Author: Naomi Stobbe

Today was a day I was looking forward to. MaryLou had done the research, and even walked to our Hamman place yesterday to confirm that we were booked in. I was excited but also a little nervous. The information I had received from those who had had the Hammam and massage on our tour was that that there were no parts of your body that were not scrubbed and washed. Yikes, this would be different from anything I had experienced. Our tour leader, Malika had raved about hammam and talked about how she and her mother and aunts would go regularly and implied it was a communal women’s experience. (I had to pass on this experience during our G-tour because I was sick.)

We had our regular breakfast time at Dave and MaryLou’s apartment and I spent the next couple of hours reading the fifth Moroccan novel that I have read during these last two weeks. The first 2 weeks of the tour I received the glossed-over tourist view of the country and now I have been reading of some of the hardships and injustices of this place.

(Here are the books I have read. I highly recommend them all.)

Just before noon we walked to Yanis Prestige Spa for our experience. Only one person at the establishment spoke English. My non-English speaking Hammam woman us settled into our rooms. In one alcove there was a lounging couch and a bathrobe and slippers. The woman gave me a paper thong (think pandemic face mask) and from what I could determine from the woman I was to shower and get ready for my hammam. The scrub room had a huge marble slab in the centre. The walls and floors were marble and the lighting was low. There was a shower and so I rinsed off, put my robe on, and awkwardly awaited the attendant. When she arrived, the washing experience began. I lay on the heated marble slab and she proceeded to soap me with the special Moroccan black soap (it looks like black grease). Next came the scrub. With a very rough brush she scrubbed down every inch of my body, front and back, while rinsing the upper layer of my skin away. It certainly was invigorating and my skin felt refreshed and alive. She washed my hair and then oiled my body. After this she left the room for me to completely shower off and await further instructions regarding my massage. Once I was in my robe and lounging on the couch there was a knock at the door. The attendant brought me a tray. There was a tiny tagine with fresh walnuts, almonds, and dates, a cup of tea, and a bottle of water. I settled in to enjoy the treats. Soon there was another knock. I could bring my treats to the massage room to finish before I had my massage. Like a Moroccan princess I followed the attendant down the hallway to my massage room and proceeded to finish off the treats. Next came the massage. It was a 45 minutes complete body massage and I almost fell asleep on the table. The whole experience was incredible. (Perhaps when I do my bathroom renovation in the basement at home on Valour Rd. I should add a heated marble hammam table along with a date and nut bar. 😉

We walked back through the Arabic League Park. The sun was shining and it was warm. This is not to be taken for granted here. Most often we are slightly chilled. We arrived back at the apartments to find that Dave and Rudy had completed their adventures for the day. They had taken the tram and the bus back to our original hotel that we stayed at when we arrived in Casablanca. The breakfast place that we had so enjoyed was shuttered and forlorn (thanks to Ramadan) and so they made their way back. They stopped at the Boulangerie and Patisserie and picked up all sorts of delicious lunch food. After eating we separated. Rudy and I took the long walk to the Medina and Souk (market) for one last attempt for me to buy some souvenirs. But it was not to be. This market does not have any of the Moroccan handicrafts so we returned home to read.

At 8pm we met Dave and Marylou for supper. We have finally figured out that after 8 is when restaurants are done with Iftar (the breaking of the fast after sundown and the communal time together). We had scouted out a burger joint the day before and were not disappointed with what there was to choose from. (many many burgers and fancy fries, and loads of salads) I had a burger with cheese and truffles and loads of other delicious things and my fries are slathered in creamy truffle sauce, with cheese broiled over the whole bit. Dave even had poutine which the server was proud to say it is just as good as Canadian poutine.

We dragged our full bellies home and, because of the late dinner, it is almost time for bed.

