Location: Casablanca, Morocco
Duration: 5 days, 4 nights
Avg. Day Temp.: 41°C (106°F)
Avg. Night Temp.:28°C (82°F)
Listening to: “It’s In Your Blood,” by Lydia

“Visited three continents in a week.” If I ever need a claim to fame, or if someone decides I need a cool epitaph, this could be it. Not too many people can say they’ve accomplished this… or maybe I’m wrong. Regardless, I’m very fortunate, and very, very grateful.

We visited Morocco under what seem to be interesting circumstances. To start, Casablanca doesn’t have a commuter port where cruise ships can unload passengers, and citizens and tourists can take boats or ferries to other parts of the country. With that said, the SAS ship is the only commuter ship docked in Casablanca’s commercial port. Also, we visited during Ramadan. And this is a country that takes Ramadan seriously. You won’t find anybody eating or drinking during the day, no matter how hot it is. The girls on the ship are expected to cover their shoulders and legs out of respect for the fast so as not to tempt local men. Alcohol is not an integral part of Moroccan feasting and festivities, so there is no chance for nightlife here. (This will inevitably make Casablanca the least favorite port of most SAS students.) Also, as a taxi driver stated, “Ramadan makes people 60 percent crazier” (because they aren’t eating or drinking all day). We were also warned not to take pictures of people, especially police, because people here typically don’t appreciate having their pictures taken; and to not carry our cameras around in general, because it may be misconstrued as a sign of cocky Western affluence; and not to do drugs because their law enforcement and consequent penalties are severe. Finally, we were warned many times of the increased chance of terrorism during our visit. If you’re reading this, I’m safe, so you don’t have to worry. (To be honest, I don’t think there was a lot of reason to worry, but maybe I’m being ignorant.)

The Moroccan environment

Have you ever been to Arizona? That is what Morocco reminds me of. We were warned of 46°C (115°F) daytime temperatures, but the high lingered around 41°C (106°F), which, in hindsight, isn’t much better, I guess. And, fortunately, the heat was dry. Also, the landscape reminded me greatly of Arizona, with flat land, red dirt and palm trees everywhere. Most homes were built out of red dirt and clay. (Speaking of homes, many of the apartments near the port were built from stone, with holes in the walls for windows, yet each building was littered with television satellites… Peculiar priorities.) The landscape is also very lush with vegetation due to the hot, arid summers and cold, wintry winters. Very descriptive, I know – the point is they actually have seasons, so all types of vegetation can grow and thrive there.

Morocco has amazing summer nights. My sense of temperature is whack nowadays because my tolerance for heat is much greater than it used to be, but I’ll venture to say that the average evening temperature was in the high 70s (Fahrenheit) with a light breeze every night. (Or maybe I just got lucky.)

I don’t know if Morocco is an ideal tourist destination, just like I don’t know if Arizona is an ideal tourist destination. But Morocco’s climate makes its cultural experience much more tolerable.

Casablanca

I’ll tell it like it is: Casablanca is a boring city. The Moroccan student told us so herself. On the first day in Morocco, I walked from the port’s entry to the Hassan II Mosque, which is incredible, I’ll admit. It is absolutely massive. But since we didn’t have a guide, my friends and I weren’t allowed to enter; thus, we only observed it from the outside. Also, I’m kind of burnt out on mosques.

In fact, now that I think about it, I think a lot of people are burnt out, period. We’re all tired, man. Istanbul was the high point for a lot of SASers, and everyone foresaw the prospect of Morocco being lackluster.

Anyway, after the mosque, I anticipated going back out to the local bazaar, which is supposed to be pretty cool. But I went back to my room, took off my sweat-soaked shirt and slept for three hours.

Fast-forward to our last night in town: I ate at Rick’s Café, right around the corner from the port, which was made famous by the film of the city’s name (hint: Casablanca). The restaurant has only been there for seven years, so the one from the film must’ve been fictional… That seems like solid reasoning. Anyway, the restaurant was definitely high-end, but thanks to the value of the Moroccan dirham (local currency), Eileen, a couple of her friends and I ate there for relatively cheap. (Key word is “relatively” – my filet mignon, Casablanca beer and banana split, with a bottle of water for the table, ran me $35.)

