I have a collection of Moroccan moments. Moments likes this…
Wednesday. Early afternoon. Casablanca.
It was warm, I remember feeling the sun on my neck as we navigated the chaotic streets of the city.
AK and I were walking toward the medina from the Quartier Habous, after spending the morning in court, dealing with our documents. That was before we found out the bureaucracy of the land wouldn’t allow us to get married.
The plan was to catch the train at Casa Port, get to El Jadida, change our clothes, and take a long walk to Sidi Bouzid for wine at AK’s favorite place—an intimate café featuring a veranda with a fantastic view of the sunset over the Atlantic.
But AK announced that he was hungry, and that we should eat before moving any further. We agreed to grab a bite, because he’s always hungry. And there was absolutely no way I was going to get out of it.
We stopped to make a call, to Mehdi, AK’s high school friend. AK wanted him to meet us for lunch, because he had been talking about Mehdi for the longest time, and thought that was the perfect moment for Mehdi and I to meet.
And then, while they talked on the phone, I saw a child. Cute. Delicate.
Perhaps 6 or 7 years old. A child with a blue backpack almost bigger than himself. A child by himself, trying to cross the street in the midst of the frenzied Casablanca traffic. Cars moved in all directions and all passed him by, and he stood there with the calmest look on his face. With his red sweater. His shiny hair. Flimsy, fragile amid the noise and the hectic movement, the flow of people and cars of a lively city.
I watched him. I wondered about him. I worried…
A car could hit him—he was just standing there. Perhaps he’s too little and they won’t see him, drivers in Casablanca are wild. Maybe he doesn’t know what he’s doing. What if he’s lost? How come he’s alone?
As I was beginning to walk to him, to help him, he figured it out. He saw his chance, and rushed to the sidewalk.
He was an expert. He knew it all along. Smooth and cool.
I must admit, I wanted to talk to him. To have the chance to ask his name, or something… I was a bit disappointed I didn’t get the chance.
And when he found himself in safety, with nothing else to devote his attention to, he pulled some cookies out of his pocket and ate them as he walked away. Navigating the chaotic streets of the city.
Just like I was. Just like everyone else was.
But he was so little. So vulnerable.
I watched him until he disappeared, until my eyes couldn’t reach him anymore. I admired his good judgment.
And then I realized: He does it every day. He crosses the street every day, even in the midst of the frenzied Casablanca traffic. Every day, he walks home from school, by himself, with his blue backpack and his shiny hair… and no one notices him standing there, in the middle of the busy street.
No one notices it.
It is simply a Moroccan moment.
How do you call it?
The way time shows in your face. The way the years take your skin as a canvas, and create. Create lines, as if Pollock…
How do you call it?
Most people call it wrinkles.
Wrinkles.
But I don’t like that name. I find it unfair.
Because really, aren’t wrinkles a beautiful thing? A breathtaking thing?
As if Pollock…
Like a story written on your skin. Like the very lines of life painted on your face… To show the world what you’ve been through.
Wrinkles are indeed beautiful!
You just need to find the right light under which to look at them…
On a bright morning a couple of days ago, looking at myself in the mirror, I noticed tiny little wrinkles appearing under my eyes. There they were! Tiny little wrinkles under my eyes, and I thought “Here we go…”
And then… Then I realized my wrinkles don’t have to be drag. They don’t have to be a sign of expiration. They don’t have to be lament. And I don’t have to spend my time trying to erase those lines I’ve earned in my life. The lines time itself has given me.
Did you know you earn your wrinkles?
When you make your life matter. When you make every day count. When you worry about giving your walk a meaning… You earn your wrinkles.
So I decided, instead, my wrinkles will be signs that, while I’m not getting any younger, I am in fact becoming much wiser. They will be signs, like memories, of the times I laughed; the times I had the chance to put my face to the sun on bright days; the times I worried and then found the strength to overcome the hurdles.
They will be signs that I’ve been strong. They will be signs of what I’ve experienced. Signs that I’ve lived… Signs that at least I tried really hard to lead a full and sparkling life.
I don’t know about you, but I don’t want an empty life. I don’t want a life with no wrinkles. So I will love mine…
And I will not call them wrinkles. No… I will call them lines of spirit, of vivacity, of laughter. Of life.
And time.
So, you tell me, what will your lines be? What will they represent? How will you call them?
What will they remind of?
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Of course, all the astonishing portraits in this post are very much Moroccan. Nour El-Ghoumari is a photographer from Taza. His images are considered by many critics to rank among the finest photography today. The images here come from a collection of portraits he took in Morocco and Egypt. To see more of his work, click over to his website.
Some time ago I received an offer, an invitation I wasn’t able to refuse. It came from 760 Days in Morocco, a wonderful account of a Moroccan experience by my fellow blogger and one of my finest inspirations.
And I couldn’t refuse because she invited me to write a guest post about one of my favorite things—books! And honestly, also because I wouldn’t have missed the chance to contribute something to her wonderful blog.
