Change In Plans

This post is about the fun things we did while we were in Morocco.

Reading back through my posts, it sounds as though we spent our entire time there tromping humorlessly through the medinas, dodging mopeds, and fretting about economic development. Actually, we had a wonderful time overall, and did a lot of fun stuff.

Here are some of the highlights:

1- Camping and riding camels in the Sahara desert. We were in the “Erg Chebbi,” which means the Chebbi Sand Dunes, down near the Morocco-Algeria border. On the afternoon that we arrived, we basically tumbled out of the 4×4, sat on the camel saddles, hung on while the camels stood up (not easy) and rode off into the dunes. As Zola said at the time, “There are three reasons [McKinsey partner's kid!] that this is awesome: I am riding on a camel, I am in the Sahara desert, and I am only eight years old”

On the second day of desert camping, we got up before dawn, and rode the camels up into the dunes to watch a spectacular sun rise. Although we look cold in the picture, it was warm and pleasant in the evenings (and unbelievably hot during the day).

2- Staying at Dar Ahlam hotel near Ouarzazate. Dar Ahlam may be the best hotel I have ever stayed in. They gave us a villa which was bigger and more comfortable than our last apartment in New York (probably 2,200 square feet) with its own pool. The food was amazingly great - simple, but subtle, and made primarily with organic vegetables grown on the property. The service could not have been better - having a staff to guest ratio of about 5 (particularly when we were the only guests on our first night) made it easy for them to lavish attention on us. More important, everyone there seemed to love the kids, and to really enjoy their jobs. India and I celebrated our 14th anniversary with dinner under the stars, while the staff took care the kids. What a great place.

They had loads of board games, a great swimming pool, and they organized bicycles and donkey rides for us in the afternoons. Because Zola and I rode so much together over the summer (~200 miles) we immediately slipped back into a familiar and comfortable bicycle discussion. He treated me to a 45-minute two-part monologue on Pokemon and on airsoft rifles. It was wonderful.

3- Riad roofs.

At both of the riads where we stayed (Riad Fes in Fes, and Riad Anayela in Marrakech) we spent a lot of time on the roof decks of the hotels. That is where we did our school work, ate most of our meals, dried off in the sun after swimming, played Pokemon, and looked out over the respective medinas. In both places, we felt privileged to be up there, seeing the old cities spread beneath us, listening to the calls to prayer, and enjoying being together as a family.

4- Talking to Khalid. We were fortunate to have an excellent professional guide for six days while we were in Morocco. He organized our desert excursion, stayed with us in Ouarzazate, and showed us the sights in between. Because he knows everything about Morocco, and is an impassioned advocate for his country, Khalid was the perfect person to talk to for hours. His insights and knowledge and companionship made the trip a lot more fun.

Overall, Morocco is a somewhat tough place for a family vacation with small kids, particularly staying in riads in the medinas. If we were to do it again, we might spend time on the beaches (eg, Essaouira), and would definitely spend more time at Dar Ahlam.

This short post is about walking in the medinas of Fes and Marrakech.

If walking in the Fes medina were a game, it would be a maze, written on dusty ancient parchment, and worked through with an old quill pen. It would be played in a room that was 105 degrees, but shady. It would be pleasant, but frustrating.

If walking in the Marrakech medina were a game, it would be the old video game, Frogger. In Frogger, the player controlled a frog that was trying to cross a stream by jumping from log to log. The logs are all moving at different speeds, and in both directions.

The streets in the Marrakech medina are generally twice as wide (or more) than the streets in Fes. This means that they are generally 15-20 feet wide. In the marketplaces, the streets tend to be narrower, and to have shops on both sides, spilling out into the public space.

In Fes, there are no cars at all, and very few motor scooters or mopeds. The biggest traffic hazard is the donkeys and donkey carts, which force everyone to the sides with shouts of “Belek! Belek!” Having so many pedestrians crammed into small space slows down the pace of walking, but it is subdued and civil.

