rose coloured picture of the people in my head. I was looking forward to the haggling, the energy of the marketplaces, and the vastly different cultures and ways of life that Moroccans lived. By no means did I leave hating the people or anything like that, I just finished my trip realising more than ever that people are just people, no matter their race, religion, geography or nationality (except for Wales. What a turd of a society!)

I caught the ferry across from the armpit of |Europe, Algeciras, and arrived in Tangier in the north of Morocco. Well, when I say in Tangier, it was actually about 50km away. The travel agent in Algeciras had assured me that I would be able to walk from the port to the bus station, and while I can be stubbornly determined, I had a pretty tight schedule and didn't have time to make like Moses. Instead I grabbed a grand taxi (the long distance cabs of Morocco) with a couple of other Aussies and we got there no problems. Moroccan grand taxis are quite an experience. They're pretty much all 1980 models of Mercedes sedans with the bounciest suspension you've ever experienced, they cost absolutely bugger all (a one hour drive to Tangier cost about $40), and their drivers are likely to grind to a screeching halt to either pick up more passengers along the way, or to just have a quick chat with some mates: 'just for five minutes, you wait here, wait here'. Another interesting/petrifying feature is their driving style, which involves driving in the middle of the road towards one another and veering at the last second, before returning to the centre of the road until the next taxi comes along. Luckily for the most part in Morocco I traveled by bus...

This happened the day before I got to Morocco, see I'm not totally xenophobic. This place can stress you out! (http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-africa-19475412)

I was in Tangier long enough to catch a bus, but from all accounts I didn't miss out on too much. My first destination was a small village in the mountains called Chefchaouen, but before we got there our bus had a three hour stop over in Tetouan (which I'm pretty sure is from Star Wars). During this time I got the perfect sampler introduction tour to Moroccan cities. I was walking around with an Italian guy from my bus, and he had been to a few countries similar to Morocco before and so had a little bit of knowledge of what was safe, what was a con, and generally what the hell was going on in the hustling bustling marketplace. In a true baptism by fire I walked around town and experienced my first Medina. The medinas are the old market places and houses which consist of tight winding streets, absolutely packed with shoppers, stall owners, kids, donkeys, cats and the odd motor cycle. They are the most exciting places in Morocco and they're a great peek into the way society here has been for a long long time. The medinas actually quite isolate themselves from the more modern parts of the cities. People within the medina are very communal, and it wasn't uncommon to see people just walk by food stalls, grab what they wanted, then nod at the owner and walk on. Even if they don't get things for free, it's all at a much reduced rate to what the locals from out side the medina get, and about ten times less than the tourists get (and that's AFTER haggling). To really give you an idea what it's like in the medina, and really to teach you everything I learnt in case you ever visit Africa (or Asia from what I've heard) I present to you:

CAEDYN'S GUIDE TO MEDINA SURVIVAL

Guides
Every city you go to in Morocco will have somewhere in the realms of 60% of the population working as unofficial 'guides'. Basically a guide is someone who notices a tourist glance at their map, look for a street sign, or double back  on their route, and then comes up to offer to help them find their place. This can in some cases even be a shop owner who notices you and will abandon his shop to show you to your destination. 'Awesome' I hear you say, 'What a lovely country full of helpful people'. Unfortunately nothing in Morocco is free, and they will expect a tip, and become quite agitated if you don't offer one, even if all they did was walk alongside you while you repeatedly told them 'no thanks I don't need a guide'.  This is a bit unfair on the small minority of guides who are actually very knowledgeable about their city and will take you for a tour to point out the intricacies of their culture and show you the sights, but most of them just want money.
How to deal with guides?
Have a sense of humour at first, and be polite. Most will go away after only four or five no thank you's. However inevitably one will stick around and then you just have to completely ignore them, and eventually they'll get the message and go hound the next tourist. To avoid them altogether, just walk like you know where you're going and ignore them as if you thought they were asking some other lost white tourist. If, however, you are lost and someone offers to show you where to go, tell them up front that you won't pay them. They'll say 'yes of course', then repeat it to them, and at this point they'll either help you or mock you for being tight (they think white people are all Paris Hilton). If they do help you, and they actually take you quite far and really help you out, give them a tip, but don't feel bad if all you say is a heart felt thanks. One thing you should never ever do is tell a local where you're going if you don't want a guide and know roughly where you're destination is. You could be asking them where you could find a building that is just around the corner, and their answer will always be 'Oooooh, that's very far, very difficult. You should get a taxi/will need a guide', even if you're about ten metres away from where you want to go. 