Well, I was not sure what to title the blog for this day but when I mentioned, Shit Show, as a possibility, my roomies burst out laughing and nodded their heads vigorously. So I guess that’s a consensus. Today we made our way from Agadir to Essaouira. We had purchased our bus tickets days in advance so, in theory, that meant that we had secured seats 9 through 12. Upon trying to put our baggage in the hold of the bus we found that we also needed to pay for suitcase storage. Dave hustled over to the ticket booth and got 4 baggage tags for the steep price of 75 cents per item. (WestJet needs to take a page from the CTM bus lines pricing structure.) Upon entering the bus we found that our seats were already occupied. Mine and Rudy’s seats were filled with a man, a large pail, and numerous sacks and bags. Dave and MaryLou’s seats had a coupla 30- to 40-year-old somewhat rough-looking men. A long discussion ensued and finally the two men in Dave and MaryLou’s seats vacated and kicked out some others from the seats ahead of them. All of this took quite some time. Our man would not move and kept showing us his ticket that indicated he was in seat 11. How could this be? Our ticket also said seat 11. Meanwhile others were trying to get on the bus. A whole gang of Scandinavians were pushing up against us. We told them in English that they would have to back out of the bus in order to facilitate the reshuffle. They replied in some Northern European language that they had no idea what we were talking about and if we could just sit down, they would like to board. Needless to say, things were at an impasse. Finally the bus driver came in and we showed him our tickets. He asked to see the ticket of the other man. The seat-stealing man was only partially telling the truth. He had been in seat 11 on the first part of his journey, but on this part of the journey his seat was number 29. He was not too happy and gathered up his bags and pails and finally moved to his seat in the back of the bus. The majority of bus riders were men of a similar age and there was much laughing and harassing about the whole kerfuffle. Now we could settle in for the 3-hour journey.

Oh no, I guess we couldn’t. The seats were closer together than the seats on a WestJet plane and poor Rudy could not fit his legs in. Even I was struggling with claustrophobia. Well, there was nothing to do but endure it. And endure it we did. We hadn’t gone very far when one of the men behind us hauled out his cell phone and proceeded to have a very LOUD phone call for a very LONG time. Well soon it was time to stop to let off a few people and a few packages. It seemed to be taking a bit longer than necessary. I disembarked to stretch my legs and found a crowd of men around the luggage compartment. Bags were being hauled out and thrown back in and voices were raised. It was clear that something was amiss. This went on for a long time. I later learned from MaryLou, who had witnessed the kerfuffle from her side of the bus, that a fight had broken out. A man had grabbed the bus driver by the lapels and jostled him, and yelled in his face. At one point he shoved him. On my side of the bus, a smaller compartment was opened and a number of boxes were taken out. The missing ones? Not sure, but the scuffle seemed to be over and the journey finally could continue on.

We loaded up our luggage onto our backs and headed off to our Airbnb. Dave said it wasn’t too far to walk, which was true, but we were tired and headachy and our packs weighed a ton, so by the time we arrived at our apartment, we were DONE!

Our accommodation here in Essaoura was cheap. Dave had gotten a deal, and now that we saw it, we knew why. I won’t belabour the point, but it was not great. Rudy and I got the single beds this round and they were “hobbit beds”. I thought I could probably manage it, but I wasn’t sure about Rudy. It was cold in the apartment and there was no heat. We were also very hungry because we had not eaten since breakfast.

We soon vacated the apartment and headed to the Medina for some crepes; we’d been talking about those Essaoura crepes all day. They were delicious but it was cold and windy and we huddled at a table on the street and sipped coffee and mint tea to try to keep warm. There was some talk of going for another Hammam massage in the next day or two. The Driedgers had really enjoyed them when we were here with our tour group a little over a week ago. I hadn’t gone for one then, but was looking forward to having one now. Dave led us through the narrow winding streets of the Medina, and ultimately found the place where they’d gone before. MaryLou got the phone number and planned to call them tomorrow to book the appointments. 

Then we headed back to our apartment. We had just turned into the driveway when the next crappy thing happened. Dave was going to go around the block to the little Superette to get a bottle of water and some toilet paper. MaryLou, Rudy, and I were about to go up to our third-floor apartment, when there was a thud. I turned around and saw Dave lying on the pavement where a car had backed into him and knocked him down! The driver and passenger got out of the car. MaryLou rushed to Dave’s side. He was stunned but conscious. Rudy grabbed him by the arm and helped him to his feet. He was a little unsteady. The driver said he was sorry. MaryLou took a photo of the car’s license plate and got the name and particulars of the driver. Dave was now trying to ‘walk it off’. There was a dent in the car’s trunk. Dave’s hand had bleeding knuckles, but otherwise he seemed okay. His hip was sore and likely bruised — he’ll be stiff for a while — but otherwise he seemed okay. Rudy went to the Superette to get the toilet paper and water while MaryLou and I took Dave up to the room and put some ointment and bandaids on his fingers.

