Marrakech

For as long as we’ve been planning to come to Morocco, we’ve known that we wanted to visit the southern part of the country. Even Moroccans in Tangier call the south “real” Morocco. There’s the Atlas mountains, the desert and the Berber villages. And there’s Marrakech, the place people seem to picture when they talk about Morocco, with its famed snake charmers, storytellers and souks. Marrakech is even the subject of at least a few songs so if you prefer your blog reading to be accompanied by music (doesn’t everyone?). Click here for a song which you probably know and here for a song which you almost definitely don’t.

So when the schools went on break and my parents decided that they would be coming to Morocco and wanted to visit Marrakech, we decided to hop on their bandwagon and meet them there. Luckily they were prepared, because some of us (Cecily) hadn’t done our research. The planning for our voyage went something like this:

Me: We want to go to the Sahara and take a picture of the baby riding a camel. So we’ll probably take a three- or four-hour bus ride from Marrakech, hop on some camels and check it off the old bucket list.

My dad: GREAT, we want to visit the Sahara, too! So glad you brought this up. But we looked at a map and noticed it’s a little farther than you mentioned. About 11-12 hours of driving with a few overnight stops including a stay in a desert camp.

He was right, of course. Maps are interesting in that way. But by then we were committed and nobody wanted to be the one to shut down the adventure. So we signed-on for a four day excursion, complete with camel trekking and an overnight stay in the desert.

“Think of it like an expedition, “ Elliot said. “It will be Type 2 fun.” Type 1 fun is fun. Type 2 fun is fun to think about after you're all finished. Living with Elliot has shown me that this is a key distinction.

And so, with those words of encouragement to spur us on we began our “expedition.” Step one was the night train from Tangier to Marrakech. We’d been both dreading and looking forward to that part of the journey for some time. On one hand, sleeping on a train and waking up in an entirely different place seems really romantic and multi-tasky. Until you remember the fact that you have an infant. The beds are tiny and we assumed the albatross that is our travel crib would not fit in our sleeping compartment.

But then we saw the latest James Bond movie, Spectre, in which James and the lovely Dr. Madeleine Swann take train from Tangier to Marrakech and realized we had nothing to worry about. 

Don't we look good? Thanks. It's the climate.

The train really was comfortable and Cecily slept soundly all night long in a crib that was VERY SAFELY balanced on the two bottom bunks in a way which I’m certain nobody on baby related internet sites would object to. 

Sleep TRAINing, harhar. 

Anyhow, we made it and we were feeling pretty smug when we rolled into Marrakech. We’d gotten through the night. The sun was up, we were in the desert and a friendly train employee had rolled by with a cart of coffee. We were relatively well-rested. We didn't even have a hangover like James probably did. And that’s when the chaos began.

Marrakech is a hopping place: sprawling, and compact, modern and ancient, African and European. It's also pretty touristy and we definitely looked the part. As soon as we entered the Medina, Elliot got hit by a bike. I almost fell into a hole with a distraught donkey and then all three of us got yelled at by someone trying to scam us into giving them fifty dollars because he was the “boss of the medina” (?) and we were his “students.” Turns out Marrakech isn’t for the faint of heart. Once we recovered from our un-graceful entrance, though, we were able to explore the incredible square, complete with snakes and the Jardin Majorelle which includes a really great Amazighrt museum.

The next day we headed into the Atlas mountains, where we visited Oukaimeden, Africa's highest ski resort which, unfortunately, didn't have any snow.

First tracks?

They offered to take us up on donkeys but we passed, deciding to hold off for the camels.

Back in Marrakech we were relieved to see that Cecily’s grandparents had come to the rescue so that we could take a nap, I mean share the joys of our adopted country with our visitors.

But actually, there was some napping involved.

The next day, after Elliot completed the Marrakech half-marathon we took a guided tour of Marrakech which included a visit to the 16th-century Koranic school. 

Greetings from one of the tiny cells where the students lived

We also had a really interesting look inside the back of the Hammam (like the Turkish bath) where there is a man who tends the fire all day to heat the water AND cooks huge clay pots for locals on the side.

This guy takes multitasking to the extreme.

The next morning we met our fabulous guide, Miloud and so the expedition began.

Cecily breaks in the new captain, Miloud.

On day one we drove from Marrakech to Tinghir, where we stayed in a Kasbah and let Cecily work on her crawling skills in style.

Cecily examines the stitching of the wares.

We drove for a few more hours, with the goal of getting to the Sahara right before sunset. And then, at long last, it was time to meet our noble steeds.

Camels are gross.

To be honest, we’ve sort of been wondering where the line was in terms of traveling with a baby. Full disclosure: we might have found that line. It was a lot of car time. And riding a camel with a baby strapped on your chest is a little unnerving even for someone who spent most of her on the back of large, hoofed beasts. And the desert is really cold at night.

One parent was more comfortable on the camel than the other. It's not the one that you would think. #Camelselfie

But of course it was all worth it. The Sahara is one of the only places I’ve seen that is, actually, just like the best pictures you see of it. Obviously, it’s better and more dramatic in person but the colors, the shape of the dunes, it’s totally other-worldy and pretty incredible. It literally seems to come out of nowhere. You drive forever, first on the highways and then through this bumpy desert and all of a sudden the dunes just appear, and then go on, seemingly forever. And riding through those dunes while the sun rose and people laid out carpets to pray on the sand was something we won’t soon forget.

A weed grows in the Sahara

We were, of course, really lucky. We had a pair of adventurous grandparents on hand, an amazing guide and a really tolerant baby. We couldn’t have had this experience without those things.  It was an unforgettable adventure which we’re really fortunate to have been able to have.

The center of a Venn diagram: entitled absurdity, adventure, beauty 

People told us the south would feel much different than the north and that was really true. Morocco is roughly the size of Oregon but the landscape is incredibly diverse. One thing that was not different, however, was the kindness of the people we met. From the guides to the people in cafés who, as usual, passed Cecily around from table to table we found Southern Moroccans (with the exception of the medina boss) as much of a joy to be around as Northern Moroccans.

Meeting friends and influencing people. 

Still, while I'm happy to report that it was not ALL Type 2 Fun, we were glad to head home. Moroccans have a tendency to be extra loyal to their hometowns, to the point where we're constantly being warned that the next place we visit is filled with rascals. There, after many acts of kindness, they will warn us in turn about the next town we're visiting. We’ve always found this funny, and sort of thought people were just being hyperbolic. It couldn’t really be THAT different could it? But of course it could and it is. One of Morocco’s charms is its diversity—both in terms of the people and landscape. And after leaving Tangier for a while we could see why people grow so loyal to their home towns. Along the way we found ourselves missing our city and feeling grateful that we landed where we did. So perhaps, while we’re still making social gaffes on the regular and limping through Darija we’re becoming a bit more Moroccan after all.  

Last stop at Ait Ben Haddou.