Spring Break: Top 3 Lessons I Learned in Morocco

It's 11:30 a..m. at the Wakka Wakka Hostel in Marrakech, Morocco and I've just been woken up by the imam's call to noon salat – prayers– echoing from atop the Al-Khoutoubia Mosque (the city's largest) about four blocks north. Even from inside the hostel, I can hear the normally hazy, sun-soaked city Hemingway so adored being assaulted with rain.

And that was fine with me, since I knew I wouldn't be leaving the hostel bed anytime soon. It seriously felt as if someone was power-washing my intestines, shooting me repeatedly in the head, tugging at the tendons behind my eyeballs, and holding a space heater over my entire body...all at the same time. Food poisoning is no joke, especially in a city like Marrakech, and I promptly checked into another room at the hostel while my friends flew to Barcelona, as I knew there was no way I was going to enjoy even a city like Barcelona if I didn't have the full physical capacity to do so.

                      Accurate depiction of what I saw above me in the hostel bed

 I spent the next 17 hours tossing and turning in some type of sleepless waltz, staring up at the intricately painted Arabian ceiling tiles, feebly sipping from my dwindling supplies of fresh water, and confronting my own mortality in my head. "You'll never be normal again," said my brain. "Dude, just kill me. Now." implored my lower back. Whenever sleep mercifully came, it wasn't long before my Finnish roommates, three girls, came stampeding into the room to talk about, oh I don't know, something Finnish, thereby interrupting the much-needed slumber

Then, one of them started snoring. I kept thinking about how much I miss South Carolina at times, and my dog, and my family, and my friends, and in a moment of insanity, I balled up a pair of my dirty socks and prepared to launch them right at the Snoring Scandanavian's dome...

 But then, I realized something.

 Prior to Marrakech, the Moroccrew lived in complete ecstasy. We paid 100 euros each for six days in a palatial beach house overlooking the turquoise waters of the Atlantic. We had internet, comfy beds, sprawling estates of land by local standards, and we were all 20-22 years old, on Spring Break, with probably a quarter of all the hard alcohol in Africa chilling in our fridge.

                                          This view cures all that ails ye'

To even ask that it get much better would be obscene. Couscous cost three euros. Fresh fish caught by the locals could be haggled down to ten euros for four large fish. Shopkeepers and cab drivers practically fell over one another to help us out.

Yes, food poisoning sucked. But in some ways, it was an integral part of the Morocco experience. In fact, I can't wait to go back to Morocco because the place taught me a few things about myself and about other people. Some of these ring true for places other than Morocco, and of course, and I do not mean to make the claim that I'm somehow a "more enlightened" individual now that I've only briefly passed through the country.

However, seeing as not that many people from America think 'Morocco' when they think of exotic travel locations, I think it's about time this hidden gem of a country gets the recognition it deserves.

The Top 3 Things I Learned in Morocco

3: Don't Be Afraid of "Sketchy-Looking" People. 

Sure, they might actually maintain a collection of jewelry fashioned from human bones. They might have cataracts in one eye like the "Bridge of Death" guy from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. They might seem like loud, aggressive, and otherwise, untrustworthy people. But when they have the power to solve one of your problems, walk right up to them and state your case. You don't really have a choice. Half the time, the only reason they look "untrustworthy" in the first place is because Morocco lacks basic sanitation in some locations. When there isn't clean water, let alone fluoridated water, and the national drink is a mint tea filled with enough sugar to crash a 4th grader's endocrine system, people will more often than not, be missing a few teeth.

                            Pretty much what our parking attendant looked like

Even more importantly, to judge someone's character, trustworthiness, or knowledge of right and wrong based solely on their physical appearance is undoubtedly the most superficial thing you could ever do. I met shopkeepers in Taghazout wearing grease-soaked, sweat-stained "NBA/Super Bowl/Stanley Cup Champions" shirts emblazoned with a losing team's logo who were more friendly than people in Downtown Denver. Treat the "sketchballs" the same way you'd treat anyone, and I guarantee, you'll be surprised what friends you can make and what stuff you can get for free.