Once we were all back in the apartment and had settled down a bit, I took the situation in hand. We were cold and had an entire evening to wile away, so I brought out the “Oh So Clever” game and taught the other 3 how to play. Now I can’t say that they were too enthusiastic but it was an activity and soon we will be able to crawl into our beds, pile on the blankets and try to get a good night’s rest.

MaryLou has titled her blog for today, Rest and Relaxation. I was tempted to call mine, Nothing to do in Agadir, but it seemed too harsh and also pretty lazy of me. So, instead of laying around I made up some delicious breakfast sandwiches (eggs, cheese, ham, and toast) and then headed out the door to the beach.

The beach is massive. The tide was going out and I measured how far it is  from the boardwalk to the water’s edge (250 paces). (When I got back to the apartment Rudy calculated that it was about as long as 2 football fields.) But, never mind the depth, the beach goes on forever.

I made my way to the water’s edge. And that is all I need to do to rid myself of the idea that there is nothing to do. First of all, the water is mesmerizing. The patterns and shapes of waves are similar all over the world but each beach or coastline is different. Here sand goes out gradually and the water gently crawls up the sand. Initially there were not many rocks or shells but the few that were lazily pushed up the beach. But 2 hours later I had filled my pockets with treasures and taken pictures of people and horizons and patterns of sand, rocks, and water.

I think that collecting things is a universal pastime. Some people collect stories, others collect experiences or objects. There is something so satisfying about picking up items along the beach. Once I returned to the apartment I took a picture of the items. They seemed less than magical lying on the tile floor. But the whole experience cannot be dimmed.

After such a strenuous morning it was time for lunch. Dave and MaryLou had located a French bakery and brought home baguettes and pastries and Rudy made me an avocado, tomato, and cheese sandwich. Next activity was a movie. We watched an Oscar nominated movie, Train Dreams. Definitely worth the time. A strange slow movie with beautiful music and scenery set in the woods of Washington. It followed the life of a man from around 1900 to 1965.

I was in charge of cooking supper tonight so that was the next order of the day. I cooked a Thai chicken stir fry and we enjoyed a supper at home again tonight.

By more of the same, I don’t mean rain. But rather more of Agadir and some of the same chores. Dave and I determined this morning after breakfast that we needed to make the trek to the grocery store again to replenish some supplies. We donned our backpacks and headed out, Dave in shorts and a shirt and I, bundled up. The sun was shining and it was warm so Dave was happy and I was just as happy because the air was cool. Although the map said it was less than 2 kms to the store, we had covered over 6.5 kms by the time we returned. I really can’t imagine that we walked up and down the aisles that much. Dave shopped for all the fixings for chilli for supper and I shopped for stuff to make a Thai stir fry later on in the week. With that, and the other things we picked up, we had both of our backpacks stuffed full.

When we got back to the apartment one of the many stray cats joined Dave in the elevator up to our place and then slipped in as he opened the door. Did I mention that Morocco is filled with street cats. The Muslim religion insists on kindness to all animals so it seems like most of them are taken care of and fed. I often see plates of food set out for them on the sidewalks. We, however, despite searching in our collective knowledge, could not determine any teachings by Jesus about cats, so we did not invite our feline guest to stay.

In the afternoon Rudy and I headed out to the ocean boardwalk for ice cream and a look at the ocean. For some strange reason there were loads of people out. Rudy remembered reading that it is halfway through Ramadan and therefore time to celebrate. Whatever the reason, it was busy. Lots of surfers were out catching waves as well.

By the time we returned Dave was starting to cook supper and my book was calling me.