In sum, Casablanca is kind of a shithole, but that’s not a bad thing. The city is experiencing a great transitional period – right now, it is the shell of what used to be a thriving coastal city, but all around the Hassan II Mosque, which attracts 50,000 people every night, there is construction abound catering to business, leisure and living. Give it 20 or 30 years and Casablanca will be back on the map (if it can survive political disunity).

Marrakech

Casablanca was reminiscent of Piraeus in that the port city was an outlet to bigger, greater things. For Piraeus, it was Athens; for Casablanca, they were Marrakech, Rabat, Fez and… another city I don’t remember. I stayed in Marrakech.

From Casablanca, a 4-hour bus ride took us 150 miles to Marrakech. We checked into our hotel rooms and were then transported to our lunchtime and camel-trekking destination. Just when I thought the place at which we ate lunch in Bulgaria during our jeep safari was in the middle of nowhere, I was brought closer to the middle of the middle of nowhere than before. (When you get to the very middle of the middle of nowhere, that’s when you disappear. That’s how it works, right?) I know we weren’t that far from the city – there was a hotel two miles up the road. But how in the world would or could anybody FIND this place if they tried?

For lunch, we ate meatballs with pita bread, couscous, oranges with cinnamon, and mint tea. The meatballs were delicious, but our second batch was vastly undercooked, which gave us all a minor scare and not much more. I don’t think anybody suffered any (serious) gastro-intestinal problems, but we definitely got in our own heads about it. But, once we got on the camels, we forgot all about our petty worries.

I hatched this grand plan to completely exaggerate my camel trek to make it sound way more awesome than it actually was. Truth is I didn’t even ride a camel. (Disclaimer: I don’t know if this is true, but I was told it was a smaller breed of camel starting with a D, and not actually a bona fide camel.) Also, I had hoped we would “trek” across the Moroccan desert sands for hours, but the ride only lasted for 45-or-so minutes.

But you know what? I can’t complain. I rode a camel-like thing (INSIDE JOKE ALERT: Italy-like interior). In Morocco. Which is in Africa, by the way.

(A pose per the suggestion of Jamal.)

Besides, the first five minutes of the trek were hilarious (I could not stop laughing – why do I find life so funny? I think if I saw Hilary Clinton riding a camel, I’d die), and the entirety of it, priceless.

We woke up early the next day to visit two local mosques before shopping at an indoor, fixed-price bazaar. This is unusual because most shopping is done outdoors, for you are expected to haggle and bargain your way through it all, and we were warned that prices would be more expensive. I mean… I guess everything was more expensive, but only relatively; and like I said earlier, the conversion rate from dollars to dirhams is very favorable. I can’t say what I bought because it’ll ruin surprises for some people, but just know that if you encounter an indoor fixed-price bazaar called Complexe D’Artisanat with giant white horse statues out front, go inside and shop to your heart’s content.

Look at all the rugs! They were so cheap, too. I would get one, but I wouldn’t be able to pack it… I guess it’s the thought that counts. Sorry, Mom! They also had all sorts of lamps, pots and vases, pillowcases, handbags, tablecloths and other awesome knick knacks that you could probably find at any other bazaar, but en masse.

We visited the Bahia Palace next and explored its many rooms, including rooms for prayer and rooms for multiple wives. It’s a shame that I can’t remember much of what was said about it, but here’s a picture of an arch that I really liked.

Afterward, we walked through the bazaar to a pharmacy that I wouldn’t have known existed had it not been for our tour guide. (It would have seemed sketchy otherwise, but once inside, I saw it was actually very legitimate.) The shops lining the streets winding away from Marrakech’s main square are organized by product or profession. For example, you would walk by a dozen blacksmiths (who would be creating and assembling their products right there in their small shops) before reaching a dozen woodsmiths. (I don’t think woodsmith is a word, but I don’t know what word I’m looking for. Lumberjack? No…)

The man to whom these feet belong gave me a wooden pendant he had sculpted out of cedar (with the help of his feet, of course). It smelled (and still smells) amazing, and I felt (still feel) bad for not being able to look around his shop longer because our group was moving on without us (because it wasn’t “free time” yet).

