June 25, 1998 Marrakesh, Morocco - {Hotel Harti} R80G/S 42761 R100GS 31630 We woke up at 6:00am and packed our bikes. I waited for the sun to heat up the hotel's solar water heater so that I might take a shower. Unfortunately, the past two days have been overcast in the afternoon, not leaving us with warm enough water to comfortably shower in. By 7:00am, the hotel clerks had woken up, and offered to serve us breakfast. We paid our bill for room and board in cash since that's all they accepted, and were on the road by 8:00am headed towards Marrakesh. Since we were low on gas, We stopped at a Total gas station in B____ Dades. Our souvenir purchases had put us low on local currency. Rather than fill up, we bought 400 dirhams ($42) worth, which amounted to 52 liters split between the two bikes which should get us 260 miles of which Marrakesh is only 200 miles. This left us with 40 dirhams ($4.20) in our pocket to buy snacks on the road. No problem... it's not like we were in Argentina... Cokes here are only about 3.5d ($.37). Since tomorrow is Friday, the holy day of the week, banks would be closed which might force us to stay in a four or five star hotel just so we could change money. darn... We stopped at a Bank du Commerciale du Maroc in Ouarzazate to change money. I handed the clerk some American cash I had readily available. He handed me back a $50 note which had a tiny nick out of it and said this isn't acceptable. I shot him back a raised eyebrow, and he asked the cashier who agreed. He then passed the remaining bills through a special machine which he used for US dollars which I assume read the magnetic ink in the bills. While it seemed to accept the old $100 and $50 dollar bills, the banker's bill beeper beeped two new style $50 bills. Since these two new style, new bills came from a bank in the US the same year they were first issued, the chances of them being counterfeit are low. It's more likely his bill beeper doesn't work on new style US currency. I handed him 350 Deutsche Marks to change to substitute for the 3 $50 bills he bonged. Although he accepted them, he crinkled his nose since they had a couple extra creases. They were not passed through the bill beeper. The exchange rate here was 9.49 dirhams to the dollar, and 5.309 dirhams to the Deutsche mark. We drove on to Marrakesh driving by many casbahs. The casbahs are like the Arab equivalent of a chateau, manor or large house. They resemble a small castle, red ocher in color with a sort of stucco exterior. Many are cubic in shape, with a square decorative towers in each of the four corners. Windows are not very big, and they look secure for locking out the riffraff or hiding away some rich Arab merchant's maiden daughter. Some older abandoned casbahs that have partially melted, show the walls are made from a mixture of mud and gravel. Unless kept up, the smooth exterior dissolves away. We passed through Tizi-n-Tichka gorge, and the highest road pass in Marrakesh. Fun ride for a motorcycle with all of the twisty curves, and beautiful scenery. Independently, it reminded both Sharon and I of the beautiful motorcycle road in Mexico through the Sierra Madres from Oaxaca to Port Angel. Along these twisty bends at 7,000 feet were 2,000 foot drop offs. Of course, no guard rail. The wet oil we encountered last week on a paved curve in the hills kept me well on the conservative side. An encounter like that here could well be fatal. Along the sides of the road were more geode, fossil and other mineral vendors than I've ever seen anywhere before. These dry mountains stretch up for thousands of feet exposing 100s of millions of years of layered time slices on earth, which hawkers sell for a steal. A few stand in the middle of the road with unusual colored geodes obviously painted with some polychromatic tint turning the white crystal to a metallic green and the gray exterior to a vibrant purple. We arrived in Marrakesh around 2:30pm. Not knowing where we're going, we just drove into town. Similar to what happened to us in Fes, two guys on a moped pulled up to us and asked if we were looking for a hotel. They asked if we wanted three or four stars. I said two or three. They took us to a three star hotel, since they said two stars hotel wouldn't have secure parking for the motorcycle. In Morocco, the number of stars tells a lot about the hotel since the industry is clearly regulated. The rates seem to be 100 dirhams times the number of stars the hotel has plus tax. The included breakfast of which is commonly tacked on, is 10 dirhams times the number of stars. We went to the medina and walked through the souk (market). Loads of tourist stalls selling tourist paraphernalia from all over Morocco. I haven't seen such hard bargainers since China. These guys are good. Fortunately there are a lot of places that sell the same things, so they're very competitive. Where in many other places in Morocco, the first price is often a 1/3 higher than the bottom price, here the starting price may be 4 times the bottom price. A good haggle trick that seems to work well around here is to casually point to some item and say, "I bought one of these in Azrou... How much do you charge here for this?". Often then clerk would give me his bottom price to establish the sense that all his prices are low. Something I showed an interest by asking about would start out four times higher. Often the clerks didn't want us to leave, and would push for a last price offer. If they accepted, I knew it was too much. It's a game, that