Haggling
Haggling is one of the most fun, but also one of the most trying experiences in |Moroccan medinas. It's all well and good haggling over a carpet or that candle holder that you just have to have, but when you just want a goddam banana it's a pain in the ass. There are a couple of things that you have to take into account when you're haggling here. Firstly, you have to haggle. If you don't haggle you make it harder for the next tourist that comes through. You know when you're haggling for a car and you make an offer and the seller immediately accepts, and you think 'Shit, I should've gone lower'. It's the same theory. If you accept their ridiculous mark up, they think 'Hmm, maybe I can sell it for even more.' Secondly, don't ever expect to get it for the same price as a local. One of the girls I traveled around with was constantly comparing how she was paying compared to the locals, and it'll do your head in. They get it cheaper, because their entire culture works as a commune. Thirdly, don't stress about how much you could've gotten it for. It's either a good deal for you or it's not.
So, How Do I Haggle?
Lonely planet advises that you start by dividing the price by two as your first offer then go from there, and try and end up somewhere around 75%. Maybe this applied once upon a time, but here's something to think about. Moroccan's aren't idiots. They can read, and they've obviously read this and laughed their ass off while picturing their pits of money they will soon be swimming in Scrooge McDuck style. It varies a lot from item to item, but if you're looking at buying a carpet, or a bag, or anything big, you can generally get it for about a quarter of the offer price, and in some cases, cheaper. The best way to gauge how much you can get it for is to walk around a few stores that have the same thing (there's actually only about four different types of store in the medinas, just repeated over and over again, so this won't be too hard) and see what the average price is for it. Then figure out how much you think you could get it for, and what the maximum you will pay for it. Obviously if it's something you really want this second price will be higher, whereas is you can take it or leave it, it'll be almost the same as the first price.

After you've got this settled in your mind, go in and fiddle with the items for a bit, and look generally disinterested. The shop owner will be all over you, especially if you're the only person in the shop. After telling him you're just looking, pick up and look at the item you really want and then get the price from him. No matter what the price, go 'Ah...' and put it back. He'll then tell you how good it is, and what amazing quality/uniqueness/magical properties it has. Then he'll say, 'How much do you want to pay'. Tell him, "No, I'll just insult you". He'll push and after telling him that it'll be too little a few times, tell him your number, and then smile and say 'See, I told you it was too little'. He'll scoff and usually make a counter offer. After this just say you can't go any higher, you're out of money and returning home tomorrow and that's all you can do. From here they'll keep getting lower and lower, and you just have to keep bantering with them, telling them you really want it, but you wont be able to have it. As long as you stay in the store and keep looking and fondling the product he'll gradually go towards your price.

One bit of warning here. They'll ask for your 'best' price over and over, and keep telling them with a smile that the original price was your best price. When they start saying 'just go a little bit higher' you know you've got them. From here you basically have to offer a few more dollars and you've got it.
A few extra tips. Firstly, if you're offer is unrealistic you're not going to get it. This isn't Nike or RyanAir. They're not interested in getting their brand out there, and willing to take a hit on one or two products to get a net profit, so they're going to make a profit off you if they sell it.

Also, silence is your friend. This applies in any scenario. My biggest haggling triumph was when I bought a car off a guy in the States. After getting him down from $3900 to $2000, I took the car to a mechanic just to make sure it wasn't a lemon. The mechanic told me it was great, but wouldn't hurt to do a wheel alignment and the tires will soon need changing. I got a quote for these two things and then showed the guy and said 'So can I get this extra $300 off the price'. Looking at me like I was trying to molest his sister he said 'Dude, that's less than half the original!'...and then we sat there, in complete silence, for what felt like hours. My girl friend at the time was just looking at both of us, trying to figure out what the hell was going on, and then finally he broke and said '$1800?'. I said done before he'd even started the word hundred. The same applies in Morocco. Don't speak unless you have to.

The last two secret weapons are their superstitions. If you're their first customer, it's good luck for them to make a sale. This is actually what they say to make you feel guilty and to buy, but they actually believe it themselves a little bit, and they are far more likely to keep bartering with you first thing in the morning. The other is prayer time. (Just for the record, this isn't me being anti muslim. I think all prayer is superstition, I'm intending to offend waaaay more people with this blog than just the Muslims). There is definitely a battle between capitalism and religion here, but they won't miss prayer time, even for a sale. So if you're their first customer and you hang around until prayer is called, you'll get some pretty good offers.