The pharmacy was awesome. They presented to us various spices for cooking, as well as oils, ointments and creams made from spices (some of the same ones used in cooking), and let us sample all of them. I guess the coolest part, aside from the exclusive treatment, was hearing how each one was made, knowing that they were all made naturally from natural ingredients, and finding out what each one was made to treat: sinus pressure/migraines, rosacea, dry skin, scars/bags under eyes (for your eye bags, Jilly), insomnia, cold sores, mosquitoes, digestion problems, erectile dysfunction, stretch marks/wrinkles/sunburn, psoriasis and eczema. And those are among the ones I remembered to write down. We were then given the opportunity to make purchases (I indulged) before returning to the main square, where I hung out with Taylor and bought postcards and a cheesy Marrakech shirt with a camel on it before he took pictures with monkeys.

Priceless.

Taylor and I went back out to the square that night to experience Ramadan. It’s, uh… it’s crazy. Really crazy. It looked more like a festival or a mob scene than anything else. But hey, people had broken their fast, and I totally get the celebration atmosphere. I just don’t fare well in places with lots of people and loud noises. It was cool to see people (mostly couples and families) sitting on blankets it in the park near the hotel, even at midnight, chatting away and enjoying the cool night air.

Not much happened when we went back to the square, except for when we were accosted by a man with a monkey. I told him NO, I don’t want your monkey, I don’t have any money, I’m not going to pay you. And he said NO, it’s not scary, I don’t mean to scare you! And I said NO, dude, I don’t have any money, I don’t want any pictures with any monkeys. But he leeched the monkey on me anyway and encouraged Taylor to take a picture. So after Taylor and I got pictures with the monkey, he told us to stand next to each other for a picture.

Here’s what became of it:

Maybe it’s not clear what’s happening, but the monkey leaned over, from Taylor’s shoulders, and BIT MY HEAD. It bit me square on the top of my head. It was actually very hilarious (once we confirmed that it didn’t break skin), but once the pain had set in, I was upset, and the guy was a huge dick about paying him. And I told him again that I didn’t have any money, and he was being very confrontational, so I dumped the rest of my change into his hand (nine dirhams, or roughly $1 – they usually ask for 100 or 200 dirhams)) and walked away. If there’s one thing I’ll miss less than haggling, it’s the rudeness and lack of morality bred in street vendors by the coupling of poverty and tourism. Not that I can judge citizens of other countries with very different cultures and lifestyles for their morality, but some things are universal, and I don’t particularly enjoy the lawlessness of these low-life scam artists. Woe is me.

(Note: The doctors have confirmed that skin was not broken, and that I am not at risk of infection.)

That’s it.

That pretty much does it for my stay in Marrakech and, thus, my stay in Morocco. Also, that pretty much does it for my stay in Africa. Also also, that pretty much does it for my Semester at Sea voyage.

WHAAAAAAAA?

It’s true. It’s done. Finished. Kaput. I have no places left to visit but Boston, but I’m considering that as being home. All I’m left with is seven days and nights on the MV Explorer before I’m standing on American soil on the morning of August 20.

I’ll write one last time with thoughts and reflections on my voyage so don’t worry. (I know you’re not worried.) In the meantime, I’ll be doing the following things: writing my economics final paper, writing my extra credit paper on the medina of Marrakech, deleting duplicate/shitty pictures from my hard drive, researching graduate programs, taking finals, watching sunrises over the Atlantic Ocean, eating and surviving the awful ship food, hanging out with friends, reminiscing, wishing I was home, taking more pictures, packing, working, sleeping. And I’ll have ready answers for the all-important questions, including “Which country was your favorite?” and “What was your favorite thing that you saw?”

