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Morocco Home |
I wrote the following article for the February 2004 Issue of the The Beta.
Moroccan Transportation: A Guide for the Uninitiated "Go ahead and get in, Gaia. I’ll keep an eye on
the baggage," said John. His English sounded out of place amist the
surrounding babble of Arabic. I slid into the back seat of the ancient
Mercedes taxi and scooted all the way over to the right. I examined the
door. As usual, the window was missing the opening knob. "It’s ok – the door opens," I called
back out to John. A few minutes later he slid in next to me and two Moroccan
men followed. I turned slightly sideways towards the window to make room
and leaned forward to let John’s arm wrap over the seat behind me.
Two more men had packed themselves into the front bucket seat, one almost
on top of the other as they slammed the door closed. We kept a close eye
on the trunk, where our bags had been stored, until the engine was started.
Then the driver popped in the Arabic music tape and we sped off down the
narrow highway. There are many ways of getting around Morocco, and we tried
to sample them all. Most involve many people in a small space and a few
involve very few people in a large space (ie. the Sahara desert), but
each is unique. Grands Taxi, Taxi Collectif, Shared Cab. Although
many tourists are intimidated by or warned away from this form of transport,
it was one of our favorites. On the popular routes, taxis leave frequently
to places as far away as two hours and occasionally even as far as three
or four depending on the route. We were able to leapfrog our way even
to far away desinations and saw many interesting little towns along the
way. Moroccans often hassle tourists for money, and we assumed
that taxi stands would be intimidating, but there seems to be a clear
system worked out to get people where they want to go as efficiently as
possible. We were almost always approached by a coordinator who asked
our destination and directed us to the appropriate cab. We always had
an idea of how much the ride should cost, but often had to stand very
firm in our decision to go collectif. Sometimes it took a while for the
whole cab to fill, with two people in the front bucket seat and four in
the back and, as westerners, we were always asked to pay for the extra
seats so we could leave sooner. Most passengers, at least in the low season, were Moroccans,
and the majority of them were men, although women do use the taxis as
well. We made a habit of sitting next to people of the same gender, although
with John there I was never treated inappropriately. In fact, I might
as well have been invisable except for the obvious space I took on the
crowded seat. We sat in the front a couple times, but it was even more
squished than the back, especially since all the cars are standard transmission
and the driver needs room to shift. Although we didn’t encounter any theft, we always kept
a close eye on our bags and made sure that one of us was sitting next
to a working door. In all but the rarest cases we had to give up the security
of a seatbelt, but we were packed in so tightly that moving for any reason
seemed impossible. The whiny Arabic Music made me feel like we were in an adventure
film, especially as we cruised along winding mountain roads at 100 kilometers
per hour. Autobus, Bus. Contrary to instinct, we found the
bus stations and the people working there to be much less friendly and
trustworthy than the taxi drivers and coordinators. As soon as we entered
a bus station, or perhaps even approached one, we were instantly spotted
by one or more "agents" who led us to the bus or ticket counter
for our destination. They usually expected money and we could just as
well have found it on our own, at least after a little practice. Bus fares are set, and it is rare that we were taken advantage
of when buying our tickets, although it did happen once. Again, we were
always asked to pay for baggage handling although we could easily have
put the bag under the bus ourselves and the baggage compartments were
rarely full. Despite the hassle of the stations, taking the bus was one
of the best cultural experiences of our trip. It was a fabulous shelter
for observation, free from the constant attention westerners receive on
the streets. Before the trip we planned to take mainly the government-run
CTM buses, but in the end we never set foot in one. The private buses
are almost as fast, more frequent and vastly more interesting. They stop
along the road to pick up people who flag them down with a wave and toss
bags of goods, chickens and the occasional sheep into the luggage compartment
or onto the roof. Private buses also make frequent stops at small towns,
where people watching is prime. People board the bus selling everything
from cookies to Kleenex to batteries. Every few hours the engine is shut
off for half an hour or so and passengers can buy lunch or tea at a café
and catch up with the locals. Train. The train system in Morocco only goes to the
large northern cities, and they don’t have the interesting stops
and colorful characters like the buses. But at the end of our stay, when
we wanted an easy, hassle-free trip up the Atlantic coast, this was the
way to go. The trains are modern and fairly comfy, but many of them have
eight-person compartments, which made the social setting a big awkward,
even for us vetran taxi-travellers. We spent most of our time on the train
out in the hallway, looking out the window. At the end of the ride we
were going stir crazy and started a game of catch with some small boys.
We were even more entertained than they were! Petit Taxi, Local Taxi. While Grand Taxis transport
people between cities and towns, each town of any size also has a network
of petit taxis, tiny cars that dominate the streets of the larger cities.
