Taylor's Travels: Best of Morocco

The Morocco leg of my African journey has come to a close. As I write this, I’m on the plane to Senegal, reflecting on the happenings of the past five weeks, and want to share some of the some of my favorites with you.

Favorite Food: Tajine. This Moroccan staple can be found everywhere, though maybe not now because I may have eaten them all. Tender chicken or lamb hidden under a mound of veggies and potatoes, slow cooked in a clay pot and served to you steaming hot, the juices still bubbling, begging you to dip your bread.

Favorite Dessert: Coconut Hamburgers. At least that’s what we called them, as these cookies tasted like macaroons and were shaped like burgers. I say dessert, but I ate these things day or dark, pre or post meal. (The best way to ensure room for dessert is to eat it before a meal). In Marrakech they cost 15 cents. I wanted everyone around me to be hooked too, like a dope head trying to recruit others so the pleasure will be less guilty. “Hey! Psst! Ya you. Wanna try? First one’s free…”

Favorite Word: Upsaha. We learned this was the Arabic word for “cheers,” and used it every chance we got, sure we were impressing the locals by branching out beyond “hello” and “thank you” (“Salaam Aleikum” and “Chukran”). Then one night we were having tea with a local in Essueira and said “Upsaha,” tilting our mint tea towards him. He said, “Don’t say that. Nobody says that,” and made us feel about this big. But we later learned the guy was a lemon and continued with our Upsahas.

Favorite Saying: “In Morocco we go slow in the morning and not fast in the afternoon.” Speaks for itself.

Favorite Surf Spot: Inside Anchor Point. The actual point at Anchors is overcrowded and a bit soft, but the inside can have waves that look like the Superbank. If you’re willing to fight the current (not the crowds though, cause everyone is on the outside perfecting their cutbacks), you’ll be rewarded with long, square tubes. Morocco’s most visible secret spot.

Favorite City: Fes. I could have flown by Fes in a plane it would have been my favorite. It’s a sprawling labyrinth of narrow alleys, markets, and mosques, all perfectly placed between green mountains that make the buildings look like legos. Add to it a handful of generous and kind people I met, and my two day stay there seemed way too short.

Favorite Custom: Hand holding. Its nothing sexual (not that there’s anything wrong with that), but you’ll often see men holding hands when they talk to each other. They just made it look so natural and manly, like a high-five after a workout and a couple shots of Jack. So guys, look out, I may just hold your hand when I get home. Mostly because I love the custom, but also cause I want to see how awkward it makes you.

Speaking of awkward…

Most Awkward: Hands down the award goes to my time spent at the local “Hamam,” or bathhouse, in Fes. I was staying with a local guy (I met on the train ride up) and his family, and since there isn’t hot water in most of Fes, he invited me to the Hamam to clean up. I saw this as an opportunity to experience the culture and eagerly accepted. Long story short you strip down to your underwear and walk into these tile steam rooms, dozens of dudes sitting around and not only bathing themselves, but each other too.
So this is where the saying “you wash my back…” comes from, I thought.

I was clueless as to protocol and had to be told where to sit and which buckets of water to fetch. My host coached me through the whole thing, the five year old next to me getting similar instructions from his dad. Before I knew it there was a Hamam attendant dousing me with buckets of scolding water and telling me to lie down. If this all seems a little weird to read about, please, imagine how I felt. Then the guy starts a two-handed scrub of my back with a loofta, just leaning into it like he’s striping the deck of a boat. It felt like 80 grit sand paper, and I literally saw piles of dead skin piling up next to my face. I wanted to throw in the towel (then wrap it around me and get the hell out of there), but this torture was going on all around, and I didn’t want to be the sissy white guy that couldn’t hang.

After shedding about three pounds of skin (screw weight watchers), the guy starts cracking my back in every conceivable uncomfortable manner. With each crack he was yelling “HAH!” like he was a black belt punching through a board. By the end I was just cracking up, it was all just so weird. Combined with the fact that through the whole process everyone was watching to see how the newbie would react, and it takes the cake for my most awkward experience in Morocco.

So, I’m on my way to West Africa. The cute check-in girl waived the 150 Euro fee for my surfboard, and I have a free seat next to me so I can spread out. Off to a good start on the second leg.