Our plan after Dave’s home cooked chilli was to go bowling. Why bowling, you ask? Well there are a couple of reasons. Did I mention that not much is happening in Ramadan? Well, that and the fact that Dave and Rudy wanted to act in solidarity with their Tuesday bowling buddies back in Steinbach. However this was not meant to be. We had already tried the evening before and found, due to shortened Ramadan hours, it was not open. Today we had adjusted our times but when we arrived to this neon twinkling arcade where we might ride a dinosaur as well as throw a few bowling balls, we were told we could not start for another 10 minutes. No problem. We sat down. I photographed Dave flexing his bowling muscles. And we waited. Soon the proprietor informed us that they were having problems with electricity. (That could explain why the sign on the outside of the building proclaimed Bo, instead of Bowling). How long, we wondered? An hour, maybe two, was the answer. But after a while the owner proclaimed that perhaps we could try again tomorrow. What to do now. We walked down the strip and Dave and Rudy had a scoop of ice cream in an almost completely empty establishment. Somewhat discouraged, we returned to the apartment.

In the morning, after a LONG sleep in a super comfy bed, we determine that coffee is the first order of business. Off we go and today we turn right and head to the marina. We think this is our best bet to find something to drink and maybe a pastry. We cross a couple of busy streets, Moroccan style, and head into the marina. I have figured that it is best to cross a street hugging the shadow of a local. They seem to have confidence that they will not be hit by the speeding vehicles. We wind our way through the tall white apartment complexes and finally find a row of restaurants along the wharf. But there is little sign of life at most of them. This is Ramadan and, after celebrating all night, most businesses don’t open up very early. We finally find one cafe with a young man working inside and he says that he will be open in 10 minutes. We are beginning to understand what 10 minutes means, here in Morocco. It just means not now, but later sometime. We walk to the end of the wharf looking at the boats. When we return it is not yet time. We wait awhile and finally give up and head back to the boardwalk section of the beach.

We find the one open restaurant and we have crepes with banana and Nutella for Dave, Rudy, and me and yogurt with fruit and nuts for MaryLou.

Next, we need to get supplies for the week. Dave and I volunteer to go shopping. It is close to a 2 km walk and we are a little hot and sweaty when we arrive. There are 2 large grocery stores side by side so we toss a coin and enter 0ne of them. Shopping at home can be a long drawn out affair and here it is no different. We have to search many aisles over and over to find what we need. Products are different and some hard to find but we stock up, purchase the items, and head for a long walk home. (Interestingly I notice maple syrup made in Canada on the shelf.) I don’t know how far the walk to the store actually was but when I check my steps upon arrival at our place I find we have walked over 10 kms (some in search of a restaurant and the rest to the grocery store and back).

MayLou cooks dinner for us tonight. The spaghetti bolognese is delicious, but the red wine not so much. The men watch a documentary and then the Jets hockey game and MaryLou and I retire to our rooms.

Today is the last day in Marrakesh and I am so glad that MaryLou is determined that we not waste our time. No lolling about and wishing to be on to the next destination. After breakfast I came back to the room to finish my blog from yesterday and then at 10:30 we headed out to the Yves St. Laurent museum and Majorelle garden. It is a 25 minute walk. Rudy has decided to stay back and nurse his sore ankle and to work on setting up a drop box (or something similar) for the 100th Year Stobbe Reunion. I can’t be grateful enough to have that job to be done by him, rather than me.

Once we get to the museum we find that we need to book our tickets online and when we log in to do it we find that we can only get in at 1:30 (it is 11:00 am) to the Yves St. Laurent museum. There are no spaces left to see the Jacques Majorelle Garden or the Berber Museum today. MaryLou and I book tickets and Dave decides he will head back after we wander a bit, look in some art galleries and have a cup of coffee. The woman at the gallery is very informative and we see some art that is significantt in Moroccan art history. Unfortunately I do not remember any of the artist’s names except for Jacques Majorelle. (Due to reflection and small spaces the photographs do not do justice to the artwork.)

W head down the pedestrian avenue. It is obviously a tourist area. Loads of people are strolling past the numerous coffee shops. We stop for a coffee and sit for an hour visiting and then Dave heads back to the hotel and MaryLou and I head back to the museum.