She’s not actively blogging, which in itself is a great loss to those of us who write about Morocco, but 760 Days is still up as an irreplaceable, unique source of information. If you are planning to visit Morocco, or interested in this culture and what life in Morocco is like, you definitely have to visit 760 Days.
But she wrote once more. She wrote to publish the Moroccan Reading List and it is now available here.
Click over, you could perhaps find your next read. Or you could even travel to Morocco… And that’s an opportunity no one should ever miss.
I try to find dignity on being loyal to something I believe in. A love that I truly believe in.
I try.
But sometimes… sometimes I just miss him. I miss him to the point where it hurts my heart. And tears form in my eyes. I cry. And I think of him, I remember the little things about him. Because there’s an awfully large empty space inside me, space that only he can fill. And too much distance between us.
Distance.
And because nothing makes as much sense, nothing has as much meaning as when I’m with him. And I feel incomplete.
It gets hard. It gets painful.
AK has moved somewhere outside Ouarzazate for work. To a place where internet is a rare luxury and a good phone conversation would be more expensive than a diamond. To a place where it’s just impossible for us to communicate like we used to. Like we need to. Like I need to.
I need to know he’s there. That he’s with me, even if he’s thousands of miles away. I need to feel him.
For the first time since we’ve been together, I’m afraid… Afraid of so many things.
That he’ll slip away. That he’ll forget me. Or forget what we have together, and our moments. Our memories. That he’ll forget my voice, or how I feel under his arms. Afraid that in time, we’ll turn into strangers.
That there’ll be silence between us.
And then just distance. This unbearable distance.
And I just miss him. I miss him. I miss him…
I keep waiting for him. Because I’m in love, I try to stay strong, to focus on the light at the end of this agonizing tunnel. I try to keep our story alive, to keep it happening. And I remind myself, that he’s trying too. But I miss him.
He’s trying too.
And I wait for him. Because I’m in love.
But I still miss him.
Oh, my memories of Morocco…
It’s strange, the things you sometimes remember…
Sometimes I see things that take me right back to Morocco. Some things always bring it right back into my mind. Things that look inevitably Moroccan. Things like men in djellabas.
The way they look as they walk by, or as they sip sweet mint tea as the day goes down.
Or things like the work of Thomas Cristofoletti.
I found it. I clicked over, and clicked some more. I lost myself.
I lost myself…
In pictures of men in djellabas. Pictures of Morocco, of its women and children. Pictures of Meknes, of Fez, of Marrakesh, of Merzouga. Of the Sahara, of camels, of the Touareg.
All beautiful pictures. Breathtaking. Stunning. Some took me back to the places I’ve been to, the things I’ve seen. Others made me want to go to those places I’ve never visited, see those things I’ve never seen.
And that’s exactly what good pictures are supposed to do. To inspire you… or to make you feel nostalgic.
To see Cristofoletti’s complete Morocco collection, head over here and here.
To learn about Thomas Cristofoletti and to see more of his work, visit his website, his Flickr, or his Behance. If you understand Italian, you could also visit his blog.
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Also, make sure to take a look at Cristofoletti’s collections of Bolivia, Peru and Dublin. Just amazing! They also make me want to go there.
One cool morning in Casablanca, AK and I were having espressos outside Café France, when an American couple from Philly overheard us speaking English. They looked at us surprised and smiled, and finally asked if I was American. I said “Yes”, and an air of relief invaded their faces as they found someone with a familiar accent to talk to. They asked where I lived back in the States and how long I had been in Morocco and which places I had visited. Then they turned their attention to AK, looking for advice on the best places to go and the best things to see. They were undecided between Marrakesh and Tangier. AK suggested they go to Tangier, even if it would take them longer to get there. I suggested they tried to visit both. That’s just a hard choice to make…
After a few moments of conversation, AK went inside to pay for our coffees, and the American couple confessed that they were having some trouble with taxis, especially getting them to use the meter, and that they were confused with the different types of taxis. When they asked me for ideas on how they could manage, I tried as best as I could to give them some advice, even if just based on my limited experience. And even then, knowing that sometimes navigating the taxi waters in Morocco can turn out to be tricky, I didn’t stop myself from proclaiming my love for petit taxis. I praised them! I told them the same thing I tell everyone: there’s just no better way to get around in Morocco than in a petit taxi.
I later wondered whether my advice had been any good, at least useful… I told them everything I knew, but still I understood that riding Moroccan taxis can be a bit challenging if you don’t have the tricks of the trade. And it was then that an idea sparked in my head: a practical guide to Moroccan taxis. I embarked upon real-life research and observation, and made AK (and everyone else I could) hostage to my questions. I came up with something…
Here it is, Moroccan Taxis 101…
1. Types of taxis. Two separate hordes of taxis prowl Moroccan streets—petit taxis and grande taxis. Small taxis and big taxis. Both are dirt cheap compared to American or European standards. Petit taxis are the ones you use to travel within cities. These are various colors depending on the city. Blue in Rabat and Essaouira, Red in Fez and Casa. Beige-ish yellow in Marrakesh and so on. Grande taxis are typically white and they run between cities, to the airports, within cities on fixed routes. They are also available for private hire.