I combined all these factors and was able to buy a hand made leather satchel for $15 down from an original price of $100! Sure, it fell apart after a month, but I'm still counting it as a win.

Being a member of the second best sex in Morocco
Walking around a medina is best done with a penis. In fact pretty much everything in Morocco is best done with a penis. Walking around the medina, a girl can expect anything from people calling out 'Hey look it's Shakira/Britney Spears/Lady Gaga', to men offering you camels for your hand in marriage, to men straight up calling you a whore, and asking you to do terrible things. Luckily it's usually somewhere between playful, to a little bit disrespectful for western society and there's not too much to worry about. But if you just want to walk around the town and see the sights it will definitely become very tiring very quickly.

How do I make up for my genital and hormonal inferiority?
This one is a no brainer. Get a penis! It has to be a real penis mind you, they can see right through strap-ons or stuffing socks down your panties. Failing that, go for safety in numbers. I'll walk you through it the only way I know how. With picture gags.

Formation 1

This formation has 100% penis saturation. Well done. If you are hit on by a local man, feel happy in the knowledge he will probably be stoned to death!!

Formation 2

This formation is asking for disaster. A single attractive western woman will receive maximum hassling and will have no easy means of avoiding it.

Formation 3

This is slightly better. While you may now draw a little more attention with there being two of you, you will now be able to split it between the two of you. Should one of you be much more blessed physically then they will receive all the pestering, however there's a chance they might think the uggo is actually a man and leave you alone, thinking she's taken.

Formation 4

Well done, you've recruited a dick! Locals will now direct all questions to the phallice owner. The comments will still be rude and disrespectful, but at least you won't have to deal with it first hand. I mean, why would you talk to a girl when the man who owns her will understand what you're saying so much quicker?

Formation 5

The women are now encased in a protective casing of penises. While you will now be viewed as 5 walking wallets, the sexual comments will be almost non existent. There is only one formation superior to this....

Formation 6

Having a middle eastern/Turkish/Moroccan man who obviously doesn't earn a western wage lead your group now gives you a cloak of invisibility. Locals will leave your group alone. They've already got one of their own embedded in your group, and as long as someone is making money off you, they're happy.

How not to die
The medinas, and Morocco in general is a very safe country crime wise. However there are a few ways you could very easily die that you should watch out for. First there are the motor bikes and scooters. The streets of the medinas would be better described as alleys. They're usually about two metres wide and sometimes even narrower. And yet, they allow motor bikes to fly through them, weaving in and out of stunned shoppers like a reversed game of Frogger. Then there are the horses and mules. Now for me, the horses could kill me by touching me (I'm deathly allergic to them. I just have to hear the word horse and I puff up like a souffle), but they also occasionally freak out a little, or in some cases just have a maniac handler who is in a rush, and go flying down the middle of the streets. Luckily most of the horses are in such poor health that they can barely walk let alone trample a tourist (they treat their horses worse than my friend Jarrod treated his 1980 hyundai excel, and he once drove it repeatedly into a pile of gravel just because we were in Bowral and there was nothing else to do). The best way to avoid this is to never listen to headphones while you're walking around. Luckily everything that could run over you is pretty noisy, and most travelers to Morocco come via Spain, and so are well versed in dodging deadly things traveling at speed down closed in streets, so you just need to make sure you hear it coming.

Then there's the food and water. No matter how many times they tell you it's the most pure water in the world, just smile and say you're not thirsty. They can drink it, because they drank it all the time when they were young, and the ones that didn't die are the ones you're now having tell you that the water is fine. It'd be like watching a fire eater perform and then saying, 'I'll give that a go next time we have a bbq', you have to remember that their bodies have practiced for years. With the food, you'll know how strong your stomach is. But no matter how hardy you are I'd suggest you momentarily compromise your values on the whole 'well done kills the meat' ethos. They're not big on fridges in Morocco, instead opting for the 'hang it in the shade' tactic.

Yeaaaaaaah, maybe chuck it back on for a few more minutes.

Having said that, the food there is amazing, and try everything you can. Also, learn to differentiate between flies and wasps. When I first got to Morocco I couldn't believe that there were just swarms of flies all over the delicious looking baklava they were selling, and that the owner wasn't doing anything to get rid of them. Then I realised they were wasps, attracted to honey. As a massive sweet tooth I ended up adopting the mentality that if it wasn't good enough for the wasps, then it wasn't good enough for me. However if there are flies all over your stuff and it isn't going to be cooked, maybe go to the next stall.