if I have time and patience, I find fun. Out in the plaza in front of the medina they call Place Jem Elfana, orange juice vendors with carefully formed stacks of oranges eagerly sell made to order fresh squeezed orange juice at 2 dirhams a glass. Moroccan water vendors stroll with harry bodas and brass taps, and brass cups hanging from their vests. They wear straw hats decorated with colorful pompoms . The plaza is alive with all sorts of performers. Bringing out a camera wakes them up. The water sellers ask for their picture to be taken which of course costs money. A snake charmer saw us with camera, and picked up a large tambourine under which a black cobra quickly sprang up, flared it's hood, and waved in front of the charmer. We later discovered there are a lot of cobras in the plaza. All for the tourists benefit. Our guide book says they all have their fangs removed. Finally at 8:00pm, it was late enough to have dinner. We hadn't eaten since 7:00am today. We read about a restaurant called Stylia which Fromer's described as "some of the most excellent Moroccan food in Marrakesh... set in a thick-walled palace deep in the heart of the Medina was built in 1436 as the residence of one of the Saadian pashas" Promising a four course degustation, sounded like an experience not to miss.... (pashas <-?-> Shaw) Our taxi driver drove through a stone arched entrance which he said (in French) was the door of the moon, this led us into an old section of town, He drove in a little ways, and all of a sudden my door opened, and a guy wearing a red muslim cap, gray and white Arab gown, yellow shoes and a Stylia name tag greeted us and asked if we were here for the restaurant Stylia. I paid the cab driver, and then we followed this guide an additional 3 blocks on foot through the winding corridors to the restaurant. We were greeted by several people who stood at the entrance and then ushered into this former palace. Sharon was handed a pink rose. The air was scented with flowers, and the hallways were covered with Moroccan carpets sprinkled with flower pedals. Each table in the dining room had a sprinkling of rose pedals. And on each table was a bouquet of red and white roses in a bed of cedar balms. The tables were set with table clothes cross stitched from in the convents near Meknes. Gold plated dining ware, and gold under plates were used with the oriental decorated platters. In the center of the high ceiling dining room was an Arabic fountain built recessed into the floor. I could hear faint classic Arabic music in the background that seemed to be coming from all around with no definite point of origin. Later, two Moroccan performers near the entrance dressed in traditional Moroccan garb one with Moroccan drums while the other with Moroccan guitar played soothing hypnotic music that blended in perfectly with the atmosphere. The wait staff were dressed in white suits with black belts, and took their jobs as waiters very serious, always moving quickly serving with flare, very attentive, and standing at attention off to the side watching out of the corner of their eyes. A waiter brought to the table a silver urn, and a silver collection bowl to which he poured water over our hands for washing. He then handed us an orange scented towel. Before our degustation was to begin, we were offered an aperitif of champagne, kir, or wine. Not having tried kir before, we chose this. I believe this is white wine with cassis (black currant). The waiter gave us two or three choices for each course which we were to choose from. Water with gas or without, and beverage type but without details was chosen. The red wine was brought out along with a decanter to which it would be served from. The water was brought out along with the glass pitcher it was to be served from. The red wine they chose was a '96 Guerrouane Rouge from Meknes. It was a very light red, big in black cherry. The first course we chose pastillo de pigeon, or pigeon pie which is a specialty of Marrakesh. This was excellent. It was a cinnamon and powder sugar sprinkled phyllo dough disk shaped pie with pigeon inside, bones included. The slight sweetness and cinnamon topping went very well with the Kir. The red wine, on the other hand didn't go at all bringing out a slight gaminess of the pigeon which otherwise went undetected. With this course was also brought out a small triangle phyllo pastry filled with a very spicy lamb, which the red wine was perfect with. It was awesome... Both of these dishes were perfectly paired up with the wines, and would have satisfied us for the evening.... The next course was two Tajines, however they were like none that we had eaten in Morocco so far. One tajine was lamb in a sweet sauce with sweet cooked onions and tomatoes. The other was saffron flavored veal. Neither the red nor the kir went with these, so we ordered two glasses of champagne. The champagne (Moroccan), was nothing special by itself, but was nicely dry, making it perfect for the two tajine dishes. By this time we were getting pretty full. It was a good thing we hadn't eaten for 13 hours today. After a small rest, the next course of chicken couscous was brought out. Delicious. Finally desert arrived. I don't know what it was called, but it consisted of several layers of a thin fried pastry topped with a light white custard and a few almonds. This went nicely with the mint tea that was brought out. Three hours after we arrived, we were finished dining. A door man escorted us from the restaurant to a waiting