In each town they are painted a distinctive color and are immaculately
cared for, always shiny clean and in good condition. The hardest thing to get used to about petit taxis was the
baggage transportation method. They have handy roof racks for luggage,
but there are no straps or securing devices of any sort. At first we hesitated
at throwing our precious backpacks on the roof and zooming off through
a big city, but the racks have low railings around them and we never had
any trouble. Caleches, horse-drawn carriages. We never took a
caleche, but I wish we had. Marrakech is full of them and several of the
towns in that area, including the surfer’s paradise of Essaouira,
have them as well. They often work out cheaper than a taxi and, in Marrakech,
they can enter the main square even in the evening, when the taxis are
forbidden. Chameau, camel, drommedaire. What would a trip to
Morocco be without a ride on a dromedary camel? Much more comfortable
is the answer, but it was worth doing for the experience. I’m just
glad we didn’t sign up for a five day trip; our rear ends wouldn’t
ever be the same! We took an overnight trip in Erg Chebbi, the area of
huge golden dunes at the edge of the Sahara. The camels are saddled with uncomfortable looking, metal
or wood frames that are strapped over their humps. Thick woolen blankets
are then piled on, making it considerably more comfortable, at least to
start with. An hour to camp and an hour back the next day was more than
enough for me. The experience was made more exciting because John’s
camel had a nasty habit of biting my nice, sweet camel’s rear end! Horse. I don’t think I would have ridden a horse
in Morocco if the perfect opportunity hadn’t hit me in the face.
One of the most depressing things about the country is the health of the
animals, and horses are often skinny and mal-nourished, as are dogs, cats,
mules and donkeys. However, when we got to Essaouira, that cool, hip town
on the Atlantic coast, and wandered down the beach toward the dunes at
Cap Sim, we were approached by some of the most beautiful horses I have
ever seen. There were also guys with camels, but we took the horses
(needless to say). These animals are beautifully cared for, wonderfully
trained and extremely gentle and well behaved. We paid 200 dirham for
an hour with a guide after a little bargaining. We rode down the beach,
then up into the dunes, cantering through the shrub to an old chateau,
then across an estuary (lift up your legs!) and up another dune before
returning to the beach. We took the last quarter mile at a full gallop
and the salty wind whipped through my hair. Donkeys and Mules. I never saw a tourist on a donkey,
but they are certainly popular transport for many locals. A common site
is a small boy sitting sidesaddle on his faithful beast, beating him half-heartedly
with a small stick as he maneuvers through traffic or a crowd of pedestrians.
Donkeys and Mules also pull carts through the Medinas (old cities) and
were often loaded so high with grain or fodder that all we could see are
their quickly trotting feet and sweet face. I always tried to say hi to
donkeys. They look like they need a little love. Your own two feet. Although there are many other
ways to get around, it is amazing what we saw just by hiking away from
a town like Chefchaouen for a couple hours using our own two feet. We
followed a four-wheel drive track through the forest and emerged along
a small creek. We left the trail before long and passed through a field
where several men were tilling the gray, dry soil with two donkeys, a
woman hung laundry and a young boy tended a heard of goats from his perch
on an over-hanging rock. We climbed to a pass and scrambled down the other
side to a road connecting several small villages. As we walked along the
road we were persistantly followed by a flock of kids riding bikes with
no wheels and begging for candy and pens. The medinas are also best explored by foot. We just had
to psych ourselves up for the constant attention we always received when
not concealed by a bus or taxi or secluded in a restaurant or hotel. We
learned to take it lightly, joke with persistent shop owners and laugh
when we were led into another carpet shop, dressed in a goofy-looking
Moroccan jalaba and offered yet another cup of mint tea. Also, it is very easy to get thoroughly lost in these mazes
of narrow streets. John and I are both very stubborn and we generally
just kept wandering, asking directions now and then until we were either
too tired to walk any further or found a familiar landmark. We knew we
could always take a taxi or get a kid to guide us back to our hotel or
the city center. One time, as we wandered hopelessly lost through Marrakech,
tired and ready for bed, a whole crowd of kids surrounded us, all offering
their guiding services. Finally, we shook off most of them and allowed
the most persistant to take us to the main square. He then asked us for
fifty dirham, over ten times the daily salary of the average Moroccan,
and looked disgusted when we gave him five. I travelled quite happily in Morocco, and even enjoyed the experiences of being crammed against smelly, smoky Moroccan men, drinking tea in dark and dingy bus stations, dodging donkeys and losing feeling in my crotch after an hour on a camel (well, ok, I tried to enjoy that). I learned to let go of some comfort and really experience Moroccan people and places. And I always knew that when buses got to smelly and the taxis too full, we could always take a day off from travelling and head for the hills on our own two feet. |