In Marrakech, the streets are complete chaos. In addition to the pedestrians and the donkey carts (fewer), there are thousands of motor scooters and bicycles, plus the occasional small car or truck. In any given minute, walking in the center of the medina, we would:

• Pass 20-30 people sitting on the sides of the street
• Pass 10-20 people walking slowly or standing and chatting
• Be passed by 40-50 people walking int he opposite direction
• Be passed by 3-5 donkeys and/or donkey carts and 5-10 bicycles
• Be passed by 20-30 mopeds and motor scooters, going in either direction, at speeds ranging from 5-30 miles per hour. Many of these vehicels are carrying two or three passengers.
• Be passed by the occasional car (one every 5 minutes or so)

As you can imagine, this much motion creates collisions and near-misses all over the place. All of the two-stroke and diesel engines also spew exhaust which hangs in the air. Young men (in particular) rev and skid and rev and skid their motor scooters through the traffic, seeming to revel in the video-game aspect of it.

We only saw two real accidents (one bad one), and within the family, Zola was the only one to have a vehicle make contact with his body. A huge, slow-moving wheelbarrow cart full of pastries knocked him into a shop in the shoe market. There were no injuries.

Marrakech is vibrant and alive, and full of people eager to get from someplace to someplace else. Our walks through the old city have been very stimulating, except for Tallulah, who is incredibly casual about it all. This afternoon, she fell asleep in the stroller for over an hour as we walked over the cobblestones. Amazing.

This post is about our dinner this evening in a restaurant in the souqs of old Marrakesh. Nothing dramatic or extraordinary happened, but the whole experience reflects how different Morocco is.

Even though our afternoon walk back to the Riad Alayena hotel had been stressful, and took a lot longer than expected (these facts were related), we decided to stick with our plan to have dinner out on the town. Both kids were tired (Zola even took a highly uncharacteristic nap), but we figured that an early and quick dinner, followed by a walk in the night air, would be perfect.

The Riad’s manageress made a reservation for us at a popular place called Cafe Arabe. Because it is Ramadan, the earliest reservation we could get was for 8pm. So much for the ‘early’ part of ‘an early and quick dinner.’

As the crow flies, Cafe Arabe is probably about a mile from Riad Anayela. Because the Baird Family can not fly, and because the medina’s narrow streets could take us hours to navigate, we called a ‘petit taxi.’

The ancient Dacia taxi somehow managed to navigate from the nearest gate in the walls (called Bab Kheshish) deep into the medina’s labyrinth towards our hotel. When the road got too narrow, the driver, Youssef, sent someone on foot the last 50 yards, into the alley where the hotel was located (called Derb Zerwal), to let us know he had arrived.

Youssef executed a neat 183-point turn to reverse direction, and we started driving back toward Bab Kheshish. Maybe because the fifth call to prayer had just sounded, the streets were largely deserted. Tallulah fell asleep almost immediately.

Five minutes later, as we exited the medina, Youssef asked (in French), “Where are you going? To the big square?” I guess there was a communication breakdown between the hotel and Youssef. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, I had a scrap of paper with the name and address of Cafe Arabe on it. After a few confusing minutes, we were on our way again.

We drove through the remnants of a huge flea market that had been held just outside the medina walls, and then onto the anarchic 3-lane ring road that encircles the old city. After driving 3-4 miles, we re-entered the medina on the westen side (if the medina walls were a clock, we had exited from Bab Kheshish at about 2, and were re-entering at about 8).

We drove into a new labyrinth, with many more small shops, all of which were open, and with many more people on the streets. When Youssef could go no further, he indicated that the restaurant was “five meters” down the street we were already on. We woke Lu up, and walked off into the medina.

“Dad, how much is five meters?” Zola asked.
“About 15 feet. The driver may have exaggerated how close it is, but I’m sure it is right up here somewhere,” I responded, confidently.

We walked for several minutes, past dozens of tiny shops, selling clothes, shoes, baked goods and sweets, leather products, toys. We walked past small cafes filled with men drinking coffee after a long day of fasting. We passed hundreds of people on the street. When we asked directions, many people offered to show us to “a much better restaurant,” before they indicated that Cafe Arabe was a little further on. We dodged dozens of mopeds, scooters, and bicycles.

Finally, a well dressed young man escorted us the last 200 yards (and two turns) to Cafe Arabe. When we arrived, he said (in English) “You pay me 50 dirham,” which is about $6. I felt proud for negotiating him down to only 20 dirham.

At Cafe Arabe, we climbed three flights of stairs to a stylish open-air terrace. Seated, Moroccan-style, on a semi-circular sofa, both kids fell deeply asleep after ordering. Zola did not even drink his hot chocolate.

