Yeh Dil Maange MorOcco!
(This title
for this blog post is in Hinglish and is inspired from an Indian Pepsi ad from
the 90s; translating to, ‘My heart wants more’)
I’m not a
particularly sentimental traveler. I’m usually completely satisfied with
every trip. I feel like I have a pretty good idea of what aspects of a new
country I want to see and what experiences I am seeking, before I get there,
and none have disappointed, especially when I throw out all expectations😊 Usually, it all works out and I return home with an almost
unexplainable sense of satisfaction. A very calm feeling that I savor endlessly
in my eternal mind.
But I am rarely
nostalgic about places I have been. Its fond memories I carry forever, very
vividly. But of the 25-30 countries I have been to, there is not one that I
have yearned to really go back to. Until… I went to Morocco.
It’s true
that I have nurtured a panache for traveling to Morocco ever since I saw two of
my favorite movies, Babel and Syriana. And Brad Pitt and Matt Damon have zilch
to do with it. Remember, at heart and somewhere in my subconscious, I am a 15-year-old
nomad girl, traveling in a caravan with constantly-cud-chewing-camels and other
whirling dancers like myself. Moving along a desertscape route full of glass
bangles, handwoven baskets, jasmine and other sweet smelling nothings. My abode
would have rice flour paintings, hand drawn with love. I would love and dance
and dance and laugh, barefoot of course. Always surrounded by people, a lot of
people. I would twirl my two little friends, Manav and Manali round and round
and round and we would all giggle for a long long time. This is where my soul
lives.
I think the city
of Marrakesh came close to this place. It might have been the place or the
people or both. In August of 2019, after an adventurous journey through Uganda,
Tanzania, Kenya and Zanzibar alone with my two little ones, I met my parents in
London and the five of us together traveled to Morocco.
Marrakesh had all
the makings of other towns I loved- Amritsar, Zanzibar, Fort Cochin, Old Dubai,
Malacca. Usually border or port cities, birthed by the ravaging forces of
history, division and subjugation, transforming their walled border posts into
cozy, bustling, chaotic mercantile centers, drawing people with cosmopolitan
outlooks, diversity, who have a knack for creativity and gritty
entrepreneurship and are typically polyglots. Where traditional attire blends
effortlessly into the Islamic hijab made of African Kente fabric or where exotic
spices blend to create a burst of flavors in your mouth. Jostle, mingle,
enrich, repeat.
The historic
heart of Marrakesh is the Medina with its circuitous and narrow alleyways, the
faint evening glow diminishing every hour, and the mirage of the distant Atlas
mountains. Like other souks, Marrakesh's also has the ‘saamne dukan, peeche
makan’ concept (blurred boundaries of living/work spaces)- the kind we are all
getting used to at the time of Covid😊
The chaotic pace at the famous Jemaa el-Fnaa square is truly chaotic and so I felt at home, quickly. Thousands of outdoor food carts, dry fruits, fresh juicewallahs, jostling with gimmicky snake charmers. My parents enjoyed viewing the town from the comforts of an open air motorized rickshaw, operated by our ever-smiling friend Mustafa. Mustafa was one of very few autorickshaw drivers who had a license to operate within the walls of the Medina as he was handicapped. His little grandson sat beside him every time, striking a conversation with Manav. They were both 7 years old.
The brief pause for mindfulness
was inspiring, every time the one heard the Muezzin’s call to prayer. Women drying their wet hair from the open terraces of their homes to
the bearded old men sitting in the corner shop, sipping their country’s version
of a hot drink. In the sweltering heat, like he does every other day.
Discussing life unabashedly with his chudie buddies.
We were really luck and brave (as vegetarians) to visit right
around Eid Al Hada or Bakra-Id. A great opportunity to teach kids about
respecting cultures and norms, very different than their own. Manali and Manav
sat under olive trees chatting with teenage boys selling grass to plump up your
goats. Talking of goats, we stopped by a slew of cottage industry-type shops
making oil and other products from the famed Argan tree, en route to the seaside
town of Essaouira. Supposedly, the skin of the Argan seeds is a delicacy to
goats who climb these trees (or are coerced by the same said entrepreneurial
teenage boys as they make a quick buck from the unsuspecting tourist) to eat
them, making them the legendary tree-climbing goats. The kids were ecstatic to
see them especially because we did not see the legendary tree climbing lions
earlier in Lake Manyara, TZ.
Mummy and Papa loved Morocco. They felt a sense of ease, felt very respected, and I think were reminded of home in India. My admiration for Morocco would not be complete without my intense appreciation for the place we called home during our travels- Riad L’Orangerie. An oasis of perfection right in the Medina. The glorious rooms and overall setting were only shadowed by the stellar service staff, led by their owner/manager- Cyril , an interesting French man. I could wax eloquent about Riad L’Orangerie’s but perhaps you can simply read my review here: https://www.tripadvisor.com/ShowUserReviews-g293734-d483826-r697825485-Riad_l_Orangeraie-Marrakech_Marrakech_Tensift_El_Haouz_Region.html [tripadvisor.com]
I will leave you with a small anecdote about our stay there. The staff anticipated guests’ needs. One day, my dad was having their sumptuous breakfast in the Riad’s al-fresco dining upstairs and our room was downstairs. Aziz noticed that it was bit hard for Papa to navigate the steps. Next thing I knew, Aziz is carrying my Papa on his back like we carry kids, and no one even asked for that! All done with a smile. Contrast that with when we arrived back in London from Marrakesh. I had two seniors in wheelchairs, and two kids under 10 and one heavy luggage cart. When the driver in the fancy Mercedes came to pick us up, I asked if he would just hold my dad’s hand while he got up from the wheel chair and the driver in his rehearsed polite voice declined saying he was not allowed to because of liability issues!
One more reason I chose destinations to travel to based on how much they like kids, how often the customs/border patrol officer smiles, how little of the language I can understand, pushing me to communicate using other human emotions, and how uninhibitedly the community engages in a hearty political debate. Oh and how much they like to dance, for no reason. I don’t need no museums, candlelight restaurants serving overpriced hospitality, or safety nets/liability traps every step of the way.
Inshallah, I hope I can get back on my cud-chewing camel soon. Next stop Morocco’s caravanserai. Where the hamams await my tired traveling feet. Where the Oud plays a tune, my heart is familiar with. Because my heart wants more. Dil Mange Morocco!!