2. Taxis and passengers. Petit taxis hold a maximum of three passengers, four if you count the driver. Don’t be surprised if the driver stops to pick up other passengers while you are in the car, or if you are picked up after other passengers are already riding in it. Petit taxis can be split between people travelling in the same direction. If you are picked up after the meter has been started, note the initial price displayed on the meter. Your price will be the difference between the amount on the meter when you get off the taxi and the amount displaying at the time you got in.
Grande taxis are a bit of an expensive way to travel, though they are still very cheap, but they go practically everywhere. Unlike petit taxis, grande taxis don’t cruise for passengers. Instead, they congregate in a central area and wait for passengers to come to them. They will not move until the taxi is filled. They hold up to six passengers, seven if you count the driver, which can make for a tight squeeze. It is a good idea, if you are planning to take a long trip and can afford it, to buy two spaces to allow for extra room. To avoid being ripped off, asked other passengers how much they are paying for the ride.
3. Petit taxis and the meter. Oh the eternal meter problem… By law, all petit taxis are required to use their meter, so make sure your driver turns it on. As a matter of fact, you can feel free to ask them to do so. Technically, if a driver doesn’t use the meter, you can give him whatever you feel your trip is worth. But if you decide to go forward with that technicality, you could get to experience the dark side of your driver, and that’s never fun. So if there’s not meter in use, make sure you agree on a price before you take off. Always, always, always.
Also, keep in mind that in many localities, there is a 50% surcharge at night, normally starting at 8 pm. Some taxis have a newer meter model that will show your final rate. Older taxis have older meters, so most likely you will have to do the math yourself.
4. Grande taxis and payment. If you take a grande taxi on a fixed city route, or a fixed in-between city route, you pay for a seat at a certain fixed price. For example, in Casablanca, AK and I paid 6 dirhams each from the medina to his house. One night, we paid 100 dirhams each to travel from Marrakseh to El Jadida. Keep in mind that the price to travel between cities can vary depending on the time of day and on the availability of other modes of transportation, like buses or trains. They are usually much more expensive at night, when there is no bus or train service. It’s a matter of demand.
If you hire the taxi for yourself, you would arrange the price with the driver beforehand. Some places have fixed prices, but you can always bargain.
Note that, for both petit taxis and grande taxis, tipping is not required, but you could do so if you like.
Other ”advanced” tips…
- Avoid paying with large bills. One thing I noticed in Morocco is that large bills are like the plague and everyone is trying to get rid of them, so avoid handing the driver a 200-dirham bill to pay for a 15-dirham ride, and save yourself some trouble. One day, in Marrakesh, AK and I took a taxi from the supermarket to our apartment, and when it came to paying, we realized we didn’t have change. Only bills of 200 dirhams. The driver refused to take the large bill, and AK had to go around asking people to break the bill for him—nobody wanted to. We were forced to order tea at the corner coffee shop, just so they would break the bill, and still ended up paying almost double what the trip was worth because the driver charged us for the time he waited.
- Always agree on the price of the ride BEFOREHAND. Whether is a petit taxi using no meter or a grande taxi in a fixed in-between city route or for private hire, you should always agree on a price before the car starts moving. It’s just the best way to protect yourself and end your trip on a friendly note.
- When you are in tourist areas, you can always expect most taxis not to use the meter. More than once in Marrakesh, I came across drivers who didn’t use the meters. And another time, I took a petit taxi at the train station in El Jadida, and because the driver heard me speak English, he tried to charge double what we paid every time we took a taxi from the same train station. Don’t take it personally (you’ll see why). Depending on your attitude and your time, you can just roll with the situation, or you can continue to try finding a taxi that will use the meter. But you should know: simply, and kindly, asking the driver to use the meter generally works!
- Why shouldn’t you take it personally if they don’t want to use the meter?? Because what you spend on your dinner in Marrakesh on one night could be about the same amount a taxi driver will make in a month. Because the amount of money that you make in a month could be the same amount a taxi driver will make in a year. Tourism is a huge industry in Morocco, and much of the country’s domestic development is geared towards the impact tourism will have on the economy. Taxi drivers also want their share of benefits, and who could blame them?
Now, I know that’s not an excuse, I hate being ripped off. I hate when people try to take advantage of me, and I think not using the meter is an insult to my intelligence, but I try to make my Moroccan taxi experience more enjoyable by relaxing and reminding myself of these facts every time a taxi driver tries to pull the no-meter trick.
Just relax and try to be nice to the drivers. Keep in mind that sometimes, you just have to “go with it”. After all, they do offer an efficient and reliable service. And riding taxis, both petit and grande, can be very fun, I promise!
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