Morocco is in fashion, but I had wanted to go to Croatia for those 3 winter months when I had to leave the Schengen again (end of ’22). I tried to do so—even booked places—but all fell through, so I thought, well . . . Maroc! A friend’s friend extolled Asilah, a small ancient coastal town known as a visual arts locus. I found an inexpensive room seemingly perched on top of a building by the ocean—perfect! Upon arriving that 1st night, my driver called my host who guided us in—and my host & his older son helped me up the 5 flights to my room at the top of their family home/building.
I was in Asilah for 2 months—and it was an enlightening mixture of family life & local culture, including the beautiful, hypnotizing ancient stone medina.
In the scruffy dusty streets of the town around it, rural growers’ wagons & blankets lined the streets—along the small shops & ragged but tasty restaurants—& hidden indoor markets proffered truckbeds of foodstuffs: produce, nuts, dried foods. My Asilah host is a tour guide & speaks English well—I’d guess a former hippie type kinda like me—but his counter-culture & progressive leanings have turned somewhat cynical & bitter, trying to survive in a corporate monarchy with his authentically rural (Berber) illiterate wife, whom I loved in all her strangeness, and 4 traditionally raised but rapidly modernizing kids—whom I adored, and who kept me there as long as I stayed.
For his values were a bit slippery, as I learned that 1st night upon seeing that my room was not like in the Air bnb picture. He/they (his wife’s brother & crew) had built up (were still building) other rooms all around it, blocking the sun and ocean view, so I had to go up on the roof for that openness—which I did, a lot.
But it was mid-October & could be very chilly in the wind off the Atlantic. Moroccan homes are not heated—I would light candles to warm my shaded concrete room.
Also, his listing had included kitchen privileges—but their kitchen was tiny, and his wife made everything from scratch, feeding their 6 and often the work crew too, 3 times a day. I could barely squeeze in, although they invited me to eat with them—I think she charged 6 Euros a meal—which I did a few times, on Fridays for cous-cous. They had another kitchen on the floor below me—but it was full of stuff stored from construction. Happily a few weeks in, he booked another room on that floor, clearing space for that couple (regulars) & got the appliances cleaned & working in that kitchen—so then I kept using it. It was clear how, as a woman alone, I was negligible!
But I did my thing as well as I could, especially exploring the medina and the city—taking care of business, slowly building relationships with the wife (in gesture) and the children—a son 26, twin daughters 19, and a boy 10. Helping them with their English, asking them about their language, Dirija (derivative of Arabic). . . the older son also liked to hang out on the roof deck. But then, actual construction on the building resumed (replacing the external facing), which meant hammering & chiseling the outside of my walls! This, finally, was a deal-breaker for me. I told my host that I needed to work (which I did) and that I couldn’t work in my room—couldn’t even be in there—of course the hammering on my walls gave me headaches. Singing was waaay out of the question. My host said the construction would be for about 6 days. Right.
To accommodate (keep) me, he & his wife hatched a plan, to pay close friends in the medina for me to use part of their house during the day to work (I still couldn’t sing, but I could do other things). This was perhaps the strangest piece of my months in Morocco. Every morning I’d go to this house in the ancient medina, I had a key, and I’d use what was essentially this family’s living room to work on my computer. (Many homes have a “banquette” style of benches with cushions all around the walls.) The wife would often bring me food at lunchtime, which was great. The gentleman was one of the “singers” of the prayers, so extremely orthodox—all very interesting. Their 2 teenage kids came & went.
Meanwhile I’d been planning a “road” trip by train & bus, so I decided to leave sooner. I planned 10 days of travel, to Fez, Merzouga on the edge of the Sahara, Marrakesh, and Rabat. After like 2 weeks of my strange working arrangement, I told those hosts that I wouldn’t need to work there any more, I was leaving to travel—and surely the construction would be done after that.
The weirdest moment of this weird experiment was when the wife of the house in the medina (my main hostess’s friend) invited me to lunch as a kind of farewell. How lovely, I thought, assuming it would be with the family. However, the husband had no interest in having lunch with me—he stayed in the other room reading—and the kids were nowhere around. The wife invited two of her girlfriends to lunch with me. It was fun, and the food (as always!) was terrific. But the 3 women treated me like some special toy, an exotic treat, like a doll. They kept wanting to touch me, embrace me, kiss me, like their special thing. Okay. .
The road trip was life-altering, for sure. Just being in those places was touristy, but my Air bnbs were right in the ancient towns I was visiting—Fez, how magical a maze; Marrakesh, I fell in love (unrequited), & also met a great local singer who wanted to partner, and almost moved there—in Rabat I stayed in a local couple’s charming riad; and in Merzouga, I rode a camel into the Sahara and glamped in a beautiful camp with the locals and some very fun Brazilians. The tricky parts were finding my way around those medinas!! —especially arriving at night in Fez. But people always help—all you have to do is ask. In each place my hosts would help me to my rental—& from there, wandering off, I just had to be super-aware about which way I’d come!