Scams
There are quite a few scams in Morocco, but the most common is the 'no photo' scam. In Morocco, a lot of locals don't want their photos taken. I'm not sure if this was a religious thing, or a 'I'm not a bloody exhibition, you prick' thing. In general you usually ask first before you take a photo, or have a really good zoom lens if you want to take candid shots. But when you're in a medina in a crowded place and you take a photo, there's a good chance you'll have someone come up and ask you to pay for the photo you just took, posing as a worker/proprietor of the feature you just captured. This is especially common where there were snake charmers, monkey handlers and those sort of side shows, as they only make money off photos, and so the con men can really play on your feelings. Basically a guy will come up after you take a photo, then ask you to pay. This would be fair enough if it were their attraction, but it isn't. They're just wandering around looking for happy snappers. If you just delete the photo like I did, they might become aggressive and try and intimidate you into giving them money, but in my case it was just him saying swear words that he knew in English. The guy who did it to me struck me as a massive tool, and after he tried to do it to an Italian guy, I intervened and told the Italian guy what was going on. I then followed the local around for a few minutes ruining his scams, but I stopped when I realised he probably had a lot of mates.

Apart from that, there's just the usual scams from all over the world involving haggling with people and then the moment it comes where they should give you your change they forget how to speak English and short change the crap out of you. Or signs that say 'Juice $1' and then when you get a glass they ask for $4 and explain that the sign is only for cactus juice.

I think the best bit of advice when travelling through the medina is, never be afraid that you've hurt someone's feelings if there's money involved. By all means respect peoples' wishes to not have their photo taken, but the moment money comes into the picture Moroccan salesmen and con artists will play on your sense of decency and empathy to fleece you. It's a bit sad but I ended up a lot more hard hearted when I left from how I came in. But if you ever want to go into Business it's not a bad place for learning the psychology of making a buck.


Anyway, enough about Medinas. My brief stay in Tetouan was very enjoyable. We walked around, ate some delicious street food, saw a massive grave yard for the entire town, and walked into an abandoned building that overlooked the town, only for some locals to come running up and warn us that we shouldn't be there and then start making throat slitting actions at us. I'm pretty sure they were being helpful, not telling us that they'd kill us if we didn't leave, but I have no idea why we weren't supposed to be there (when I die of asbestos cancer I'll know where I got it). 

From there it was onto Chefchaouen, which has got to be one of the most beautiful towns in the world. It's also the worlds' pot capital apparently. The town is coloured blue and white and the buildings look like they're stacked on top of one another, rising up the steep hill the city is built on. There's a stream running through the middle of the town where all the locals go to cool off, and a couple of football fields that every afternoon are filled with the locals. And behind the city are amazing mountains towering over everything. I wont even attempt to describe how scenic it was, I'll just go with photos:

Perched about the town with my new Melbournian friend Bec

An example of the beautiful streets of the old town, and a couple of the locals who I got told off by right after this photo, not because I photographed them, but because I photographed their washing....

The stream where they play and wash and dry their carpets (they're drying on the roof to the left)

Footy field and sheep. Just to the right of screen is a psychopathic kid with a stick running full speed towards the sheep.

See, told ya.

It really is a beautiful town, all of which you can take in while wandering around getting stopped every 5 metres by a guy offering you kif. Kif is the locals' word for hashish, and my god they have a lot here. The hills surrounding the town are predominantly used for hash fields, and I guess they're very proud of their product and need to perform a lot of quality control tests, because most of the town is stoned out of their minds 24/7. To be honest though, it fits the sleepy nature of the town, so it's not a major problem. One odd side feature that the town has introduced is that you can go on a hash farm tour with one of the local farmers. You'd think it'd be a bit intense since you're traveling to a place where you just know the law enforcement from mainland Europe would love to come and burn everything to the ground and arrest everyone in sight, however the reality is a lot more bizarre. It ended up feeling more like a school field trip, with the farmers showing you around the fields, explaining where the different plants come from and why they grow so well in the local climate. Then you get some hands on hashish production experience, where you get to beat the hashish resin from the dried marijuana plants by binding the marijuana on top of  a taut cotton sheet pulled over a drum and then covering it with a tarp which is then drummed with sticks, something the guide advised us would make a great happy snap for folks back home. Just to make the tour vibe complete there were two Germans with us. Then we had tea with a drug baron......it was weird. 

That's one for Grandma right there.

German tourist getting a souvenir from the Kif the guy accidentally dropped (a $2000 street value whoopsy)

And a photo for my resume when I go applying for my next job

The spectacular walk to the fields... 'And on the right you'll see, SHIT A C.I.A. CHOPPER, GET DOWN!!'

