I contacted my housemates back in Barcelona to let them know I was alright and stayed in Rabat for the next week, meeting people, getting used to the culture, asking questions and getting organised for the trip down South. I went to visit a shop where they made mosaics and I watched them expertly chip dozens of ceramic pieces into find shapes and fit them into the most amazing designs. Mosaic´s are everywhere here! Even the street fountains in the Medina are each colourful masterpieces. Likewise, the woodcarving skills are astonishing! ´Ordinary´pieces of furniture, such as chairs and doors, are intricately carved mahogany on closer inspection. I also went to visit a workhouse where enormous carpets are woven in much the same style as I had seen in the Stirling castle Medieval tapestry exhibit. In Rabat, though, I got to sit in and watch the weavers work so fast that I could barely see their hands moving! (see photo gallery: the photo is not blurred!)
I went to eat at so many people´s houses, dishes which I had never heard nor seen the likes of before. It was hard to say no: practially no one I spoke to had heard of ´vegetarianism,´but they nevertheless were intrigued and started making special efforts to find a variety of dishes which they could cook for me without fish or meat in them. In Morocco, it is also usual for everyone at the table to eat from common dishes, but unlike me, they somehow manage not to spill food everywhere on the path from the centre of the table to their mouths! Some of the women also taught me how to apply henna tattoos properly and took me to the ´Hammam´(Moroccan bath house), which is quite a ritual and a worthwhile experience.
Meanwhile, I got a lesson in chameleon care 101: it turns out that, according to the internet sites I consulted, most chameleons don´t make it to five weeks old. Secondly, they don´t like being sprayed with water, but sometimes enjoy sitting in it. Thirdly, they need to bask in the sunshine every day. Fourth, they eat flies and other small insects, not just lettuce and need to eat three times a day, not once or twice. Fifth, chameleons only start catching their own flies once they are a bit older. Until about five or wix weeks, they have to have their jaws mannually pried open and the flies placed directly inside. This left me with the task of collecting fresh insects every day to feed Gus, which is a trickier task than it sounds! At two or three weeks, chameleons need almost constant care. I eventually found him a plastic soap box to live in and decorated it with tissues and small twigs. Gus went with me almost everywhere and was so small that his pink soap box fit right inside my pocket!
On Thursday night Alison arrived and turned out to be excellent company. She preferred to go surfing during the days, but in the evenings it was easier and more comfortable for both of us to go around with another female companion. I had met many women who were travelling through Morocco alone and said they had no problems. I, however, was not such a seasoned traveller and still found comfort and safety in numbers.
After a few more days in Rabat, though, the culture shock really started to sink in, and so did my stomach! By Monday I had full blown fever and the worst case of diarrhea in my life! I felt really ill and as the day progressed, it only got worse. We had planned to leave for Essouaira the next day, but when my travel crew came over in the evening to organise departure details and found me so sick, they immediately got worried and started feeding me all sorts of home remedies; one gave me a sweet herbal tead while another stuffed me full with raw, dry cumin powder that tasted repulsive! (four or five tablespoon´s worth!) This made me throw up, which helped with the nausea, but not the diarrhea. I drank heaps of bottled water and slept a lot. I woke up early the next morning still weak, but miraculously well enough to travel again - or so I thought.
Our first destination was Essouaira (if you think it´s a difficult spelling, try pronouncing it!), a jewel of a town on the coastline between Casablanca and the Western Sahara. It is known for its fierce Atlantic winds, as the Easternmost point in Morocco, for it´s windsurfing, it´s Hippie history, as Jimi Hendrix´s second home and, most notoriously, as the home of Gnoa music and the Gnoa Music Festival (held annually in June). Gnoa music is a style of mostly accoustic music which developed in Morocco. It tends to have a lot of fingerpicking work, intricate beats and is a lot of fun to dance to. Essouaira is also notorious for it´s fine arts, crafts, seafood, intricate alleyways and even has a Portugues sea front fortress (to compliment the Moorish sea front fortresses I had visited in Southern Spain). I got the feeling the town was ancient, so was surprised to discover that it had only sprung up in the previous two hundred years. It is a really beautiful, friendly little town and a comfortable, tourist orientated (and priced) way to taste Moroccan life and culture outside the big cities.
The next morning I awoke feeling really ill again, so the group decided that another day or two in Essouaira couldn´t hurt. That evening, though, while still weak from the stomach upset, I got caught in a misty, cold fog blown in from the sea and came down with a chesty cought and high fever again to boot. My travel friends were worried about me, but were also anxious to get going as they had limited time for their planned trip.
A day later I awoke feeling even worse to find Gus had passed away in the night. I don´t know what he died of or if there was anything I could have done better, but I was very upset. I moreover realised that I had not only run out of time (I had three weeks to get back to Barcelona and find a new flat) and money, but I needed proper medical care and my friends needed their long planned holiday. It was time for me to leave Morocco, surfing trip or not.
At nine o´clock that night, still hazy with fever, I boarded an overnight bus to Tangiers which arrived at about midday. I felt exhausted from sickness, utterly defeated and really did not want to leave Morocco at all. I had been enjoying learning all about their culture, history and the various different ways of life all so foreign to my own knowledge. I had made friends, been received by open doors and had unique opportunities laid before me. I had also never had the chance to learn how to surf or to see the Western Saharan desert. I knew, however, that despite my friends´concern and care, I foremost needed to get to somewhere more familiar that had English speakers, clean water and medical care, as soon as possible: back to Spain.
Next time on Tempest Trails:
- Trapped in Paradise!
- Storms and trains!
- Can you say "yo enfermero!"? (translated: "I am sick!")
Some Tempest Time.
Some Tempest Channel.