Our ship is set to depart from Casablanca in one minute. Oh, Mediterranean Sea and Eastern Hemisphere, it’s like I hardly knew ye. Onward, now, across the Atlantic.

Much love,
Alex

A monkey bit my head last night.

I woke up to natural sunlight for the first time in eight weeks on Wednesday.

I’m eating at Rick’s Cafe (from Casablanca) tonight. It’s one of three things to do in Casablanca, other than visit the Hassan II mosque and shop, both of which I’ve already done.

Marrakech > Casablanca.

So that’s it? Marrakech was the last hurrah. I’m burnt out.

I can’t wait to leave Casablanca.

I can’t wait to shave my beard.

I can’t wait for the next full moon.

I can’t wait until I’m in Boston, then Maine, then the terminal of John Wayne Airport.

HARDY HAR HAR. That song annoys me.

Location: Istanbul, Turkey
Duration: 5 days, 4 nights
Avg. Day Temp.: 34°C (93°F)
Listening to: “We’re So Far Away,” by Mae (are we, now?)
Reading: The Economist

I guarantee you I will be part of a very small minority who did not enjoy Istanbul. However, I did enjoy Istanbul. So I did and did not enjoy Istanbul.

I did not enjoy the Istanbul where our ship was docked (deemed “the gutter” by my friend-of-a-friend who happens to live in Istanbul but attends the University of Virginia). This seems to be the only part of Istanbul that people care about, where the Golden Horn cuts through the city just miles south of where the Bosphorous Bridge connects the European and Asian sides of the city. This is where the all-important Topkapı Palace, Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque are located. This is also where everything is dull, grey, smelly and claustrophobic. This is me telling it like it is.

I think – no, I know – that I was already burnt out on the whole “explore a city and make sure you see all its famous sights or else you missed out” thing. At least I’ve learned on this trip that I am a traveler who prefers natural beauty to manmade. With that said, Istanbul reminded me of a less colorful, much more densely populated version of Florence or Rome, both of which overwhelmed me.

I have only described one side of the Istanbul that I saw, however. I was fortunate enough to be swept away on a spontaneous adventure to the northern parts of the city, away from the commotion and claustrophobia of the tourist district (“the gutter”), and to take a hiking trip in the isolated, quiet, forested parts of the city on the Asian side.

I was so pleased, but not because I was able to get out of the touristy area. I had a feeling that Istanbul had the potential to be really great – I just didn’t know if I’d get the chance to experience it. After my first two days in port, I was wildly disappointed. But, as aforementioned, I was fortunate enough to see the side of Istanbul that I hoped I’d see: one that had more color, more substance, less commotion. And that’s what pleased me.

I understand that the area in which our ship docked is ancient and has a lot of history. Also, the city has one of the highest populations in the world, and is also experiencing incredible economic growth right now, seemingly isolated from the woes Europe faces now. I think I saw actual road construction in progress for the first time this trip (as opposed to dormant bulldozers and tractors sitting next to cone and caution tape on the side of the road, like I saw in Italy).

Unfortunately, the area around the Golden Horn is consumed by tourism. The Kapali Çarşı (I’m on a roll with my fancy characters right now… check out the “i” with no dot!), also known as the Grand Bazaar, is lined wall-to-wall with the same souvenir hubs one after the other, all with prices jacked up way too high. Even after you’re done bargaining, you’ve still been ripped off. The Spice Bazaar is better, but I’m sure you can find better deals elsewhere. However, it is super awesome to stroll through.

I realized that I love to use the word “however.” Anyway, that picture is reason enough to go check it out. Some vendors also sold dried fruits.

I tried one piece each of dried pineapple and dried kiwi, and both were yummy.

I visited the Topkapı Palace (but didn’t go inside because the line for tickets was long), Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque just like I was told I should. I don’t know what to say. I feel bad for not having anything to say. There are literally hundreds of mosques in Istanbul, and they all look relatively the same, so I imagine their interiors look very similar, too.

I was more intrigued by the mausoleums (which have no admission cost, by the way) accompanying the Hagia Sophia than I was by the mosque itself.