I was in Chefchaouen for a few laid back days before heading on to Fes. Fes is famous for having Morocco's largest Medina. I was lucky enough to be couchsurfing here with a cool local guy called Abdullah. He had been working as a guide since he was quite young, around 14 years old, and had picked up English, Spanish, Italian and German just from meeting and showing around tourists. Moroccans are very proud of their country, and they really love showing it to the world. It's kind of funny too, because they're always telling you in a very authoritarian way that their attractions are the biggest/fastest/best in the world, especially when it comes to anything that can be subjectively judged. This is in no means a slight against them, I start pretty much every story I've ever told with 'Dude, the funniest/craziest/best thing ever happened...'. I think it just shows how much passion they have for their country, which I think is awesome, especially as it's not in a dismissive form, or in comparison to other countries, they just know nothing could be better.

Abdullah still lived at home with his parents, which meant I got to see how the local family life was. His dad is an Imam (Muslim holy man), and was a lovely guy. Neither of use spoke many words that the other could understand, but we mimed and gestured enough to get along. His mum was also amazing. Generally Moroccan women are the house keepers, and Abdullah's mum was no different. It's definitely not my ideal, but Abdullah did explain to me that the women stay at home and cook because the family eating together is a huge part of the culture, and lunch must be prepared by someone, and as a result the women tend to not pursue jobs and end up staying at home to support the family. The women however are still equal parties in the relationship from what I could tell, and it's not quite the 1950's where men controlled the money, and everything else. Like i said, definitely not my ideal (house husband for me), but my time with his family was very happy and it seemed to work for them as they were all very close.

They also had an amazing living room. The tiling on the walls was as intricate as Allahambra.

Having a guy who worked as a guide show me around the town was awesome, as Abdullah had a lot of strings he could pull and knew a lot of places that I'd have never found by myself. The highlight was when he bribed the housekeeper at one of the county's Princes castles so that we could get in and walk around. It was an amazing mansion, inhabited by just one dude. It was ridiculous to see huge rooms taken up with one bachelors' stuff, with the most hilarious being his breakfast room:

Prince, student, whatever. A bachelor is a bachelor.

Abdullah showed me around a few other cool spots like the leather staining pits, a weavers' workshop, and a few of the local buildings and then we hung out with some of his mates and I got to see a guy play the equivalent of a Moroccan bush bass. He also explained to me the reason that in the historic medinas of all Morocco's cities, every building has about 10 satellite dishes. Apparently China came out with an offer where you could pay $200 and get free satellite tv forever (or at least until China renege on the deal) and so everyone snapped it up, and now the entire country is addicted to the Discovery channel.

Adbullah doing his best Bond villain impersonation.

Me blending in with the locals  AND being culturally sensitive!

Leather staining pits, this smelt pretty good considering it's predominantly bird poo and urine.

This guy made Cheech and Chong seem like Harold and Kumar, but he sure could rock the bush bass.

After having spent the last week or so walking around Medina's and experiencing the Morrocan city life, I was really keen to escape being hassled for a while. Luckily the next part of my trip was a journey out to the Sahara and to the High Atlas mountains, far far away from the medinas.

I had organised online with a tour company to take me out on a three day journey around the eastern part of the country, and I was lucky enough to be joined by two cool Aussie girls who I'd met in Chefchaouen, Bec and Jess. I'll deal with the trip in two different parts because it was simultaneously awesome, and frustratingly tiring all at the same time.

The awesome part of the trip was where we went. Morocco really is one of the most geographically blessed places in the world. We crossed over the Atlas mountains, wound through some epic hills, saw a place called Todra Gorge: a river cutting between two huge cliffs (which is what a Gorge is, but maybe some people didn't know), went to the Sahara desert where it is impossible to take a bad photo, and we were constantly driving by what appeared to be a never ending Grand Canyon that had been lined with a carpet of Oasis at its' base. It really was one of the best scenic drives I've been on.

The girls weren't as impressed.

Either side of this is desert for hundreds of miles.

Todra Gorge

Our time in the desert was awesome. We stayed with Berbers, who are migratory people who have traditionally lived in the Sahara for hundreds of years. Recent international border implementation means they can't travel like they once did, but they manage to do pretty well with cashing in on the tourist trade by offering camel rides, local cuisine, and camping under the stars. Camel riding is one of those things you've just got to do. About five minutes in I was loving it. My camel (named Bob Marley) was a champ, the viewpoint of the desert was amazing, life was good. About ten minutes in I'd lost all feeling in my crotch region, and was pretty sure I wouldn't be fathering any kids for a very very long time. But I toughed it out, and I was distracted from the excruciating pain by one of the best sunsets I've ever witnessed.

