Happiness is a Solid: Chefchaouen!

Nov 12

It was a tough night last night, hard to describe, and I don’t know how much of it would knock out the average bear. I suppose that’s not the point right? Here’s the story. I sit down to dinner, fairly wiped out from my walking. At the moment I am in my hotel room and there are all kind of strange knocking sounds and someone calling for someone whose name sounds a lot like ‘Kevin.’ The stuff of nightmares. I need to sleep. Anyway, I sit down and the order a sandwich. The guy brings me a salad – I say no salad, he looks hurt, but whatever. Then he brings me a sandwich with a couple doughy things (for which I am charged – not a lot, but still, I didn’t ask for nor eat them. A guy sits down next to me, he had called for me earlier, hey you, which is different cause most of the Moroccans don’t know much English. My guard is way up (salad, rug salesman), but eventually we chat for a while about American music stars and film stars.

Basically by the end of the night he has walked me way to hell and gone saying we’re going to a hammam (a public bath / sauna I’ve wanted to check out but haven’t seen) – we see it and move on, tried to get me to buy spices or herbs or something from some dude (which I did sadly, 7 dollars), and by the end of it he and I have talked about health and all this shit and I’ve been around and around on him – he’s crazy, he’s totally fine, interesting, boring, wants to hang out, is totally trying to scam me, etc. It’s dark, I’m tired, entirely lost from following him around, I’m way on alert, and he asks me for a souvenir (not money as expected), I give him a poem from Anna’s travel book and he says he’d like to hang out tomorrow – hang out? As friends? I have no idea, but I head out and find my way to a cyber café, post what I had written without any real thought, chat with Corinne and nearly throwup or passout in this little place. I sit and start feeling - sad, frustrated, all that and then feel fine – well, sad and frustrated and fine. I’ve not figured this out yet. It has been hard. I think I need to couple traveling with relaxing. My plan was to see things, and I did. Now I’m going to find the youth hostel and try to meet people (it is Friday tomorrow and everything is closed I think). Sit for a while in places. There are a ton of café’s around town. Enjoy tea (with my new herbs that are supposed to cure the shakes), read some more Salinger and ease for a day.

Nov 13

This morning I set off to meet my fellow travelers, wherever they are. After walking for half an hour or so I found the youth hostel. Without a reliable map I am beholden to guards and pedestrians who, while very friendly, do not speak English and often do not know the street or place I am looking for (maps and street names do not seemed to be used as reference. After asking and walking and wandering and finally giving up, I saw it across the street. My hope was to meet people but at 915 the place is entirely deserted. I got here about an hour ago and have only seen the attendant who asked for my room card and let me sit here in the courtyard anyway. I think I might give up on this place in a few and start walking again, back in the general direction of the old city of Meknes (there are two main parts of the city, I am kind of in the suburbs now).

I know that part of my journey was to move beyond where I had been for the past few years, and that that movement would push me beyond my comfort zone of the expected, emotionally speaking. I have entered, just a bit, that unexpected emotional place and now that I’m here I need to decide what to do – do I settle in a bit, relax as it were – try to I suppose, or do I attempt to manage my movements, meals, social encounters and so on. I am torn between moving and staying. Movement is something I can control, but I without a destination of purpose it is pretty removed from my emotional state. I am drawn to finding wifi or wireless cafes, but that is like chocolate to me, a temporary rush of relief that leaves me with less of my own to sustain me. I have woken at 7 every day and felt good about that. I have gotten lost everyday and feel good about that. I might try for a park today, stay one more night, and head out of town tomorrow – maybe try for Oaurzazate, a smaller desert town, and try to experience the place more than the people. In Sweden that is when I felt most like myself – outside of Stockholm. But is that why I’m here? (upon reflection this is a somewhat angsty moment included for the record).

