Just one Arabian night

Date: Apr 26, 2010
I love being in Arab countries. I love the sense of everything being so alive and vibrant. The streets are a cauldron of traditional dress, modern adaptability, and a hectic pace which if you’re not driving in it, is a mind boggling wonder.

People hawking everything from sunglasses to Kleenex approach you trying just, as Jimmy Buffett would say: “to get by, being quiet and shy, in a world full of pushin’ and shove.” They don’t hassle you. Putting up your hand in a sort of “Stop” motion will cause them to change direction and try the next person. This is their job, their livelihood. How can people exist on this type of iffyness.

There are a few beggars. Actually not as many as I expected, maybe because Morocco has such a self-sustaining agriculture. They are mostly women with babies in their arms approaching tourists. But a blind man wandered through the maze of the Souk yesterday hand out in front to accept coins. There were also a few old, grizzled men and women who look as if there are some kind of walking medical wonder. How did they live so long looking in such decrepit condition. These situations have always tugged at my heart. If you give to one you are besieged by all the others watching who’s in the giving mood. I try and pick my spots as I’ve mentioned before.

There are the inevitable street hustlers. They know someone who knows someone who can give you a deal. A tour, money exchange, women, men even. You name it they’ve got it or know someone who does. It’s more or less a low-end Wall Street. Everybody’s on the take.

I love Arabs as a people. They are incredibly generous by nature. They are warm, friendly and laugh and smile a lot. This was one of my most important discoveries in travel. When I first came to Europe in 1961, I was supposed to spend 9 months traveling in western Europe. Then I got a ride in Yugoslavia (remember that country) from a German couple who took me to Thessoloniki in Greece. They were going the next day to Istanbul. I sat in my room that night, looked at maps, and thought: “Wow, I could go there instead of Athens. So the next morning I was out on the road to Istanbul and they came by, picked me up and took me all the way there. Once there, what do you do, go back the same way. That seemed silly, so I went down through Turkey, and into the Middle East for several months and finally made it to Athens from Egypt. I was treated so well even with the Israeli thing such a hot topic in 1961 (Has the world changed?) that I’ve always had a great affinity for the people. And I’m happy to say that all the good things I love about them as a people are still there.

So after an eye-filled day of delight and wonder, it was time to venture out in the evening when things are very different. Everything is just muted – light, sounds, colors all seem to be toned down. Walking down the street in the area where we’re staying there is a dearth of tourists. The people on the street are locals doing what they always do in the evening. Hundreds of swallows dart and swoop in the darkening sky searching out some munchies flying as well. Possibly mosquitoes, but who can tell. I don’t even know how the swallows can tell they’re moving so fast. “Oh, Darn! I missed another one.”

Men sit in small groups, sometimes individually as if they are waiting for friends, sometimes 4-5 will be sharing a table all drinking tea or coffee. All chairs face the street. They are not circling a table facing each other looking for some eye contact during conversation. It’s like some dinner theatre where everybody faces the stage. And indeed there is a show. It’s the thousands of people walking by. There are never any women in these cafes. This is Man’s game. Conversations too are muted. No loud harangues, no boisterous hilarity. Just quiet conversation.

The women who are on the street are, by and large, with their husbands and children. There are some groups of women ambling down the street, but this is not something that women do here. When you see a lone female, she seems to have a purpose. She’s headed somewhere. The one exception I saw to this was at the Local MacDonald’s. This was a booming business. It has a very large outdoor sitting area and it was filled with women in groups or women with kids. They have this thing called a “McArabia.” A panini by any other name is still a lot of bread. I didn’t look closely, but from the pictures in the window, it’s just another marketing device.

It’s amazing how stylish the women can be wearing the full length jellabas and head scarves. Sometimes they are just the traditional black, but like women everywhere, given the opportunity they can turn the mundane into the spectacular. They can be very vivid in color, bright purples and golds, turquoise, even your basic black can have jeweled decorations which give it some pizzaz. They often have color coordinated head scarves and shoes which make a very delightful picture for the eyes. Some wear a bit of make-up, but certainly nobody could be called Miss Mabeline. We did see one woman who was absolutely covered. Not an inch of skin to be seen. Black gloves covered the hands and a full veil. But she was an exception. Morocco seems to be very moderate in their beliefs of how women are supposed to display themselves in public. There were even your young “I’ve got it and I’m going to flaunt it,” types out. Stiletto heels and tight-fitting clothes which gave the impression that if they were wearing anything under the dress, it certainly didn’t have any visible lines. Men may disapprove, but when they pass them, heads turn and follow them as they shimmy-shake their way down the street.

Crossing the street is still an adventure. At least at night you can see the headlights bearing down on you.. In Spain and Portugal, if you just stood on the sidewalk by a white crossing zone, cars would stop. Spaniards just venture into the street without even looking for traffic because they know cars will stop. That would be considered assisted suicide here. Just because you have the “Green man” for safe crossing doesn’t mean anything. You cross the street at your own peril with your head on a swivel. Cars will zoom by just missing you in front or behind. Again, the rule seems to be that everybody calculates the speed of the opposite number and works accordingly. Neither drivers nor pedestrians speed up or slow down because that would screw up the calculation.

One thing I remember from my time here before is how openly affectionate men are with each other without social stigma. Here they walk down the street hand in hand or arm in arm without anybody making any assumptions about their sexuality. You see far more public affection between men than you see men with women. However, young people are beginning to be more open with affection. They walked together closely holding hands whereas you rarely see that in anybody over 35, I’d say.

The evening walk brings out a different ambiance to the streets. People have time to be leisurely and social. The work day is over, and the cool nights provide an opportunity to enjoy the end of the day. So it is for the foreigners as well.

Saalam a leikum

Carol and Jim