India and I had a pleasant dinner, barely distracted by our snoring children. The waiter kindly packaged up the kids’ pasta dinners, which would have been otherwise untouched.

When it was time to leave, we woke up Zola. India supported him in walking sleepily back down the stairs (like a coach assisting an injured player from the field). I carried Tallulah and the stroller.

We walked the gantlet of activity back to where the petit taxi had dropped us. As agreed, Youssef pulled up at 10pm on the dot. We all loaded in, and drove back out of the medina.

Youssef took us back around the anarchic ring road, which was much more crowded than it had been at 8pm. All manner of car, truck, moped, donkey cart, horse and carriage, bicyclist and pedestrian, hurtled along the road, miraculously not smashing into each other. Zola and Lu, of course, fell asleep again in the taxi.

After we turned back in to the medina at Bab Kheshish, we realized how packed the streets had gotten. The flea-market area now hosted dozens of little pick-up soccer games, involving scores of kids (many of them about Zola’s age). Again, we passed hundreds of pedestrians, a few full cyber cafes and many people sitting and talking. At a barber shop, we saw a man getting shaved, and a little boy getting his hair cut.

Finally, we arrived back at Derb Zerwal, within 50 yards of our hotel. The night manager from the Riad, named Badr, met us, and helped us get the sleeping kids back inside and up to bed.

In retrospect, we probably could have stayed in. Riad Alayena would not have been able to provide a big dinner (they would have had to start in the afternoon, and besides, the water in this whole section of the medina has been shut off for most of the day). They would have found something for us, though. It will be interesting to see if the kids remember anything about this small adventure.

This post is about our dinner this evening in a restaurant in the souqs of old Marrakesh. Nothing dramatic or extraordinary happened, but the whole experience reflects how different Morocco is.

Even though our afternoon walk back to the Riad Alayena hotel had been stressful, and took a lot longer than expected (these facts were related), we decided to stick with our plan to have dinner out on the town. Both kids were tired (Zola even took a highly uncharacteristic nap), but we figured that an early and quick dinner, followed by a walk in the night air, would be perfect.

The Riad’s manageress made a reservation for us at a popular place called Cafe Arabe. Because it is Ramadan, the earliest reservation we could get was for 8pm. So much for the ‘early’ part of ‘an early and quick dinner.’

As the crow flies, Cafe Arabe is probably about a mile from Riad Anayela. Because the Baird Family can not fly, and because the medina’s narrow streets could take us hours to navigate, we called a ‘petit taxi.’

The ancient Dacia taxi somehow managed to navigate from the nearest gate in the walls (called Bab Kheshish) deep into the medina’s labyrinth towards our hotel. When the road got too narrow, the driver, Youssef, sent someone on foot the last 50 yards, into the alley where the hotel was located (called Derb Zerwal), to let us know he had arrived.

Youssef executed a neat 183-point turn to reverse direction, and we started driving back toward Bab Kheshish. Maybe because the fifth call to prayer had just sounded, the streets were largely deserted. Tallulah fell asleep almost immediately.

Five minutes later, as we exited the medina, Youssef asked (in French), “Where are you going? To the big square?” I guess there was a communication breakdown between the hotel and Youssef. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, I had a scrap of paper with the name and address of Cafe Arabe on it. After a few confusing minutes, we were on our way again.

We drove through the remnants of a huge flea market that had been held just outside the medina walls, and then onto the anarchic 3-lane ring road that encircles the old city. After driving 3-4 miles, we re-entered the medina on the westen side (if the medina walls were a clock, we had exited from Bab Kheshish at about 2, and were re-entering at about 8).

We drove into a new labyrinth, with many more small shops, all of which were open, and with many more people on the streets. When Youssef could go no further, he indicated that the restaurant was “five meters” down the street we were already on. We woke Lu up, and walked off into the medina.

“Dad, how much is five meters?” Zola asked.
“About 15 feet. The driver may have exaggerated how close it is, but I’m sure it is right up here somewhere,” I responded, confidently.

We walked for several minutes, past dozens of tiny shops, selling clothes, shoes, baked goods and sweets, leather products, toys. We walked past small cafes filled with men drinking coffee after a long day of fasting. We passed hundreds of people on the street. When we asked directions, many people offered to show us to “a much better restaurant,” before they indicated that Cafe Arabe was a little further on. We dodged dozens of mopeds, scooters, and bicycles.

