Gets an Aphrodisiac; Goes on a Toilet Paper Paper Rant, Reveals Identity of JS: Morocco Cast of Characters Part II

 

Postcard of Famous Sign In Zagora

Joe- Joe was the first of the backpacker/travelers/low budget vacationers  I met on my seven-month venture. He was an American working in Switzerland as a chef, and he was on a three week, shoestring holiday to Morocco. I met him on the bus from Ouarzazate to Zagora  (you couldn't miss him, large and blond as he was); we were the only "Westerners"  on the bus.  We didn't speak on the ride, but we each were obviously going to be looking for a guest house or cheap accommodation in Zagora.

Come to think of it I don't recall there really being any or many youth hostels in Morocco. Of course JS* had set me up in Casa and with Malika's family in Marrakech, but there was the whole rest of the country for me to find a place to sleep.

After the whole hippie trail thing in the 60's  (look really closely at the following picture of the jebel, they left their mark in the desert floor), I think the govt. definitely tried to crack down on that kind of visitor, including limiting hostels and the like.  Aside from Joe, who doesn't really count (yep, as Cheryl Strayed shows for the PCT, there is definitely that divide between "backpackers" (3 months or more) and "budget travelers" of one month or less), I met no other backpackers/ budget travelers in Morocco.  Incidentally, despite trying to rid them selves of hippies, because of the bad "un-Islamic" image projected by blond people in dreadlocks having sex and doing drugs all over the place, Morocco remains a large producer and exporter of marijuana. Now that I am kind of an economist and data freak, I find this fascinating. Now, they are talking about legalizing it and maybe they can tax it and use that money to add on to one of the largest mosques in the world, instead of relying on people like Abdullah.

In any case, Joe and I kind of wound up together by default when we got off the bus; I think the sharks of Zagora just assumed we were together and left me alone. He told me about his vacation plans and I mentioned that I was on like day six of a year-long  trip around the world and that I needed to stay in like the cheapest place ever. Joe was an affable guy. So, we head to the market for food and here's what happened:

First background: I always hated dates, you know, growing up in Saudi Arabia where it’s like the national food. I just thought they looked gross and were gross, so I get to this market and the vendors are all getting you to try stuff and this vendor hands me a date with a walnut in it and is like aphrodisiac, aphrodisiac, which was like the only word he knew in English and I kind of think I actually didn’t realize fully what he was saying. I mean I knew what the word meant, having scored a high verbal on my SAT, but I wasn’t processing that like yeah, woman alone traveling in Morocco, I need an aphrodisiac…

Yeah, I needed an aphrodisiac like a goddamned hole in the head.

But then I tasted it. 

And that shriveled up little morsel with a walnut in it was like the best thing I ever tasted. Part of it may have had to do with the fact that it was Ramadan and I probably hadn’t eaten or drank (enough) all day, but it was so good. So delicious.  And I quickly realized that the best thing about dates  was that you could kind of subtly eat a date during Ramadan without anyone really noticing (desert nomads gleaned on to this like well before Jesus/ and Ramadan). I mean no-one at all expected me or other non-Muslim travelers to abide by the daily fasting, and in fact were constantly offering the a la menthe or food, but you want to also be respectful of the customs. 

Then, I proceeded to find a sink in the market and wash the dates.

And now Joe was truly horrified when I did this. Now that I think about it, I too am horrified, but folks it was 20 years ago, I have since matured into a regular and prolific date eater (sometimes paying $40/lb for Saudi dates, even) and I know how it's done: you do not ever wash dried dates, it would be like washing your bagel. Anyway, I bought a bag full and then proceeded to wash them in the sink of the bus stop, and Joe was like wow, you are not going to last another week here….

And I was like Fuck You, American-Joe-living-in-SWITZERLAND;  I have made it this far (from my boyfriend, and JFK the day before Valentine's Day, to the market in Zagora 12 days later )

I am NOT going back to America right now because I feel compelled to wash the dried dates I purchased in the market from a vendor hissing “aphrodisiac” in a country where no-one washes their hands after going to the bathroom…and I use the term bathroom extremely loosely…more like urinating/defecating wherever the hell you want and if there’s pit toilet nearby, okay, maybe. Oh, and did I mention that no-one uses toilet paper, even in Malika's posh villa as I was a little perplexed to discover, as there were like 5 bathrooms with built in toilet paper holders? They use their hands and some water…if you’re lucky and there is water…Now I know I am getting carried away and offending about half the population of the world, but here’s my take on it: using water to clear out your nether regions after doing what needs to be done is really fine by me…I tried not to think about it while eating in a restaurant or someone’s home, but fine, it’s fine. Honestly I did it myself for approximately the next 7 months. BUT YOU NEED TO WASH YOUR HANDS WITH HOT WATER AND SOAP AFTER. Really, you do. And no-where ever at any time did I ever see any soap in a toilet/latrine situation anywhere ever, from Morocco to Egypt…they have soap and toilet paper in Israel…to India, Nepal, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam, China. Okay, I am done with that rant.

Jebel I Climbed with Joe, Feb 24, 1995;
(note the hippie sunburst on the lower left)

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Now is as good a time as any to say that no, I did not have sex with Joe, no, nope, nada, dates with walnut consumption aside. I mention Joe because he was the first person I met up with on the trip and spent a few days with. We were heading in the same direction and there are only certain things that tourist/travelers are interested in seeing, so why not do them together if you are so inclined?

I know, I know you are reading this and saying, what about that man rant from the previous blog post and not needing a man guide and all that BS? All I can say is that
1. With Joe, everything immediately became easier, no harassment and
2. We didn’t share a room, though ultimately I would (chastely) share rooms with dozens of travelers, male and female in various budget inns, youth hostels and guest houses.

We did share some costs like for a driver to the jebel outside Zagora which we climbed together. I wound up with heat or sun poisoning or something you get hiking in the desert during midday on the edge of the Sahara during Ramadan and Joe had to drag me back to the start-off point of the hike. Toto, something tells me we are not hiking in the Pacific Northwest anymore.

3. Don’t mean to sound all Eurocentric and all, but traveling with another traveler who you can converse with is WAY different that having a paid guide who speaks no English just to keep other men away. Well, whatever, that was Joe, God knows where he is now. He was a good guy, though I am not convinced he thought I would make it out of Morocco alive. We soon parted ways on our various itineraries. 

I met up with Joe eight days later in Casablanca and we traveled together to Essaouira, which was amazing and totally different from the “interior” cities, towns and villages. Way more laid back, really touristy actually, with great restaurants and a total seafaring vibe that I really loved.

 **NEWS FLASH*** MARCH 6, 2015.  JS a long time Linked In contact has bravely agreed to be identified. And you are just not going to believe it, but JS is Jon Smith. No joke, swear to God. Really, Jonathan Smith.  Thank you Jonathan for everything!