2: Learn to Haggle Like a Pro

     

When you visit the souks, any souk, odds are, you'll find people from foreign countries selling well-made things for cheap. For example, I got a totally cliche Berber tribal poncho that looks like something out of "D-Bag Backpacker Magazine" for 100 dirham (ten euros), even though the shopkeeper told me he'd normally triple that price for a non-French or Arabic speaking tourist.

It doesn't have to be an adversarial encounter either. When I returned to the shop the next morning to buy a few trinkets and souvenirs, the same shopkeeper, Ali, promptly invited me to some back room. For a second, I thought, "This is it, I'm getting shot in the bag of the head and robbed right now." However, I then revisited point #5 in my head and became a man. 

Four younger Moroccan guys sat around a hookah spouting fruity smoke while sticks of ocean-scented incense wafted tendrils of thinner smoke across the candlelit room. Ali offered me coffee and tea, and then told the other four that I spoke Arabic. Immediately, their faces lit up. They started asking me questions about America, about where I studied Arabic, about whether I had any Arab ancestry, and if I was enjoying my time in Morocco. We talked at length for about half an hour, and before I could pay for any of the articles I'd selected, they began heaping bracelets, scarves, stickers, and jewelry towards me, urging me to take whatever I wanted. 

I gave them a few things in return, picked out a scarf and two or three trinkets, and then found them all on Instagram before leaving the shop 

 The point is, no vendor is going to sell you anything they don't easily make a profit on, or that they could just as easily pay for out of their own pocket. Plus, take a genuine interest in their lives, even if you can't speak the language, and you'll be handsomely rewarded.

1: Be Willing to Give

I'm not saying you should give all your money to a homeless Moroccan person; I'm saying you should be willing to give generously, whether it be time or money, genuinely and without the expectation of anything in return. Tithing is huge in Islam, and helping out a homeless person in a busy city square is the quickest way to ingratiate yourself to local shopkeepers and restaurant owners. What's more, the Moroccans do not forget a face, and you can be assured that they will, at some point, return the favor ten-fold.

It would've been oh so easy to peer down from our spacious veranda overlooking the beach and feel superior; to gather some sense of entitlement from the fact that we, as tourists, are essentially supporting the livelihood of these people who have next to nothing. But then, everyone hates you. 

When our group made the day trip to Paradise Valley, a utopia of cliff-divers and Garden of Eden scenery, we could've just given our cabbie the bare minimum. Instead, when he took us to a number of scenic spots in the mountains, a local garden which made its own honey, and a cliff near the sea where we got to watch a ball of fiery Moroccan sun set behind the furthest point of the horizon, we gave him nearly double what he was asking. 

                           The group with Abdulrahim, Cab Driver of the Century

Parting with dollars or dirham is so much easier when you realize that you're paying a pittance in proportion to what you're getting to experience. I don't even remember how much the cab ride was, but I definitely remember how delicious the jar of Eucalyptus Honey that was made right in front of me tasted. I remember jumping from a ten meter cliff into emerald waters, and playing Asshole with friends as we shared rum around more than the money I spent.

                            Couscous: The food so nice, they named it twice

And so, I refrained from throwing a fastball into this snoring Finnish girl's head. Instead, I went out into the hostel lobby, shakily sat down on the cushioned seats, and made friends with a few Germans who were in Marrakech getting ready to head back to Munich. When it was time, I gathered my things, headed to the airport, and watched as the city became smaller and smaller in the window. On the plane, I met Elizabeth, an attorney from Chicago who works in The Hague. I also met Jeffrey and Yani, two forty-something Dutchmen who regularly leave their wives and children to travel the world together. 

What started as an awful way to end the trip to Morocco became another amazing day, and even now, I realize that Morocco was not just a vacation, but a full-on crash course in human relations more useful than any university class. It was a way to peel back the curtain and truly marvel at how, often times, the people with nothing are the most willing to give everything.

Till next time ya'll, thanks for reading.

Drew