Finally, a well dressed young man escorted us the last 200 yards (and two turns) to Cafe Arabe. When we arrived, he said (in English) “You pay me 50 dirham,” which is about $6. I felt proud for negotiating him down to only 20 dirham.

At Cafe Arabe, we climbed three flights of stairs to a stylish open-air terrace. Seated, Moroccan-style, on a semi-circular sofa, both kids fell deeply asleep after ordering. Zola did not even drink his hot chocolate.

India and I had a pleasant dinner, barely distracted by our snoring children. The waiter kindly packaged up the kids’ pasta dinners, which would have been otherwise untouched.

When it was time to leave, we woke up Zola. India supported him in walking sleepily back down the stairs (like a coach assisting an injured player from the field). I carried Tallulah and the stroller.

We walked the gantlet of activity back to where the petit taxi had dropped us. As agreed, Youssef pulled up at 10pm on the dot. We all loaded in, and drove back out of the medina.

Youssef took us back around the anarchic ring road, which was much more crowded than it had been at 8pm. All manner of car, truck, moped, donkey cart, horse and carriage, bicyclist and pedestrian, hurtled along the road, miraculously not smashing into each other. Zola and Lu, of course, fell asleep again in the taxi.

After we turned back in to the medina at Bab Kheshish, we realized how packed the streets had gotten. The flea-market area now hosted dozens of little pick-up soccer games, involving scores of kids (many of them about Zola’s age). Again, we passed hundreds of pedestrians, a few full cyber cafes and many people sitting and talking. At a barber shop, we saw a man getting shaved, and a little boy getting his hair cut.

Finally, we arrived back at Derb Zerwal, within 50 yards of our hotel. The night manager from the Riad, named Badr, met us, and helped us get the sleeping kids back inside and up to bed.

In retrospect, we probably could have stayed in. Riad Alayena would not have been able to provide a big dinner (they would have had to start in the afternoon, and besides, the water in this whole section of the medina has been shut off for most of the day). They would have found something for us, though. It will be interesting to see if the kids remember anything about this small adventure.

This very short post is about the abandoned water wells in the desert, beside the road, near Al Jora, Morocco.

We are driving west, from the edge of the Sahara up into the highlands. Just outside of the town of Al Jora, the landscape next to the road is dotted with scores of small hills with flat tops. They look like tiny volcano craters (or rounded termite mounds): about 6-8 feet high, and maybe 20 feet in circumference. They stretch several hundred yards in every direction. The desert around them is flat and brown and dry (as you might expect).

These are all abandoned wells. We got out to look, and discovered that there is a hole (2-3 feet across)in the cone of each hill. The hole descends into blackness. We asked our guide, who said that each well is roughly 200 feet deep, and dry at the bottom. They had been used over hundreds of years to irrigate nearby fields and provide drinking water. When I pitched in a large stone, we did not hear it hit.

Having small kids around all of these abandoned wells triggered some kind of deep-evolution parental protection response in both India and me. Neither of us is a particularly nervous parent, but our hearts raced, we maintained physical contact with each child, and basically wanted to just get out of there. It was a very strange sensation, as if we had somehow stumbled into a room of loaded pistols. A parental nightmare, in the literal sense, would be running amidst these wells, searching for a lost child. I shudder at the thought.

One hundred yards up the road from where we stopped, still amidst the wells, was a Berber-tented ‘rest stop,’ serving tea and selling souvenirs. Ironically, the sign for the rest stop read “Place of Relaxation.” Not for parents of young kids, I’m afraid.

This short post is about Fes, Morocco, and how our feelings toward the city have changed over the four days we have been here.

To tell the truth, I am still trying to figure out how I feel about Fes. Having had a (very good) guide for the last two days, we ventured out on into the medina on our own today. We stuck to the Talala Kbira, the main track (8-10 feet wide in most places), avoiding the labyrinth of the side alleys and darkened souks. We felt comfortable and not lost throughout. By the end of the walk, even Zola was shouting “Belek!” (which means “Get out of the way!) when donkey caravans muscled past us in the narrow walkway.

Also, yesterday we took a taxi over to the Ville Nouvelle (the “new new” part of the city that the French built in the early 20th Century). The trip to the Ville Nouvelle, on an unsuccessful quest to buy Zola an English-language copy of the final Harry Potter book, reassured me that there is a diesel-filled, vibrant, modern, small emerging-market component to Fes, in addition to the medieval Fes - el Bali.