I was also pleased with Eileen’s and my decision to make the short but steep hike to the Galata Tower, which overlooks the gutter. We paid a few bucks to get in, as did everything in Istanbul, it seemed, and took an elevator to the top. (I was disappointed because I wanted to walk a spiral staircase all the way up, but oh well.)

You can see the Topkapı Palace, Hagia Sophia and Blue Mosque all lining the horizon at the top. (You can also see a hair floating above my head that I finally extracted from behind my shutter. All this time, I thought it was inside my lens. But I digress…) The Spice Bazaar is one of the bigger buildings right at the end of the bridge on the right side. There! You just saw everything important in Istanbul all in one fell swoop.

My spontaneous adventure to the district of Bebek and other places nearby, led by Uzar

I don’t have any photos from this because it was spontaneous, and I didn’t have my camera.

Uzar is the friend-of-a-friend I mentioned before. He’s 6’6” and plays basketball. He’s Turkish and began learning English at four years old, so he speaks with no accent. He whisked my University of Virginia friends (Alex/Peyton, Taylor, Sammy, Tina, Emily, another girl I don’t remember) and me away on an adventure, stopping first at what he claimed to be his second favorite kebab place, and the best kebab place in all of Istanbul. Quite the claim. Before I start, let me point out that he picked us up in a BMW 5-class, and his friends made jokes about where his Audi was. So, he brought us to a really nice restaurant where we did not eat kebabs but, rather, a shitload of tapas. Breads and cheeses and yogurts and creams and all sorts of eggplant dishes and meats and … there was so much food. I didn’t know what to do with myself. And it was all SO DELICIOUS. I’ve use the word “delicious” a lot throughout this voyage, I know. I’ll go out on a limb and say that it has been my favorite meal of the entire trip (note the distinction of a meal, implying several courses, as opposed to me eating a gyro or a kebab). The only other one it compares to was the picnic lunch in Bulgaria, but that was more fun. This meal was tastier. Lamb tail, beef, pita bread, stuffed eggplant, an eggplant tzatziki-style yogurt, cheeses galore, tomato-pomegranate salad… it’s all coming back to me. And it was all so, so good. We ended up shelling out 60 lira ($36) a piece, and I’m sure Uraz covered more than his fair share, but it was all worth it. If that was the price of admission for a free driving tour outside of the gutter, then yes, it was absolutely worth it.

We walked over to a local book store and Uraz told us about how exciting it was when his town got its first Starbucks and TGI Friday’s (both of which we walked by) when he was 14 years old, and how his friends and even grown men would get dressed up just to go to Starbucks, as if it were an occasion. I bought a copy of The Economist so I would have something to read, and then we walked back to the car, and Uraz drove us down to a small district off the Bosphorous called Bebek (translation: “baby”).

We sat in a park and people-watched talked about culture and stuff. Uraz told us about how much he despises the area around the port (just like me!) and enlightened us about the economic situation and how politics and government work with the mafia influencing them. He also told us how America gave him his own culture shock, and made him more away of different things such as skin color and accents. For example, according to him, if you ask any Turk what he is, he’ll tell you “white.” And he told us that Turks have different words for the different shades of “white” that people’s skin come in. But despite the terminology, he had been somewhat colorblind to skin color; he wouldn’t think twice about it. We walked down the boardwalk and marveled at the boats and huge houses along the coast, which goes to show that all cities will have its wealth divisions.

Shinfo: There was a gourmet waffle sandwich shop on the boardwalk. Think Bruxie, but only desserts, and it operated like an ice cream parlor: pick your flavor of spread/yogurt/cream/whatever it was, and pick your toppings, and voila, a good-lookin’ waffle sandwich. If I wasn’t so full from lunch, I would’ve had one, but alas…

Uraz dropped us off at the Metro near his house and we took it home. In hindsight, we didn’t do much, but it felt like we did. And in comparison to my first two days in port, it was a blast.

