Road Report Archives

Moroccan Roll

I departed Rio de Janeiro and arrived in Lisbon, Portugal, and after spending weeks in Spanish-only territory it was interesting to go through the Portuguese-speaking world. My Spanish vocabulary has swelled to around 100 words, but I was only able to learn two Portuguese words while in Rio. Unfortunately, one of them turned out to be Brazilian slang so when I got to Lisbon my vocabulary was cut in half. My only remaining word, Obrigado, means “Thank you”, and to me it sounds strangely similar to Arigato, which means the same thing in Japanese.

Lisbon is a completely generic, but very pleasant city filled with well-dressed Europeans. I quickly got my bearings (helped by the fact that there is only a two-hour time difference from Brazil), and was ready to move on.

After a couple days in Lisbon I took a 4-hour train ride down to a pleasant little town on the southern coast of Portugal called Tavira for one night on my way to Seville, Spain. I checked into a very nice family-run hotel overlooking the lazy river that runs through town. On my way out the front door the first time I heard a clear, American-accented voice say “Hello” so I reflexively said “Hello” right back and kept walking. As I walked I wondered who the American sounding voice belonged to, especially since I haven’t been hearing many other Yanks lately. I found out during breakfast next morning it came from their parrot, who was evidently trained elsewhere and says hello about once per minute, sandwiched between groups of assorted whistles.

I whipped through a corner of southern Spain (which I will cover next time) in a few days and took the ferry to Morocco where I just spent six strange days. Thanks to French imperialism in the early 20th Century, Morocco is very European except the people there are friendly and happy to meet you. The hospitality in Morocco is so intense in fact, that I kept checking my wallet every 5 seconds to make sure it was still there (it always was). I was welcomed to the country about 50 times in 6 days and invited to stay in people’s homes for free (maybe next time). A man I met in a train station on the way to Rabat invited me to dinner in his home when I got to his hometown of Fez. We had camel meatball stew with bread but no utensils, cooked over a gas burner in the TV room next to the coffee table and it was very good.

The downside to that hospitality shows up in the famous marketplaces of Marrakech and Fez. The merchants are every bit as friendly, but they also see you as a walking dollar sign. There aren’t many other foreign tourists around this time of the year so as I walked through the markets I felt like Pam Anderson walking through a men’s prison. It was more gauntlet than marketplace, especially since I really didn’t want to buy anything.

The markets are fascinating and seem chaotic at first, but they are actually very logically laid out. The brass sellers are grouped with the ceramics merchants, the meat shops are next to the vegetable stands and the fake designer watch guys are next to the bootleg DVD peddlers. The one thing I did buy was a Djallaba, which is a long shepherd-type robe with a pointy hood that many Moroccans wear over their normal clothes. It was a strange thing to buy since it would really look odd worn anywhere in America, but at least I finally have adequate protection from sandstorms.

Most Moroccans are eager to point out what great friends our countries are after I answer the inevitable “Where are you from?” question. Actually the conversation usually started like this: “Where are you from? English?” “No, the United States.” “Oh! America! Welcome to my country!” The only different response I got after that exchange was from a Muslim guy (they are all Muslims in Morocco) who runs a busy liquor store in a small northern town (alcohol is strictly prohibited in Islam, but few Moroccan men let a little thing like that stop them) who laughed as he put my beer in a bag and kept saying “Bush is crazy, Bush is crazy”. I was going to tell him “Yes, Bush is crazy, he is crazy about democracy and spreading it through peaceful means when available”, but I think he just liked the sound of the “Bush is crazy” part.

I am now back in Spain (Granada to be exact) and on my way to Madrid (where it is snowing right now) then Barcelona before I speed through the French Riviera on my way to Italy.

By the way, if you are bored I suggest getting a puppy, but if that is not an option there is always my award-winning website (I give out my own Web awards every year and my site got an Honorable Mention two years ago. Fingers crossed for this year!) www.rogerwade.com