I am not particularly interested in a fashion museum but am game for the experience. Upon entering the first exhibit, I immediately become very excited. The first salon features the work of David Seidner as one of the photographers of the fashion house of Yves St. Laurent. The work is incredible. Unfortunately we were not allowed to take pictures, but the lighting, movement, line, and composition of the photos was stunning and inspiring.  The next exhibit was even better. Yves was initially interested in stage and costume design. From the age of 7 he created stages and figures out of cardboard and designed shows. The museum features loads of his sketches as well as actual costumes for plays, ballet, musicals, and more. (Again, there was no photography allowed except of a few pictures in the lobby.)

We ended our museum experience watching a short film about his fashion design. After viewing the costuming part of the museum, I could really appreciate the far-out designs. I especially liked the collection that was Moroccan inspired.

For dinner Rudy and I headed back to the Thai restaurant that we had dined at yesterday. It did not disappoint. Tomorrow we are off to Agadir.

The tour is officially over. A last few stragglers were still present at breakfast but most had caught a taxi to the airport by mid morning. For the most part they are all travellers and are off to places like London, Paris, Istanbul, Spain, and more.

The day stretches ahead. I am sure there are many things to do in this large city but we are done with sights and tours and will spend the day on more mundane things. After spending some time in the cramped quarters of our room, I decided to venture out to explore. My expectations are low. So far I have not seen much in this area of the city to interest me. It is just basically a large urban centre with loads of traffic and commercial buildings and restaurants around us. Because it is Ramadan, a lot of places aren’t open or are almost completely empty. Before I go out I accompany Rudy to the restaurant in the hotel and share a bit of food with him. Then he is off to a movie at a huge movie theatre just around the corner from our hotel and I am going to search out a garden/park that I passed on the way home from the market yesterday. I have my camera ready at hand to take pictures of any interesting sights.

But before I write about sights, let me tell you about the dangers that a pedestrian faces when navigating the sidewalks and streets in Morocco. Although there are traffic and pedestrian lights it seems that they are just suggestions. Because of the massive roundabouts (often 8 streets coming together), there are always a number of cars or half a dozen motorbikes approaching the area where I would like to cross a street. The Moroccan way of crossing is just to head out into the traffic with your head down. Miraculously, vehicles swerve around you. Most Moroccans continue across without even flinching. I, however, do a comical little tourist dance.  My face is contorted into a look of terror as I start. I jump to the left, my body gives a jerk of fear, I race a few steps, I grab the arm of anyone beside me, and then I finally scuttle the last few steps. My heart is racing and my body shaking with fear, but I have finally made it across.

Anyway, on the way to the park I see some strange and not-so-strange sights. Firstly, this very top notch tourist hotel has had some issues with the placement of letters on the sign. (Check the photos below to find the mistake.) This city is known as the “red city” and most of the buildings are painted shades of orange, brown, and red. There are “laundromats” on street corners that are basically glass rooms with laundry machines inside. The fashion industry is doing its best to follow the important designer names (with small changes). Calvin Klein has become Ghlain Klain. There is weird modern art in the small parks along the way (same as in Canada). And of course there is the obligatory thick wall of the city built centuries ago.

The garden is less than impressive but I while away my time there anyway. I pinch some of the leaves and smell them. I have begun to do this in order to identify some of the bushes and plants here. I am astonished as to how many of them have pungent odours which I am sure are used in herbal remedies and perfumes. Today I crushed some orange blossoms. Wow, the scent is intense and beautiful. Also crushed another minty menthes type plant.

We are getting tired of Moroccan food so tonight we went out for Thai food with MaryLou and Dave. After that we walked around the corner to a massive movie theatre to watch the movie, Marty Supreme. The theatre was massive, seating 750 people, and featured an opening roof. But there were few people at the show tonight.

Well, a trip would not be complete for me if I didn’t put up a gallery of beautiful entranceways. I have resisted the urge so far but today is the day. Vinyl windows and doors of the world, you have nothing on traditional Moroccan handiwork. Some of these doorways are centuries old.

