Over the wall and into Marakech

The yoga guests have come and gone and I had my first day out over the wall of the grounds to visit Marakech. I have learnt to say " I want nothing" and "I'm going nowhere" to the many locals who offer to guide you free of charge to your destination, then take you on a three hour hike in an indirect rout past all their friends shops full of things you don't want, then demand dirams for their service. My first invite into a moroccan herbolist shop to share a cup of tea renued my belief in genuine Moroccan hospitality. I watched as Mostapha the obece king of tea brewed his concoction, adding pinch by pinch each medicinal ingredient while explaining the effects they would have on my body. " Eucalyptus for the head", safron for colsaws, ginsing (moroccan viagra), star anis, lemon leafe, and green tea." I sat and sipped this beautifull tea while he went through every herb, spice, soap, cream and oil in the shop either holding them to my nose or rubbing them on my skin. I left the stall 30 min later feeling rather light headed but relaxed and content at not being hounded for money for a change. I said goodbye then walked off smiling sweetly to the next stall owner. Before I knew it, I was in his stall having the whole treatment all over again. Somehow this process happened another 3 times. The last of which I was experienced enough to see what was coming and stepped away as the 5th man tried to apply cream to my eye bags over the 4 layers of existing medicaments. I explored the Jemmaa el Fna a large square full of snake charmers who throw a box over the snake as soon as they notice you looking and demand money before they will carry on, men with monkeys on a leashe dressed in nappies who demand derams for the photo you took, and small boys dressed in colourfull robes who clash metal castinets while swinging their head in circles to wirl the tassel on their little hat. This traditionaly is the dance to attract clients for prostitution but fortunately as far as I could see the dance is now all you get for your money. One old lady grabbed my by the arm and started to syringe a design in henna. "No want, no money" I said trying to pull my arm away. "No money honey" she replied. "For luck." I repeated her reply back to her for the next minut as a henna scorpion emerged on my arm and she then asked for a present of 20 derams. "No money honey I replied" and walked away, my soul now missing another small bite. If I gave in to them all I would soon be broke. I feel I contributed sufficiently throughout the day with the purchaces I actually wanted. I bought a snake charming flute, a christmas present for someone and a lamb, prune, almond tagine for lunch which blew my morocco budget.

A new wwoofer has arrived at peacock pavilions which is nice and he does not seem to be as much of a workaholic as me so is convincing my to actually steel a break in the day as Cris will let you work as much as you like without ever saying "stop now" or "good work." He is american and the splitting image of Ben Stiller with a synical humour to match. I am enjoying his company. I helped Cris to make a skate ramp for the kids. We will finnish the other halfe some time so that they can actually go backwards and forwards. I seem to have gained the respect of the moroccan gardeners and think I am learning some good management skills, or at least sharade and pictionary skills through trying to instruct them. One has invited me to his house next week to have cuscus with the family. The veluptuious cook lady keeps mimicking the action of putting a ring on her finger and stroking my back. The gardeners tell me to stay and marry her. Though it is probably a ticket to New Zealand that she wants. Thats Morocco for now.  Love you all

Shasa

Panic in Paradice

Well I finally left Larache and all conections with my Moroccan Papa Mostafa. My first ride was with a Moroccan family. They spoke no english but it was clear that the 23 year old son was very interested in marrying my sister in NZ. Sorry Keshia but you are very usefull here for me as a means of payment for the people I ride with. I arrived in Rabat and had an epic treck into the City. I asked a businessman for directions and he lead me 15 min to an inscripted pole carved with historical city inforation which he translated and read for me 3 times then pointed me on my way. Rabat is very rich looking with nice gardens and green grass, surrounded by a great mud wall, a giant belt of cemetry and another mud wall. I phoned my couch surfing host many times to only silent answers. Eventually I was told that the number he had given me was for a phone booth, so for the first time I decided to splash out and try a hotel. I entered the old Medina filled with people and shops spilling out onto the street with spices, leather work, silver and brass tea pots and wooden boxes. I asked one shop keeper if he knew of a cheep hotel. I then spent the next 20 min chacing after him through the labirynth of streets as he disapeared into the crowed ducking into every hotel which all had signs up saying "complete". Eventually when I had no idea of my location he found me a room upstairs behind a resteraunt for 80dh. I dumped my pack and headed out into the street to find I was right back where I had started infront of the mans stall. They say people have the choice to pray or not when the signal sounds from the mosques. But they surely don't have the choice of sleeping. At 4:30am I was woken by the drone like a herd of 100 depressed cattle mourning in the streets, one at every mosque tower. In the morning I explored the beach, and an elaborately decorative tomb then trecked beck to the motorway to head to Bensliman. As I passed the petral station a man called out to me "Are you american? Come and join me for a coffee." It soon became aparent that this moroccan man in his 40's was a little crazy and took medication. He explained how he was famouse on you tube with his new invented musical styl of electronic jaz and was good friends with Britteny spears. Look up "Nabil Legend" on You Tube and you will see the room he took me back to in his mothers house. In his bedroom , the floor is lined in cigarete ash,  he is locked away uploading videos of himself to you tube playing 13 min of improvised heavily electronically effected guitar and speaking into a microphone " I love you baby, I love you so much". I asked him to play me some of his live achustic music. He picked up his guitar and played me some very beautiful skillfull blues songs while sweating pationately. He said he had no friends and was very happy to invite me to spend time with him. I eventually managed to pull myself away without leaving him to broken hearted and headed back to the petrol station to hitch a car.