'I never get sick of this' - Bob Marley

The berbers were hilarious. They played us some local music, and then they unleashed their local crazy and he got us all dancing.

Hashish is a hell of a drug.

They also took us out dune boarding, and then taught us how to Berber ski. Berber ski involves them grabbing your legs as you sit at the top of the dune, yelling 'Berber ski', and then dragging you down the dune.

We slept under the stars, and it's one of the clearest views of the heavens you'll ever get, with no other light for miles in every direction. Again, I'll let the pictures tell the story.

Bob and I while I was still excited by the concept of camel rides.

Notice the change in my riding posture after half an hour of riding.

I present to you, the milky way.

I've woken up in far worse places.

Bob was like family by the end of the trip. He even adopted the Stinson male method of picture posing.

Todra Gorge was also beautiful, but it was a little bit spoiled. One of the things I loved most about America were their national parks. There is no profiteering, no businesses, just nature for the sake of nature. Unfortunately Morocco out-capitalists the US by a mile, as they have packed Todra Gorge with vendors and restaurants, which takes a lot away from the pure beauty of the area.

Nothing like taking in nature while being offered camels for the girls you're traveling with.

We also got to walk around a rural town which was a nice change of pace as we were seeing a place not designed to fleece visitors. Walking around and not getting hassled was great, although seeing the animal markets was a bit rough, as animal rights isn't really a concept here and the animals aren't doing too well.

Hellllllllllllllp meeeeeeeeeeOOOORRR

More star wars.

Other highlights included going to the Moroccan major movie studio (site of such classics as Ben Hur, and Scorpion King....ok, maybe just classic singular), and seeing more monkeys! We also had the sobering experience of seeing exactly where the recent bus crash had occurred.

The Rock was once here!!!

The bus fell from the top road to the bottom road.

So overall it was a great trip and I'm glad I did it. Unfortunately our tour guide was, how do I put this gently? The major of doucheville. Moroccans are big on making money from you wherever they can, but we'd paid this guy fifty euros a day apiece, so he was doing pretty damn well from us, so we thought we'd have him on our side. Unfortunately this wasn't the case. Whereas we just wanted to see the country side and spend as much time seeing the natural wonders of the country, he just wanted us to spend as much at his mates shops as possible. This meant that whenever we went to a place where we just wanted to walk around and absorb as much of the scene as possible, he'd hurry us up and then tell us we had other stops that we had to make later that day. Those other stops always involved 'learning' about some local product, which involved us sitting down, drinking tea, and then getting a spiel about how much everything cost. At first we even entertained the idea that we were going to learn about how it's all made and the history behind it, but the store owners always gave us weird looks as if to say 'Who fucking cares, buy a goddam rug Donald Trump'.

This was either the salesmans' negotiating or his lady pulling pose, I'm not sure which.

This was made exponentially worse by the fact our tour guide had a very short temper, and every time I'd try to explain to him that we weren't really keen on the shops and would rather spend more time at the other sights he'd get angry at me and start complaining about how hard it was for him. Add to this the fact that girls were feeling pretty pissed off, and so were complaining to me about how much of a twat he was, I ended up playing middle man trying to ensure that my friends, and bizarrely, the tour guide, were having a good time. The whole thing came to a head when he deleted my friends photos off his computer before she'd saved them to her hard drive, and after that moment it was pretty much the most awkward car ride ever, especially when he played for the hundredth time that trip (not an exaggeration) 'Don't worry be happy' to try and lighten the mood as everyone sat fuming in uneasy silence.

As terrible as he was, there were a few hilarious moments thanks to him and his driver (the driver was actually a really nice guy). One such moment was when we stopped at Flamingo lake, where we could see thousands of flamingos.....in March. Sadly it was August, so we just saw a pond. But to make up for this we went and saw the local statue.....a lion. And this was our first stop. I guess you can only make one first impression.

Since we're having to imagine the flamingos maybe we should have just imagined the whole stop and spent more time with the monkeys.

I take it all back.

There was also the moment I introduced him to the concept of jumping photos, which he enjoyed so much we were able to use it as a bribe to keep him longer at any place he wanted to leave before we were ready to go.

The driver (second from left) was so good at jump photos, and our guide just proved himself to be useless at everything in life.

