Morocco, Day 3

My Birthday in Morocco

The next day, the sun was out and we took a walk into the Ville Nouvelle to see about renting a car. Since our trip was to include a visit South to the Sahara, we needed to explore our options. The new town felt nothing like the Medina. Here were the broad boulevards bordered by villas and cafes. For all the Mediterranean blandness of, say, Orlando, Florida. Several of the smaller rental agencies were closed, so we made it further down the strip and found the local National Rent a Car. We next stopped at Hertz and were told that we needed something larger than the subcompact Fiat Uno to make the trip to the edge of the desert. Upon leaving, a friendly person outside Hertz led us to another small rental company, conveniently located just upstairs. Every young man in Morocco seemed to imply that they had the most impeccable connections and could procure the greatest bargains by sheer force of will. Everyone was helpful, possessive and on the make. We made a few more stops before returning to Hertz. Strangely, even they were in a position to bargain. Although the smaller company promised we could drop off in Fez, our final destination, despite not having a branch there, Hertz had a Fez office as well as one in between. The security made the decision easy and we reserved a Toyota compact for the next morning. The cost was 2,300 Dirham with unlimited miles and all the insurance.

On our journey, we had also looked into the possibility of taking a bus, but neither the private buses leaving from the typically scary station, nor the national CTM lines had anything useful given our tight schedule. We also took in the sights of the El Badi palace and the tinsmiths' square, where we bought some light fixtures.

We returned to town and settled into our new digs, the Grand Hotel Tazi, just around the corner from the Hotel Ali. This upgrade to our accommodations was due to it being my birthday. And a very happy 42nd it was! Pam took a public 'hammam', or bath. This is something of an important public forum for women to meet. I checked out the men's version next door and, judging only from the clientele exiting, I had to assume that this crowd was those for whom bathing was a seldom enjoyed luxury. I passed and took refuge in the great Moroccan pastime for men - sitting at the front of the nearest cafe. This total separation of the sexes was one of the most difficult aspects of Islamic lifestyle. Some of the more fashionable cafes or patisseries had a back or upstairs section that would tolerate a woman's presence. As for sitting out on the sidewalk or enjoying the television inside the establishment. The nearest equivalent might be a bar, probably circa 1850. Since Islam technically forbids drinking, the local mint tea was continually referred to as Moroccan or Berber 'whiskey'.

We again hit the market and fell prey to another hustle. I had a monkey placed on my person before I could even object. Ha ha, cute monkey. Nice monkey. Please don't bite me or defecate on me! The obligatory photo was taken. I made the mistake of asking what he wanted for this valuable service and was naturally quoted some astronomical price. I had the good sense to keep only small bills and coins in one pocket and so pulled out a 20 Dirham note and, amid much protestation about how $2 was way too small compensation for his two second's work, we pressed back into the safety of the food stalls. I expected the entire area to take on an exotic scent, but the open air and the liquid gas stoves kept the odors to a minimum. At least the monkey was clean! We bought some fruit, figs and supplies for our road trip the next day.

My Birthday in Morocco The next day, the sun was out and we took a walk into the Ville Nouvelle to see about renting a car. Since our trip was to include a visit South to the Sahara, we needed to explore our options. The new town felt nothing like the Medina. Here were the broad boulevards bordered by villas and cafes. For all the Mediterranean blandness of, say, Orlando, Florida. Several of the smaller rental agencies were closed, so we made it further down the strip and found the local National Rent a Car. We next stopped at Hertz and were told that we needed something larger than the subcompact Fiat Uno to make the trip to the edge of the desert. Upon leaving, a friendly person outside Hertz led us to another small rental company, conveniently located just upstairs. Every young man in Morocco seemed to imply that they had the most impeccable connections and could procure the greatest bargains by sheer force of will. Everyone was helpful, possessive and on the make. We made a few more stops before returning to Hertz. Strangely, even they were in a position to bargain. Although the smaller company promised we could drop off in Fez, our final destination, despite not having a branch there, Hertz had a Fez office as well as one in between. The security made the decision easy and we reserved a Toyota compact for the next morning. The cost was 2,300 Dirham with unlimited miles and all the insurance. On our journey, we had also looked into the possibility of taking a bus, but neither the private buses leaving from the typically scary station, nor the national CTM lines had anything useful given our tight schedule. We also took in the sights of the El Badi palace and the tinsmiths' square, where we bought some light fixtures. We returned to town and settled into our new digs, the Grand Hotel Tazi, just around the corner from the Hotel Ali. This upgrade to our accommodations was due to it being my birthday. And a very happy 42nd it was! Pam took a public 'hammam', or bath. This is something of an important public forum for women to meet. I checked out the men's version next door and, judging only from the clientele exiting, I had to assume that this crowd was those for whom bathing was a seldom enjoyed luxury. I passed and took refuge in the great Moroccan pastime for men - sitting at the front of the nearest cafe. This total separation of the sexes was one of the most difficult aspects of Islamic lifestyle. Some of the more fashionable cafes or patisseries had a back or upstairs section that would tolerate a woman's presence. As for sitting out on the sidewalk or enjoying the television inside the establishment. The nearest equivalent might be a bar, probably circa 1850. Since Islam technically forbids drinking, the local mint tea was continually referred to as Moroccan or Berber 'whiskey'. We again hit the market and fell prey to another hustle. I had a monkey placed on my person before I could even object. Ha ha, cute monkey. Nice monkey. Please don't bite me or defecate on me! The obligatory photo was taken. I made the mistake of asking what he wanted for this valuable service and was naturally quoted some astronomical price. I had the good sense to keep only small bills and coins in one pocket and so pulled out a 20 Dirham note and, amid much protestation about how $2 was way too small compensation for his two second's work, we pressed back into the safety of the food stalls. I expected the entire area to take on an exotic scent, but the open air and the liquid gas stoves kept the odors to a minimum. At least the monkey was clean! We bought some fruit, figs and supplies for our road trip the next day.
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