taxi three blocks away where we had begun. Some of the formality of the restaurant seemed to rub off on the taxi drivers, as the demeanor of ours was not typical. The entire evening was Arabic elegance at it's extreme... wonderful. With the exception of the two glasses of champagne, the meal was a bargain. --------------------------------------------------------------------- The same event but extracted from Sharon's Journal.... --------------------------------------------------------------------- ..Another taxi took us through some labyrinth of streets, arriving at a pseudo-dead-end. Dave's taxi door opened and we were greeted by a name-tagged guide from the restaurant, who smiled and led us through another maze of streets, depositing us with a doorman. We entered through a carved archway into a softly lit passageway lined with local carpets of red and blue. The carpets were strewn with rose petals and sandalwood incense lightly perfumed the air. The doorman handed us through ornate carved and painted doors, where the maitre d' guided us to our choice of tables. At this point, we were a bit stunned by the lavishness and ornateness. The dining room was formerly the courtyard to a 1436 palace. The focus of the room was a square fountain in the middle of the room sunken into the floor that babbled softly. Additionally, I was drawn to the 20 foot high ceiling with elaborately carved plaster work. Tables were scattered around the center part of the room, with larger tables placed under the arched alcoves on two sides. The tables were covered with the hand-embroidered tablecloths we had seen in Meknes. The chairs were tall and fully upholstered in gray carved velvet, over-embroidered in gold. We had a little love-seat couch. Again, the same rugs on the floor and scattered with rose petals, as was our table. A pretty flower arrangement of pink and red roses with cedar greens was accented by a crystal candlestick. Arabic music played softly. Two gorgeous art-deco styled crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, providing delicate lighting. These were clear and soft pink, looking very similar to a chandelier costing $120,000 that we had seen in an antique store in Buenos Aires. The area above the arched alcoves was decorated with pastel colored diamonds of stained glass. Soft sheer white curtains hung in the archways. Mosaic tiled columns of blue and white supported with arches. Opposite the entrance, a large typical Moroccan watering hole covered most of the wall. Its' ornate mosaic tiling formed a large circle of color. The water spouts were below. After being seated, the waiter brought me a pink rosebud, which was stored with the other flowers during dinner. The table was set with gold chargers and gold silverware. Oriental-style plates in reds and turquoise sat on the chargers. The waiter brought an ornately decorated brass urn with a matching brass "tea kettle". This setup allows you to wash your hands at the table, holding your hands over the urn while the water is poured. The waiter then gave us orange-scented towels to dry our hands. We were presented with an oral degustation menu. We had an aperitif of kir - a nice white wine mixed with cassis. This was accompanied by some little crunchy square tidbits, not quite cookies, but not quite crackers. The wine arrived and was poured into an elegant decanter trimmed in silver (but not good for letting the wine breathe). Similarly, the water was poured into a crystal pitcher. We had ordered different appetizers, but they were decoratively presented together on the same oriental plate. The pastilla of pigeon in the center and brioche of lamb around the outside. The first, was a crust of phyllo dough, stuffed with pigeon (and bones) in a sweet eggy custard mixed with finely chopped, spiced almonds. The top of the circular pastry was decorated in a criss-cross design with powdered sugar and cinnamon. The latter appetizer was little fried phyllo triangles filled with minced lamb and savory spices. These were delicious and I could have eaten a platter of these for my meal. - bread in cone shaped basket, removal with spoon/fork from my plate. Our second course was two different types of tajines, presented with elaborate silver covers. One tajine was lamb with onions and tomatoes and sweet flavorings like cinnamon, orange, and cloves. The other was savory tajine of veal with saffron. Both were tender and delicious. The third course was couscous. A large platter of couscous topped with white chicken meat, carrots, squash, eggplant, and a mixture of sweet caramelized onions, spices, and raisins. The couscous itself had a delicate savory chicken flavor. At this point, we were stuffing in the food. Normally, a degustation gives one many little tastes of many food items. Here we were being served large portions of each dish. The food was so tasty that we were eating it all! But we sorely failed to finish the couscous. Too bad our hotel room didn't have a refrigerator! For dessert, a plate layered with thin, crispy disks, soft sweet vanilla flavored custard and whole toasted almonds was presented. We were told to jab at it with our spoons to serve ourselves (a rarity) and the waiter demonstrated. The final course was mint tea, poured with ceremony high in the air to obtain maximum froth into gold edged juice glasses. A plate of little dry cookies was served with this, but were the most unexciting part of the meal. The waiters deserve comment here. We had to do nothing for ourselves. Drinks were