One of my favourite sights of the trip actually started off as douchebaggery. We went to this ladies' place on the side of the highway and he told us a sob story about how she's lost her cattle in a flood and had no money. Maybe it was true, but probably not (we were in the middle of a very arid looking desert). Anyway, we had tea with her, and, as expected, he put the hard sell on us and said we should buy one of her trinkets. One thing I should've included in the haggling guide is: never let a local who isn't a good friend haggle for you. They will always get you a higher price than you could get on your own, because they work under the assumption that you'll be thinking 'sweet local prices' and that you wont question it. We tried to haggle with the lady but he butted in and tried to make us pay more, and after a stalemate we got a couple of things for only about a 50 fold mark up. However it was worth it for the fact that the lady lived in a creepy Mad Max style tent with baby doll heads hanging on spikes and scarecrows out the front, and one of the all time awesomest tents.

I have offered you tea and I have a child with big eyes. That'll be fifty euro.

We also went to a fossil museum (shop) where they had some pretty amazing fossils made into sinks, art works, jewelery, and bizarrely a toilet...

Ever wished you could take a dump on the metazoan era? Well wish no more!

 After our trek we said the briefest goodbye in history, involving our guide chucking our bags out onto the curb, shaking my hand, ignoring the girls, then jumping in the car and telling the driver to step on it. Happy to see the back of him we then walked to our hostel in our new town of Marrakesh, which had turtles!

There's a kid at an Alabaman state fair who'd like this

Marrakesh was just another version of Fes really, although it did have an amazing central square where all sorts of entertainment was available, from street performers, to snake charmers, and the weirdest street parlour game I've ever seen which involved catching bottles of soft drink with a ring dangling from a string attached to a stick.

shoe shop, bag shop, dessert shop, soap shop, then repeat.

So confused by this.

However we did recruit two more Aussies while we were here, an awesome couple who had met on the road and were traveling together, Ruby and Aaron. I could write an entire blog involving Aaron's stories. He's one of those guys who can just turn anything into a yarn, but he combines that story telling talent with a truly insane ability to get himself into trouble. We all decided to head down to the seaside town of Essaouira.

Essaouira is famous for being visited by Jimi Hendrix once, for about a week. Despite the fact he didn't bring his guitar, and that the song had come out two years prior, they claim that one of his songs was written by him in his brief stay here. They don't need to sell the town on such a novelty though, as the town is one of my favourite places in Morocco. Much more laid back than the bigger cities, you didn't experience the constant hassling you normally get. The town itself is beautiful. Essaouira actually means 'well designed' giving the town a name which required the bare minimum of thought, to reward architecture that required a maximum of consideration and planning. It's a big fishing port, and a great place to just wander around and chill out. This blog is now entering mid sized novel length so I'll make it easier on you and show you some pictures. Oooooh, pretty colours, yay!

Aaron and Ruby had heard about a place called paradise valley, and so after figuring out roughly where it was, we rented a car and set off. It was about 3 hours south, and as I was the elderly statesman of the group, the car was under my name, meaning I got to drive. I always love getting a chance to drive. There is a sense of freedom when you get to travel by car. On a bus you can't exactly ask the driver to stop while you take a photo of that weird shaped tree, but with a car you can do whatever you want.

You'd never get a life long memory like this on a bus.

Plus it's always fun learning how different countries drive. In Morocco the answer is: poorly. Depth perception isn't a gift available to Moroccans apparently, and so more than once we had to run off into the gravel on the side of the road as an overtaking car came hurtling towards us in our lane. While not that great to almost die a few times it was totally worth it to witness Jess' reaction to danger, which involves the most earnest and blood curdling scream you've ever heard.

Paradise valley was amazing, and we spent the night camped on a dried waterfall. We just sat around having a few drinks, and sitting around the campfire, and eventually retired to sleep under the stars. Then we were awoken by what sounded like a bowling ball thudding into play-dough. Turns out it wasn't a bowling ball but a rock that had been holding Ruby's tent on top of an overhanging rock creating a make shift tent, and the play-dough was Ruby's head, which was now gushing quite profusely after she'd rolled over onto the tent causing the rock to fall on her. Ruby, to her credit was an absolute trooper and stayed remarkably calm, just uttering the now immortalised words 'Ohhhh guys, it's bad. It's really bad'. It was a pretty crap situation to be in, as we didn't have a torch, we were a few hundred metres from our car, and no one was sober enough to drive, and even if we could have, we had no idea where the nearest hospital was, but it was likely about an hour away. Luckily the bleeding stopped pretty quickly, and Aaron got a few photos for posterity's sake with him grinning ear to ear with thumbs up, and Ruby funnily enough smiling as well (probably the concussion).