It’s now about 1030 PM. I kind of got kicked out of the hostel (where I wrote the above), she said I couldn’t just sit there without having a room - certainly not a big deal, but along with my sensitive state, it rattled me and I walked back slowly, feeling like my mission for the day had been thwarted easily – both because I got kicked out and because there was no.one. there. Ah well, this is when, back in the hotel room, starting to cry for realsies, I hear English in the hallway, step out, step back, and finally step out again to say – you American? (why that I have no idea) and do you speak English? When I was about to give up on finding the hostel, if was right in front of me. When I was about to give up on finding a walk around buddy, she was right in front of me (sort of, but you know), and yesterday, about to give up on the massive granaries, they were literally right in front of me. This is something I think. Maybe it means never give up. Maybe it means give up and the answer will be right there. But it is something I will remember as I move around.

Tonight (Friday) she met up with a Moroccan she knew from somewhere and a friend of his. It was a tower of babel – Stephanie speaks German, English, some Spanish. I speak English and Spanish very poorly. Her friend speaks Arabic, Italian and some French, Spanish and English. His friend spoke only Arabic – so he and I were kind of odd men out, but it was a fun night. After eating in a square near that giant gate, we walked to a hooka bar (shish its called), but not really a bar, no drinks. We enjoyed the hooka, her friend danced some, then she and I walked back to our hotel and the dudes went on their way. And now I am in bed writing and missing you. It’s nice to be somewhat cozy while I write you, I feel like I can relax and enjoy the process, rather than searching for keys and worrying about looking up hostels or trains or buses or other online things.

Sunset Meknes, that insane gate is to the left

Typical Morracan scene, those are petite taxis

November 14

This morning I woke up a little later than usual, headed to a café that has free wifi that I saw last night and had a little chat with Corinne, which was great, beyond great. It felt good to not only connect to her in real time but also to see her while we chatted (via skype), but alas, no sounds; something to look forward to. At around noon Stephanie (my travel pal for a few days) and I went to catch a bus to Chefchaouen, the smoking capitol of north Africa (hint, not hooka). Catching a bus involved a crowded station and a dude we paid who brought us to a bus – not for the faint of heart or travel anxious. It worked out totally fine, of course, but I was glad to have Stephanie as a guide of sorts. We met an Aussie couple (Bridget and Daniel), a French guy (whose name I forget) and a British guy (Joe). So we (the UN) started chatting before the bus ride and were advised (by Dan) that they pass out puke bags and that the Moroccans use them. This concerned me a tad. I take a bag, and two Dramamine.

The road was totally fine – quite beautiful actually – sleepy J. I think it is the road past Chefchaouen that gets rough. We had some bus trouble, but after a few side of the road pauses, we were in the foothills of the Atlas mountains as the sun came down. I tried to get a few shots from the bus window but that doesn’t generally work. Anyway, we taxied from one town out, the six of us, and found a hotel in Chefchaouen and went looking for dinner.

Six is nearly too much, but for me it was lovely – we walked around quite a bit, somewhat in twos, easy conversation and lots of ready questions. We found a great spot for a hotel (Hotel Soukia) and a great spot for dinner (Grenada something or other). I’m sharing a dorm with everyone but the Aussies, who have their own room. Our dinner was relaxing and on our walk back we decided to sit, have some tea, coffee, some sampled the famous Chefchaouen goods, and enjoy a soccer game. It felt lovely – really lovely, the first time I felt really comfortable while traveling. These folks were all quite easy to talk with and each deserves their own travel story – the aussies have been traveling for over a year (quite typical for aussies) and had many great stories. We talked politics and culture and weather patterns and places to see. We moved easily, slowly.

Chefchaouen is sometimes called the blue city, lots of the buildings have a light blue paint on their lower sections (there is a reason for the which I don’t know). It is much slower than Fes or Meknes, and there is good hiking in the area. I bought my Palestinian scarf for a great price with no hard selling whatsoever. Just, this is the price and walk back into the shop. It feels like what I have been looking for in this country – I guess what I hoped I would find. And maybe that is the group talking, I cannot overstate how huge that has been for me. Some folks might go hiking tomorrow and I am excited to see what that’s all about.