refilled by them and all food was served to our liking by them. They moved about with purpose and ceremony in white uniforms of loose shirts and pants. A wide black sash surrounded their waists and the pants were tucked into ankle-high black socks. They wore pointy black slippers on their feet. --------------------------------------------------------------------- End of Sharon's Journal entry on the dinner at Stylia's --------------------------------------------------------------------- June 26, 1998 Note: I've noticed there seems to be little variety in vehicles. In general, people drive small Peugeot, Renault, or Mercedes sedans. Most of the Mercedes look to be 20 years old. Diesel appears to be the most popular fuel used by automobiles. Where in Spain, people who do not have cars drive scooters, here they all drive Motobacane brand mopeds. Later note: this doesn't seem to be as much the case near Casablanca or in Rabat. June 27, 1998 Rabat, Morocco - {Hotel Splendid} R80G/S 42978 R100GS 31847 We drove 200 miles from Marrakesh to the capital city of Rabat by way of the outskirts of Casablanca. It seemed like a different country. Drivers drove much more aggressive and there were many more on the road. The landscape changed, and we saw few of the nomadic sheep farmers. The temperature cooled off to the point where even after closing all of our vents in our jacket, we were still cold. Relative to the other places we have been travelling in Morocco, Rabat is the most modern looking city that we've seen in Morocco. We sat in a pizza shop eating a pre-dinner snack, watching pedestrians walk by. This is not the Arab world I would have imagined. People are dressed in modern Western fashion. Muslim garb looks out of place, but no one gives it a second glance. Woman wearing head coverings are rare, and so are robes, and nightgowns worn by men and woman (I'm showing my ignorance as to what these things are called). Many of the young woman are anything but conservative in their dress. Some hip chicks wore grunge style clothes with baggy flannel shirts, old tennis shoes, etc., a style not common outside the US. The anti American sentiment promoted by Iran, Libya, Iraq, etc, is not an Arab thing, but possibly just limited to those countries. In a space of five minutes, I saw three people wearing American Flag shirts. One of them wearing a N.A.F.T.A. shirt with an American Flag. I assume he got it through some diplomatic friends, as the embassies are all concentrated in this area. We went to a Restaurant for dinner called Koutoubia. Apparently the king of Morocco occasionally dines here. We arrived, and I can see why. It's a small but quaint Moroccan style restaurant. The waiter and owner are formal in the courtesies and service, however the atmosphere is relaxed without formality. The food was fresh and delicious. We were the only customers for the evening. Yet every table was decorated with fresh flowers, the fruit bowl was full of fresh fruit. The waiter and owner were both older gentlemen, who looked like they had worked together decades by their comfortableness. While we were dining, and content, our waiter would sit along the wall and appear to take a nap, while the owner sat appearing to read. Later the owner also sat along the wall resting. Meanwhile modern fast beat disco music softly played. Very strange. Sharon said she had the best tajine in Morocco here. Her tajine was of the most tender lamb cooked in a slightly sweet sauce of honey, a half pound of toasted whole almonds, and golden raisins. I had one of their specialties which was a rack of lamb chops with a sweet sauce and saffron sauce. The appetizer we had was the most incredible though which was diced lamb with fresh cilantro and other spices wrapped in a pastry dough that was fried to order. With all of the above we had a President's Cabernet made in Morocco, which made for a nice table cab. June 29, 1998 near Malaga, Spain - {Casa de Larry & Judy} R80G/S 43183 R100GS 32051 We left with the intention of driving to Spain today. It's 200 miles to the border Sebta or Cueta, followed by the water of the straight of Gibraltar, and then the drive to Malaga. On our way out of town, we missed our turn off to the highway. Sharon had some difficulty moving to the left lane due to all the traffic at the the time, and the fact that she didn't have a left rear mirror (due to a lousy welder back in Errfoud... but that's another story). I stepped in, and attempted to clear a way with the presence of my motorcycle. I was getting a bit agitated at some of the drivers, and opened the accelerator a bit quicker than usual on the R100GS. Unfortunately, the bike is back heavy, and by cracking open the accelerator, I put the bike into an unexpected wheelie. Unfortunately at the time I was not totally perpendicular to the horizon. As the pitch of the bike increased from the wheelie, the bike rolled a little counter clockwise, and yawed a little to the left. The front wheel landed, and I found myself sliding on the asphalt with my right foot caught between the pannier and the asphalt. Initially, I was probably going about 20mph. As I slid and tumbled, the focus of my attention went to my right foot, as it was beginning to scream out. When the motion stopped, I found myself with foot and leg pinned under the pannier, and in such great pain that I didn't want to get up, noticing that the vehicles behind me weren't running over me, but rather driving around. Sharon parked her bike in the middle of the road and