But I need to get back to our actual days events. After a hurried breakfast this morning we threw our bags into the push cart that would ferry them to our van outside the old city of Essaouira and walked to our pickup area. We took our usual seat at the back of the van and headed off for Marrakesh. This was to be the day of reckoning for me. This would be the destination I had been dreading. Was I afraid of the big markets that would entice me to spend all my money? Was I dreading the end of the tour when I would have to say goodbye to all the daily drama? What could it be? Well those of you who know me well, will recollect that I am desperately afraid of snakes. And yes, the rumours were that the market was filled with nefarious snake charmers who were lying in wait for people like me. Supposedly they would race up to me, throw a snake around my neck, and refuse to remove it unless I gave them a specified amount of cash for the dubious pleasure of having my picture taken with the reptile. This would not only be traumatizing for me in the moment but, would retraumatize me every time I viewed the picture or even hear the word Marrakesh spoken inadvertently. Well I am happy to report that none of this occurred. I was on high alert all day and if anyone even brushed my shoulder in the market I jumped right out of my skin. But the guide was kind and steered clear of the snake area and although I could hear, in the distance, the haunting (and nightmare inducing) sound of the flutes calling the snakes to rise I did not come in contact with any of these reptiles.

But, before we even got to the main souk (or market), we toured a couple of sights. The first was the Saddian Tombs. My takeaway from this sight was the astonishing fact that these beautiful buildings and tombs were only rediscovered in 1971 despite being in the centre of the city, The entranceways had been blocked off when a new dynasty destroyed the Saddians in 1668. Due to the nature of the thick-walled buildings and small alleyways in the old medinas, it is not always easy to determine the layout of an area.  And so for hundreds of years no one noticed that there was something unknown behind the walls. Initially after the end of the dynasty,  the Saddian people were afraid of the new rulers and the hatred toward them, and kept the location of the tombs of the royal family a secret. Eventually this knowledge was lost to subsequent generations. Although the site was interesting, the sun was blazing hot, and the lineups long and so we were glad to move to the next attraction.

We stopped next at the Bahia Palace that was built in the 1890s for the prime minster. It was ornate and glorious and the technology of thickened walls and placement of doors and windows to keep areas cool for meeting with foreign dignitaries and businessmen was impressive. This prime minister had 4 wives and each had a separate area in the complex. One of the wives was very intelligent and educated and spoke many languages and she had a room with bookcases for her study. She was the main advisor to the Prime Minister and would sit outside the doorway to the meetings and listen to all the conversation in many languages and then would tell him what would be the best course of action.

And then it was off to the souk (market) and my attempt to avoid the snakes. As I mentioned above I succeeded in this respect. By this time we were tired and hungry and so we stopped for lunch and then on back to our new hotel. It is a slightly dated place but there is a large pool and, much to our surprise, a place to get a cold beer. Rudy and Dave were delighted.

By this time I had received news that my newest granddaughter had been born and I spent much of the rest of the evening gazing at pictures of her. So lovely to have her to make an appearance. I can barely wait to see her in person.

This morning I awoke feeling less than a hundred percent. Throughout the night my stomach rumbled and the feelings of nausea rolled over me but I was determined not to leave the warm bed and make my way down the freezing corridor to the washrooms. Despite feeling sick, I needed to walk back down the mountain. The fresh mountain air was wonderful and the walk down refreshing. When we reached the van, I was given the front seat. (reserved for those of us suffering from stomach upsets).

I spent the long drive to our next destination dozing in and out. We stopped at a woman’s cooperative in a small village. We were served a delicious lunch and, despite knowing better, I enjoyed some of the food. Among other things this women’s cooperative works with wool processing to produce rugs. Despite many setbacks and the earthquake 3 years ago that destroyed the operation, the women are back learning and developing projects to benefit the community. Even Rudy tried some artisan work. Who knows, he may take up handicrafts once we get home.

Back on the road to Essaouira, we by turns roasted, and were buffeted by warm winds from our open windows. The air conditioning is not working and so the cramped van has the added benefit of the lovely warm weather. Once in Essaouira, we stopped at our hotel and dragged our luggage to our room. I heard that many of our group went out to take in the sights and get oriented. I, however, climbed under the covers and slept on and off all evening and through the night with Rudy bringing me Spite and other things to help me feel better.

This morning we are not all at our best. A couple of people are down for the count. They have spent the night shivering and shaking uncontrollably along with many visits to the washroom. Others seem to be finished with the typical Moroccan breakfast and are absent from the breakfast table.  Each breakfast has its plusses and  minuses. This morning the bread is especially stale but there is amlou (almond butter), fresh orange juice, and yogurt available.