This was Ruby's head shape before the night's sleep.

While beautiful, this was quite slanted, meaning I ended up almost sleeping in a gulley.

The drive back was beautiful. The Moroccan coast is absolutely stunning. They have stretches of beaches that are comparable to anywhere in Australia, and for all intents and purposes we could have been in Western Australia instead of Africa. We just spent the whole time watching massive sets roll into the beach, and then gazing back in horror at the road as we almost had another head on with a suicidal local. And then I was back in Marrakesh for my last night in town before flying back to Europe.

Morocco was awesome, but I am divided about exactly how awesome it was. The physical part of the country, it's nature and architecture, is undeniably amazing. Even if you dread the idea of the medina's and the douche bag tour guides, it would still be worth toughing out just to see the place. The people on the other hand are very polarising. Apparently Marrakesh has the worst revisiting rate of any major city in the world, with 97% of tourists never returning. The tourist market here is huge. The country is not poor by any means, it has a pretty decent amount of natural resources, but for the general population they are very reliant on tourism. The problem is that I think they're too short sighted on the way they view tourists. They see a foreigner, and just want to make as much of them as possible, and will constantly bombard them for money without really considering why the tourist is there in the first place.

You always feel like you're in a theme park when you're walking around the medinas. The medinas' streets interweave between each other into a sort of maze, however each city has a very defined tourist route through the city. However, this isn't so you don't get lost, it's so you don't interrupt their real lives. They essentially funnel you into one place where they can fleece you, give you a bit of a show, and then go back to their world afterwards. While I was couchsurfing I noticed this, as I was constantly warned off going to my hosts' house when I was alone. I actually had guys try and physically stop me and tell me 'not for tourists'. You get this everywhere in the city. Whenever you go off the main path people wag fingers at you and say 'No!'. One of the greatest things about different cultures is meeting the people, but with Moroccans you never feel like they really let you in. Even when you feel like you made a connection they tend to disappoint you. For example with the berbers in the Sahara, we had a great time and sat around joking with them until early in the morning. Then when we got back to our hotel at the end of the camel ride, they told us to wait before we went, and they got out a bunch of crappy souvenirs and gave us these pitiful looks. When we said no thanks they acted hurt and instead of friendly goodbyes we left knowing exactly what we were to them. I'm not under the illusion that western cultures don't lay it on when they're hired by someone (I don't hit on bartenders for that exact reason), but when you've already made your money off someone, it's a shame they keep on trying to make sales. It's this constant onselling that really makes it hard to ever get close to the locals.

I actually think they just have a very shallow understanding of commerce. The analogy I like to use is Vegas and Atlantic City, the two major casino towns of the US. Vegas is just awesome. They make sure you have a great time. They know they're going to make money off you, it's guaranteed, so they concentrate on making sure you have the best time imaginable. Even if this involves you getting a tonne of freebies, you end up coming back, and they make it back and more. Atlantic city on the other hand is just about the saddest place on earth. There's no cheap hotel rooms, they charge you for the buffets as if you've ordered one of every meal there, and you get about one free drink every two hours if you're not putting high enough bets on the table. All that's missing is someone screaming through a megaphone 'AHHHHHH GIVE US ALL YOUR MONEY'. If they were girls Vegas would be pouring everyone shots and then watering her t-shirt with a hose, while Atlantic City would be sitting in the corner waiting for her old rich husband to die from the rat poison she just put in his drink. (I did it! An analogy within an analogy! It's like creative writing Inception.......yes, triple level analogy!!!). Um, sorry about that. Anyway, Morocco is Atlantic City. And I think it's a shame, because not only could they make more money if they just let it happen naturally, they'd make the experience so much better for both sides.

This isn't by any means everyone. Like I said above, Morocco just affirmed for me that people are people. There were some genuinely cool people here. For every guy hassling you on the street, there are two store owners who will try and help you find your way who would never dream of asking you for money. And the country is changing. In Marrakesh now unofficial guides get arrested as they try to make the medina less of a tourist fleecing fest. At the end of the day it definitely shouldn't deter you. It's all just part of the experience. And I will be one of the few people who will return. Actually, I might not go back to Marrakesh, so their statistics will still be screwed, but there were so many places that I didn't have time for, and that I would love to see one day. But time was something I didn't have, and so I bid farewell to Morocco, and jumped on a plane headed for Barcelona....

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