I learned several valuable lessons in Morocco. I learned first that a place can surprise you even when you are expecting to be surprised. I learned that I am not as well traveled as I initially thought, and that in fact, I've barely scratched the surface of world cultures.
And I learned that group tours are never, and I do mean never, the way to go. Okay, maybe I would do a group tour of North Korea if my only clothing choice was a bedazzled star-spangled God-bless-America cut-off tee - and even then I might risk it.
There is nothing wrong with wanting comfort and convenience - but if that means eating only in hotel restaurants and riding camels in parking lots, I personally will opt for traveler's diarrhea and a stolen identity.
Morocco, shockingly, is not at all like the Morocco in Epcot Center at Disney World. Yes, they both have Cous Cous and sand-blasted, eroded buildings, but in the real Morocco, the street vendors have a lot more poverty in their eyes and a lot less of that Disney sparkle.
It is also, again shockingly, nothing like the Bob Hope - Bing Crosby film, The Road to Morocco, where the tag line literally was "You'll Shriek At These Shieks!" I am also probably the only person under the age of seventy who has seen that movie.
Morocco is the most chaotic place I've ever been. The markets were thriving with rushing people, clucking and snorting animals, and dead animals in various states of preparation - from freshly slit, steaming throats to chickens cleaned down to the very last feather. Odors would seep from the cramped booths to burn your nostrils until you wanted to run, eyes watering, to the nearest McDonald's for a Shamrock shake and some distantly processed meat.
But the important thing to do here - I believe - is not to run to those golden arches that symbolize comfort and gluttony, but rather to take it all in, bit by bit, smell by smell. When the initial shock passed, I realized that, well, I kind of like Morocco. The cities there - of which we visited three, Tetouan, Tangier and Chefchaouen - are alive in a way that makes them feel more like separate beings, rather than a collection of buildings. They rush with activity and sweep you away in a blur of senses.
The few precious times they let us off the bus, I was blown away at how different it all was. Even just the writing - so foreign and beautiful and utterly meaningless to me. It was humbling to be completely and totally illiterate.
I also tried my hand at bargaining. Apparently, I am extremely good at it. The key, I find, is to not actually want any of it in the first place. One particularly persistent man - I kid you not - chased me down the street offering me a bracelet for free. No charge. If he had gone any lower, I may have taken it.
We were in Morocco for the last days of Ramadan, so of course Muslims were fasting during the day and being ruthlessly taunted by us at lunch time. We arrived in Tangier right before sundown on Saturday. Everyone in the city had abandoned their lives in search of one collective goal: food. The city was drenched with anticipation. At one point, two young men ran past, so excited - a crock pot in tow between the two of them. It was interesting to see a part of a culture that is totally foreign to me; even fleeting glimpses can show you so much.
So, I can now say I've been to Morocco and I can say I've been to an Arab country. Despite my gripes about the tour (never again), that is a pretty cool thing. Just means I'll have to go back.
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