Sile Haçılı Wilderness Hike

Let me take a moment to explain how to read and pronounce Turkish. Those i’s without dots that you see? Pronounce it like “uh.” Anything that has a tail on the bottom of it, like a ç or a ş, pronounce it like the base letter but with an h, so “ch” and “sh,” respectively. For everything else, pronounce it phonetically. Haçılı becomes ha-chŭ-lŭ. Got it? Good.

I wanted so badly to be able to say I visited Asia, but I didn’t know if I’d find the time or reason. Fortunately, the hike I signed up for took me there, crossing the Bosphorous and driving deep in the Asian side of Istanbul to a village called Haçılı (“Sile” means village, if I’m not mistaken, but I probably am), which has a population of merely 200 people and sits way up the Bosphorous amid lots of hills and trees.

We walked up some hills, and we walked down some hills.

I ate an apple for the first time in forever during the hike.

See that little trail? That’s where we were going. See that lunch box? That was the box lunch that SAS provided for us. See the sweaty man holding it? That’s one of our guides. He was cool.

Little did we know that we would be greeted with a GOAT PARTY!!!!!!!! when we got to the bottom of the hill. Our other tour guide, who spoke very little, if any, English raided the goat party.

And he caught one for us to pet.

I also saw sheep, cows and turtles. So much nature!

We hiked for roughly two and a half hours, covering close to 10 km, or 6-ish miles.

Way to pull through, Istanbul, and show me the natural beauty of your lands. Once again, it felt so nice to get out of the gutter.

Uraz and Haçılı made my stay in Istanbul worthwhile. Thank you, Uraz, and thank you, Asia.

Some stuff I bought at the store

I got all this stuff for 13 lira, or roughly $8.

Top to bottom, left to right: Tatbent Mozaik cookies, pizza kraker, Kit Kat bar (2), milk light, Roll soft cake, Nesquik bar #1 (2), Nesquik bar #2 (2), Eti Browni Gold, Eti Browni Intense.

The cookies have a creamy chocolate center and remind me of another cookie I used to eat, but I’m drawing a blank, so that doesn’t do us any good. The pizza crackers are shaped like hearts and taste like nothing. The Kit Kat bars are fat and tasty. The milk is not at all milk but some sort of thick, creamy dairy product. The “roll soft cake” reminds me of a cinnamon roll, but replace the cinnamon with vanilla cream and blackberry marmalade; and it comes in a long roll (as stated), like a cinnamon roll baguette, if you will. The smaller Nesquik bars taste like Hershey’s chocolate; the bigger Nesquik bars are Kit Kat knockoffs. The “Browni Gold” is a super delicious chocolate muffin with a gooey chocolate filling, and the “Browni Intense” is a brownie bar with a 40%-cacao (dark chocolate) cream. THEY ARE SO GOOD. Are Eti products sold in America? I must find them!!!

That’s it.

Here’s a list of things I didn’t do in Istanbul

Visit a hamam/take a Turkish bath
Buy something from the Grand Bazaar
Go inside the Topkapı Palace
Eat grilled corn
Eat fish and bread (sorry, Sarah)

I’m only bummed about the last two (of course, they’re food-related). I heard they scrub your butt cheeks at the Turkish baths. That would have been neat, but I’m really ticklish, and I can scrub my own butt just fine (not that it makes me uncomfortable or anything). I heard it’s really amazing, though, but I also heard I can visit a hamam in Morocco! So maybe that’ll be my quick-fix solution.

Other updates

As I write this, I have six days of school left. I just got an hour back and I get another back tonight, so I’ll only be eight hours ahead of the west coast. In three mornings, I’ll be in Morocco, where I’ll stay for four nights and five days. Eight mornings after I leave Morocco, I’ll be standing in Boston. Two more days and I’ll be home. Translation: On the morning of the 15^th day from today, I will debark the MV Explorer, and my Semester at Sea voyage will be complete.

Pretty crazy.

If you requested a postcard, you should have received it by now. I sent one to everyone who asked, so if you didn’t receive one, I apologize! International postal systems screwed you.

Lots of love,
Alex