came running over asking if I was ok. I said I'm not sure if my ankle is broken or not. She and a local helped lift the motorcycle off my leg. I asked Sharon if she could take care of getting the motorcycles to the side of the road. Some locals asked in French if I needed help. I motioned for them to give me a hand, and two, one on each side like a pair of crutches helped me hop over to the sidewalk which I sat against a wall. One helped me take off my boot since I was clearly having difficulty. The quick lace hooks had crushed inward, and the fiddling with them was aggravating the pain. I got the boot and sock off, and one guy came over with a bucket of cool water which he sprinkled onto my ankle. I smiled out of embarrassment, and he splashed a lot of water in my face. Later he went off, and came back with a frozen 1.5 liter bottle of water to use as an ice pack. Meanwhile Sharon talked with the officer, and was attempting to tell the traffic officer about how I had been cut off with the help of two English speaking Moroccan. I was able to alter the story, and interject that it was nobody but my own fault for what had happened. No police report would be necessary, and it took lots of persuading, but that certainly no ambulance would be necessary. The police officer had already seen to these things. A moment later, a plane clothed guy who seemed to have some authority over the three officers who were now there asked questions, and asked to see my title, transit papers and green card insurance to which I showed him. He copied down my name and address should I decided to file something later. The ambulance showed up, and it took some convincing to turn it away. I hobbled around on one foot to prove the point meanwhile behind my smile barely hiding the pain with the help of some new endorphines I was attempting to squeeze out of my brain. Finally the officers left, and the crowd dispersed, and I was able to sit in peace with my boot off and my frozen bottle of water against the wall with Sharon. I put on my boot, and was able to ride the bike. Fortunately it was not my left foot which controls the shifting, but rather the right which controls the rear brake. For the next 10 hours of driving, I only used the hand (front) brake. I figured this is Allah's way of saying the insurance reinstatement FAX request we sent off last week didn't go through.... After we had reached our destination, and I could take off my boot, I could see that the fasteners on my boot had left marks in my foot, and that the flesh of my foot had expanded so much that the skin was shiny from being stretched. The boot hardly fit any longer. Under my ankle on both sides, the skin showed bruising. However by next morning, the improvement was so great that I realized it was just sprain. ---- As we were driving North, we passed a small Berber tent with a John Deer Combine parked out front... This temporal surealism stuck out in my mind as odd... We stopped for lunch at a road side resaurant in the middle of nowhere that obviously only gets transient customers. It looks clean enough to eat at, and besides we could use a rest. There are probably 20 people eating here. More than a year of third world country travel has conditioned me to error on caution. There's that primordial basic instinct that hunters will pray upon the sick and weak first. My ankle has just recatagorized me. We hop off the bikes. I wait until the initial attention of our arrival wears off before I attempt to climb the steps. As cool and normal as possible I climb the steps. The bulk of the riding gear helps smooth my movements. until we find a seat by the door. Sharon goes off looking for a menu and some service. We order some cokes and shishkabobs. since fresh killed meat seemed to be their specialty. They have a skinned and gutted kid hanging up in the corner. Sharon runs off to the bathroom. I would love to do the same, however I grit it out waiting until we are ready to go, since it seems it will be over a hundred foot hobble and sure to attract everyone's attention in the entire restaurant. Meanwhile, at the next table over, there's an older woman dressed in blue. She's one of those ghosts that walk around completely covered from head to foot with only a slit for her eyes to see. She has her blue scarf pulled down just enough so that she can fit a hamburger into her mouth. Between each bite of her chews, her scarf goes taught. So close to her mouth, I would be surprise if she doesn't get hamburger grease on it which she would then be smelling the rest of the afternoon. The waiter delivers the coke. and does a smooth one handed open with the coke bottle. As he walks away he starts playing hacky sack with the bottle caps. Sharon comes back and we devour our delicious shishkababs, and two dishes of olives. ... Crossing customs was much easier. It took two stops, 10 minutes in total to leave Morroco. Entering Spain, the customs agent didn't even look at our passports, but rather waved us through. I thought I heard him say Italliano, implying that he thought we were EU member of Italy. I hope this isn't a problem later when we want to leave the EU since we don't have an entrance stamp. We arrived in Cueta, waited 5 minutes before we could load the high speed catamaran ferry and were soon back in Europe. We drove up the Costa del Sol of Spain back to Larry and Judy's house outside of Malaga. ---- Dave Thompson thompson@pdnt.com www - http://sdg.ncsa.uiuc.edu/~mag/Thompson Net-Tamer V 1.09 Palm Top - Registered