Rabt Medina

I was picked up by a 60 year old Moroccan man who said he had a large majestic house in Casablance and invited me home for dinner, a shower, tv and a bed. On the way he asked many questions about by sister and was sure I could convince her to come to the other side of the world to marry and live with a lonely old non english speaking man in what turned out to be a modest country home with a locked door and no key. He then pointed to variouse spots in a the yard for me to pose as he photgraphed pictures I was to send to my sister so she knew where she would be living. There is one with him smelling a flower. He says that this flower waits for you in Morocco Keshia.  He also asked for her dress size and address so that he could send her some Moroccan garments. So Keshia dont be supprised when a hazel green ( to match your eyes) decorative robe arrives with a love letter from Mohamed in either spannish or Aribic.

Mohamed, Keshias Moroccan Husband

Well he had left the key back in his other home in Meknes with his wife and kids, so my nights accomodation was nolonger possible. He took me back to Bensliman to stay with the wwoofing hosts as I had origionally planed. We arrived late to the end of a rural dirt track, after many phone calls in arabic and with a local street boy in the back seat for directions. The beautifull plump lady Fatima greeted us all and made us all dinner. Mohamed was even allowed to stay the night as he had no access into his home. In the morning I saw the place was beautiful, with olive trees and stretching plains of brown grass. Unfortunately I only had one day to work as my next host in marakech had asked me to arrive early as a group of people were about to arive at the guest house. At 12pm an angry lady arrived saying she was upset I had come for one day and she was taking me emediately to the train station to head for Marakech. She turned out to be quite nice and drove an extra 20 min to a place where I could hitch hike.

Bensliman Home for one Night

I arrived in Marakech late to the Jemafanel, a busteling square of musicians, tourists and outdoor eateries. I saw a crowed around a guitarist with a sweating old moraccan lady dancing in the middle. She spotted me with my obscene backpack and pulled me into the circle, handing me a drum and making me dance. I gave her a few minutes then managed to squeaze my way out to meet my host Cris from Peakock Pavilions at his car outside KFC. He took me back to my current home. It is a grand castle of Moroccan Architecture, filled with tribal relics from all over the world and decorative painting all over the floors and doors.There are big grounds with olive trees, hedges and a pool. It is a high class resort curently with a groupe of 10 for a Yoga Retreat. The family are American and consist of Cris, his wife and two kids. I was emediately plunged into this complex western life of consumer goods and stress, highly constrasting to the laid back loungy lives of the moroccans I have been living with. Oh how we complicate our lives, filling it with beautiful, breakable things and skeems to make us money and stress. My job here is to instruct, and monitor the very lazy moroccan gardeners (very dificult with no english), inpect the rooms after cleaning and refine them by folding the end of the tolet paper into a pretty point and fishing ants out of the flower vase, baby sitting the kids and making sure the guests have music playing as they move from yoga, to breakfast, to pool, to bedroom, etc. I really am full time working and unable to leave the confinds of the estate walls. It is a beautifull place to be imprisoned, but I should get away to see Marakech once the guests leave I hope. Tomorrow I can go to the home of one of the gardeners to photograph his new twins for a Peacock Pavillions Facebook post which is my other job.

Sorry this is so large. Keshia I am so happy you will be with us for Christmas in Paris. Lets hope mum is there too. I think I will stay at least a month there through December, and have a little stability before India. I will be in India January, Feb, Mar doing my tricycle stuff, then will volunteer in the rehabilitation centre in nepal April and travel in May. I would be keen to do some trecking with you then. France may be a bit cold for climbing in December. I am sure you can help in Nepal too. I will send an email to Rob Bucannan to ask if you like. Spain is expensive if you do tourist stuff and hotels. You can get by on $2NZ tapas for dinner though. Morocco is cheeper and I have friends your could stay with most likely. Your wood painting course sounds interesting mum, you can teach me afterwards anyway. Thanks for ringing studylink for me Dad.

Love you all more than a Moroccan man would love a Blonde haired green eyed second wife named Keshia.

Shasa