The people I met were of course the key experience. My Asilah host had set me up with a guide in Fez—for that vast ungraspable warren. This was fine, though it became weird when he asked me to marry him. In Marrakesh, a nearby nice restaurant had this great singer, Tarik—& I sang with him a couple times, whereupon he invited me to move there and work together, even finding me a place. In Merzouga I met Yousef—also preconnected by my Asilah host for my stay there.
The time I had on the edge of the Sahara with Yousef was pure gold. He owned the hotel I stayed in & set up the camel trip. The morning I arrived, crossing from Fez by bus overnight (!), he met the bus in the freezing pre-dawn, dressed in full Bedouin attire. The bus dropped us by a café in the dusty desert town, and he immediately helped the proprietress serve the drowsy chilled passengers tea & food. He put me in a room at the hotel until the afternoon, when the camel trip would start—and then after that trip let me stay in that same lovely room an extra night. He fed me the day I had free in Merzouga, and over that day we ended up spending hours together talking (he’d studied in England). He’d been raised Bedouin; his family herded goats until droughts ended that livelihood. His father then worked mines and saved $10,000 for his son—which meant a university education and a start on the (beautiful!) hotel. And finally, I had the perfect occasion to ask all my questions about the Muslim religion/culture! I learned so much from him! An immeasurable experience.
When I returned to Asilah after this trip, of course the construction around my room was still going on. I was anxious about breaking my Air bnb contract—and unsure where to go. The singer Tarik was serious about my moving to Marrakesh, but in spite of loving the culture, history, & medina there, I hated how the streets were always full of motorcycles blasting echoing noise and sickening fumes. Several people (including Yousef) had told me I should not miss Essaouira, an ancient scenic port on the southern coast—and I thought I could live there and bus once a week to Marrakesh to work with Tarik. He knew this wouldn’t work and disappeared, disappointed—but I arranged to move to Essaouira, working out a refund with my Asilah host. I did do a concert for the family before I left. I loved seeing their rooms, how they lived: only the parents had a private room.
My last month in Morocco, December to January, was then spent in Essaouira, and I had found my spot. The medina there differs from the twisty turny confusing mazes in other old cities—much of it straighter with wider “streets” (walkways), more markets. Like in Asilah & Fez (& Sicily, Italy, Athens & Leros) my room (apartment) was at the top of its building/ with a quick stair to the roof deck. And again, I was smack in the old town.
I was very happy in Essaouira—it was warmer, which made for easier living. My apartment was great (around the corner from one of several restored ancient synagogues); my host was a total sweetheart; I had superlative restaurants on my street (one Berber!)—the old town is gorgeous, especially along the water (“Astapor” in Game of Thrones:).
Great food, a great bar (rare!), great music in the streets & everywhere. And I made a real friend—Joelle. I discovered and met Joelle at her little stand on the street, selling fish pastries—!!—with other pastries and cookies. When I first bought one (for 10 dirham, or $1) it was astonishingly delicious. So I would go back, though they often sold out. Joelle had had a fashionable restaurant in Toulouse—until she was done doing that and moved to Essaouira permanently. She still bakes some goods and sells them at her stand, very cheaply so locals can afford them. We became friendly—she said I was the only American she’d ever met who could really speak French:) I loved getting to know her a little. She suggested a hammam (spa) that the local women use: traditional women go every Friday, with their children, and all scrub & wash & steam & get massaged together. I managed to get myself there—it cost 20 dirham plus tip—it was fantastic, all the women & kids on the tiled floors with buckets & hoses & the workers helping & massaging.
On January 1st, I did my Pop-up Concert in Essaouira, in the big public square with hundreds of people around (Place Moulay Hassan—where we had all watched Morocco win key games in the World Soccer tourney on a giant screen!). I’d seen local musicians perform there, so I asked them if I could, and one of the guys gave me his time slot (they were organized, taking turns in that key spot). I was a little worried about how to dress for it, the women are so modest—so I dressed very discreetly, you could say frumpily. People were great, stopping to listen, even dancing, besides the folks in the restaurants paying attention. But the best thing was the women—they were so excited that I was doing that! I had brought & placed a round ceramic dish from my apartment (having learned I had to have a container for $), about 14” in diameter. Once I got going, so many women came up and put their little dirham coins in it, it was crazy! The dish was mostly full! I think they might’ve longed to be more courageous, besides enjoying the music.
I hated to leave that place—& I may go back.
Before I left Morocco, I spent a week in Tanger, in a tiny weird apartment in the Casbah. From there I took a bus trip to the blue city, Chefchouen, for a few days. So beautiful!! And the history! I never tire of trying to connect the dots. Even now I’m still learning about fantastic places in Morocco that I missed. Hmmmm. . .
