Moroccan time share presentation

Date: Apr 28, 2010

My “Moroccan Driver’s guide,” notwithstanding, we had a wonderful road trip from Marrakesh to Fez. We were required to come here because our daughter wanted a fez from Fez. The things we do for that girl. :-) Google listed it as a nine hour drive and we did it in seven which shows that I am learning my lessons well, which makes Carol a little nervous at times. The basic problem for Americans driving in these situations is that we have “Drive Defensively” hammered into our brain from the time we first sit behind the wheel. I did it to my kids, and they’ll do the same to theirs. But that doesn’t work here because nobody else understands that kind of mentality. If you don’t drive like the Moroccans, then you throw the whole schematic out of order. If you pause in the middle of the intersection because you aren’t sure what the other guy is going to do, then it’s a truly cascading proverbial snowball. People behind you aren’t prepared for that. They expect you to go Balls-out through, as does the car coming that you are trying so hard to defend against. This type of mentality gets people hurt and killed. As silly as it seems, it all makes perfect sense. You just accept the inconsistencies as general truths, and it makes for a fairly relaxed and enjoyable experience.

We skirted the Atlas Mountains for the majority of the journey. Those mountains which provide a barrier between the Sahara to the south and the rich farmland to the north, but the mountains are very high and with the snow melt provide a lush environment for the agriculture to flourish. The country can maintain a population of over 35 million because it can feed itself. As I’ve noted before this is such a land of contrast, from high-fashion females to those totally covered in traditional Muslim dress, from high speed highways to rough pitted roads where travel is severely restricted. Agriculture is no different. We passed wheat fields ready to be harvested. On one side of the road would be a group of women cutting the grain with back breaking sickles cutting one small swath at a time, while on the other a tractor pulling some modified “Brush hog” made a pass of more than four feet at a time. Today, we saw an actual harvester like they use in Kansas. The mountains provide a more than adequate supply of irrigation. There is so much water that runoff is a problem and washout of the roads a common situation. We have passed literally hundreds of miles where the earth is in total production, and it is as lush, verdant, and diverse a planting as you would find anywhere in the world. I’m sure the per-acre yield is much lower due to the limited mechanization and, I suspect, the dearth of chemical fertilizers, but I’m not sure of this point.

For the most part the towns were constructed of red-bricked and adobe houses which we saw from the superhighway. But now we were up close and personal with them. Weaving your way through them is a tricky proposition since there aren’t any real rules for cars and pedestrians in these small villages. Speed zones are sometimes reduced to 12 miles an hour, and even that can be hazardous. In Marrakesh they have a lot of horse drawn carriages like you would find in Central Park, with less ostentation. We thought they were for the tourists, however in the villages, they serve as taxis for the locals. They add something new to the mix as I’m not sure the horse knows all the rules I’m learning. On one occasion there was a horse carriage trying to turn left in the single lane of traffic, I’m trying to pass on the right, and a ‘petite’ taxi scooted by on my right.

These villages seem far more traditional in dress and customs with definite segregation in tasks and functions. There are far fewer women with heads bare and what we would euphemistically call “Western Dress.” Full jellabas and head scarves are the order of the day. Men are the shopkeepers and tradesmen, while women often labor in the fields. Occasionally we would see a woman on a donkey, but for the most part it seemed to be a man’s world. Donkeys are everywhere. It’s like a time warp, sending you back to biblical days if you can cut out the noise of the autos. I told Carol I’d like to have a nickel for every donkey cart we saw on the ride. She said no, but she’d settle for a nickel for every sheep we saw. There were literally hundreds of flocks ranging from 4-5 to hundreds. They are tended by all sorts of mixtures. Not necessarily men, but women and lots of kids. It’s always somebody’s job to walk along side the road to make sure the sheep don’t get on to the highway.

When we were in South America on Carol’s sabbatical many years ago, I asked our Quechua guide in the Amazon what happens if he got lost in the jungle. He looked at me as if it was the stupidest thing he ever heard. He said if you are standing next to this certain tree and this kind of a plant is growing in its shadow, then you are in this part of the jungle. The plants were his trademark. It’s the same with the souks. Although the Souks can seem like nothing more than a maze of alleys leading to other alleys which take you deeper inside and you can feel like one of those Sci Fi films where they inject you into a person’s capillaries and you have to traverse the network of veins and arteries, it is really quite organized. The main “Streets” have some of everything, but the inner core is more compartmentalized. And guides and the knowing can read where they are in the souks just by knowing what kinds of shops are next to other kinds of shops.

We were led to a place where there were men weaving bedspreads and couch covers and table cloths. We explained how we weren’t going to buy, but……………..Now comes the time share presentation. They are happy to show you the weaving process and all their awards and where the carpets are sold in the west, etc. “Here look at the finished product.” “No, don’t worry about buying, I just want to show you so you can appreciate.” Rugs, blankets, bed spreads are all thrown out with a flourish which would rival a fisherman spreading his net upon the sea.

For every reason why you have to leave and can’t purchase, they have a ready answer. We can’t buy because we can’t carry it home. “No problem, we ship.” Those are far too big for anything we could use. “Here, look, we have small ones.” We have to meet someone. “Life is too fast, better to take it slowly. They will be there and they will understand.” The process just goes on and on until you say, politely, but firmly, “We have to leave. Thank you very much.” I’ve been in time share presentations where they could take a lesson from these guys. They are the masters. In Fez we went to see cut-pile carpets and it was the same thing, except they even threw in the guilt trip. If we didn’t buy it made no difference to them because they were paid by the government to show the process to tourists. However, by not buying we were depriving the 1350 women in the cooperative of a decent living. It was as if we were taking food off their table.

We’ve been trying to eat lightly and carefully, but tonight we wanted a nice traditional Moroccan meal, and so we went to a place which specializes in couscous. Carol had the vegetarian and I had the lamb. Both were delicious and filled with vegetables simmered in a sauce. The couscous was much finer grained than what we get at home with a more subtle flavor. Very nice meal indeed. We’ve also had the tangine cooked meals. They are pottery cooking devices which look like cone-shaped hats. It’s quite tasty. The meal I had of lamb and prunes was particularly good.

The weather turned hot today, about 100 degrees and so our walking was limited in the afternoon, but again as the evening came upon us, we again strolled with the locals and just soaked up the visuals of the evening.