On one hand, I am saddened and confused to see half a million people living in the medina in conditions only slightly better than they would have had 500 years ago. So many people doing tedious, low-value-add, dangerous, and/or degrading physical tasks unnecessarily. (See the photo at left of men in the giant tanning vats, stomping on skins with a mix of pigeon excrement, water, and vegetable dyes). There did not seem to be an abundance of the “my children will have better lives than I have had” spirit, which I have always thought integral to human nature. There was definitely not a lot of room for kids to run around, or people to be alone.

On the other hand, this city, and this way of life have persisted for over 1,000 years, so they must be doing many things right. The culture of family, community, devotion, worship, are very powerful and stabilizing. Life expectancy in Morocco is over 72 years, and many other social indicators (e.g., infant mortality) are well above what I would have expected for a country at Morocco’s income level.

At an emotional level, though, it is bewitching to stand on the hotel roof at sunset, looking out at the sprawling rooftops of the seemingly motionless medina, with the mountains in the distance, listening to the call to prayer echo from dozens of mosques.

We leave for the desert tomorrow. We still need some time to think about Fes.

This long post is about our first two days in Fes, which is the cultural and intellectual capital of Morocco. Whatever I wrote about Tarifa, Spain being “more like Morocco than like Europe” was complete nonsense. Now that we are here, during Ramadan, and staying far within the walls of the old city (the medina), we feel as though we are truly out of the normal comfort zone for the first time on this trip.

The overland journey from Tangiers (where we lingered only enough to meet our driver and load our bags) to Fes was surprisingly long and desolate. There was only dry farmland for most of the ~300 km drive. There were a few small market towns, but mostly a whole lot of nothing.

We took a short side trip to the ancient Roman regional capital of Volubilis, which has been partially restored. Volubilis is basically a half-completed archaeology dig, with very limited curatorship, and only a handful of signs in English. My brain already hurts from shifting from bad Spanish and into non-existent French. The kids liked the ruins, although it increased Zola’s preoccupation with death and dying. Tallulah wondered when the Romans were coming back, and whether they would be upset about their town being ruined.

We arrived in Fes at about 5pm. Strangely, Morocco is 2 time zones behind Spain (eg, our ferry left at 11:00 am, and arrived at 9:45am). A porter from our hotel, Riad Fes, met us at the city gate, and helped us wheel our luggage through a maze of narrow streets, through three locked gates, and into the lobby. Within two minutes of arriving in the city, I was hopelessly disoriented.

Riad Fes is truly spectacular. It is a traditional Fassi home that has been restored and merged with two of its neighbors to create a boutique hotel. The lobby (where I am sitting now) is the enclosed courtyard of the main house: with intricate tile mosaic, and more intricate plaster-relief and wood carvings covering every square inch of the cavernous room. Remarkable artisanship as far as the eye can see in every direction.

The young women at reception asked us whether we wanted to hire a guide during our stay, and India and I (maybe a little haughtily) brushed off the suggestion.

Just before sunset yesterday we went for a walk, hoping to to find an ATM. We spent about 20 minutes trying to navigate in the medina, including many dead ends, false starts, and a moderately unpleasant harrassing by a would-be guide (”This is not Afghanistan, Mr. American, this is not Iraq! I will show you Americans how to behave here”). Gratefully, we found our way back to the Riad Fes.

Upon our return, when I immediately asked for a guide for the following day, the women at reception were very gracious. I am pretty certain I heard them laughing as I left the reception area, though. My guess is that they have seen that particular movie a few times.

We spent nearly seven hours today with an excellent guide, named Ghali, who walked us to all of the major sites of old Fes, and patiently answered about 500 inane questions from me. Zola’s eyes were as wide as saucers for the entire tour: sharing the narrow passageways with donkeys, and merchants, and wheeled carts, and thousands and thousands of people. Lu attracted a lot of attention (and a few friendly pats on the blond head) as she rode in her stroller across the cobblestones.

Fes is definitely not like anything India and I had seen before, not even in Marrakech, on our earlier trip to Morocco. Very intense, and very close. The tilework and the plasterwork are truly awe-inspiring, and the richness of history in this thousand-year-old city is almost overwhelming. More on all of that later.

We are feeling a lot more comfortable, and excited about our next few days in Fes.