After breakfast it is out to the van with our luggage. The seating arrangement has been shuffled today and those who are not well are to sit in the front of the bus. This does not go over very well with some of the group but, by this time on the trip, Rudy and I are not surprised. OOhh! What’s that? There is a small conference between one member of our group and the tour leader. A few minutes later, the unhappy group member announces that she will leave the tour tonight!! She just can’t take the “constant sniping”. Well, that’s that. And just to emphasize how big the disconnect in this group is, another person in our group stated, as she got on the bus, “What I like best about this group is that we are like a family.” Hmmm. Yes. I could unpack that for you but I will let you extrapolate for yourselves. Starting tomorrow there will be one more open seat on the bus and we will all fight to be able to sit by ourselves.

Rudy and I always sit at the back of the bus. Rudy does this because it is the only place he can stretch out his long legs. I join him in solidarity and perhaps because it is sometimes a powder keg in the van. Rudy’s periodic “oophs” are at least predictable and usually harmless. He grunts for various reasons. One is that we have just gone over a bump and his back is jarred. Another could be that someone (mostly me) has said something a little stupid. Other times he just oophs.

Today we are headed to Kalaat M’Gouna, known as the “City of Roses”, for a tour through the rose extraction facility. And, of course, the gift shop. A couple of tour members buy a lot of souvenirs. Rudy is NOT one of them. He is especially not interested in the perfumes and unguents and creams made from the rose water and oil. In fact, he looks disgusted when I apply some to my hand. I guess I will be sitting away from him. Oh, I guess not, because there are no extra seats in the van. Don’t worry, all the tour members have slathered on all kinds of rose scented stuff so Rudy will just have to suck it up.

In this same shop there are other tourist trinkets. I am often reminded of travels with my kids and what they always wished to purchase. These two pictures are for Ez and his boys. They were always wishing for knives and swords and always had trouble bringing these dangerous weapons home. I don’t think these will make it through customs either.

Back into the van, another bit of a drive, a stop for lunch (where a picture of Matt Damon hangs on the wall indicating that he has dined here), and another drive to Ait Ben Haddou, a world heritage site. I hardly know where to begin here. As we drove in we passed the huge Atlas Studios where many famous movies and series such as Laurence of Arabia, Gladiator, Gladiator 2, and Game of Thrones were filmed.

After unpacking in our hotel, we meet for a late afternoon walk up into the ancient centuries-old walled village fortress of Ait Ben Haddou. This kasbah was on the ancient trading route to Marrakesh from the Sudan. It was an important fortress where grain, salt, and other goods were kept high in the citadel, protected against maurading people. The kasbah was  home to both Jews and Muslims who lived in harmony together. (Side note: Our guide tells about how his grandfather and the neighbours cried when their Jewish neighbours moved to Israel when the State of Israel was established). Our local guide, Mohammed, takes us through the village where he grew up. Between the ages of 10 and 26 he made money by carrying tourists across the river from the new village to the ancient kasbah. A number of years ago the government built a foot bridge and many people were sad because their livelihood was no more. He said that his family no longer lives in the old village because of an earthquake 3 years ago. Luckily everyone in the old village had crossed the river to the new village to attend a huge wedding and so no one was hurt. Many of the homes, including our guide’s family home, were completely destroyed. Today, the  government is rebuilding the house and he said the family would likely move back by next year.

The movie industry has done loads of films here. The three-towered gate was built especially for the movie, Laurence of Arabia, and was not a part of the original kasbah. It still stands because it was made in the 1960s, but anything that is built for a movie set these days must be taken down after the shooting, as required by the terms of becoming a UNESCO heritage site. The area where the arena for the film Gladiator was made has been taken apart.

After the tour of the kasbah we had the option of joining a ‘cooking class’ where we could learn to make chicken tajine — but by now many of us had eaten tajine plenty of times on the tour and were ready to eat something else. And most of us were too tired to take in one more activity today. A few of us ended up sitting in the lobby of our hotel eating cookies and chips and mulling over the big news of the day — tomorrow there would be one less passenger in our crowded tour minivan.