My Birthday

Yesterday I got up to catch a train to Meknes from Marrakesh and made it to the train station 5 minutes late to have a 2 hour wait for the next 6 hour train ride. At the time I wasn’t real happy about it. The reinforced lesson, sometimes being delayed is a good thing. Half way into the trip two young college girls boarded the train speaking English, and they had seats in my cabin. One of them, Rene is a student from Seattle and the other Sara is Moroccan. Sara and I ended up in an in-depth conversation about her being a women in Morocco and her faith as a Muslim. She is an ambitious, intelligent, dynamic young lady in the process of finishing her degree considering applying for a masters in the US if she can get a scholarship. She’s not quite sure exactly what she wants to do yet however she knows whatever it is she wants to have a positive impact on improving the quality of life for her and others in Morocco. For three hours we where engaged in a dialogue that was incredibly captivating. Her a well educated Muslim Moroccan women sharing openly about her values, believes, what she sees wrong with the system etc in a social culture that tends to limit women. For example, there are numerous towns in Morocco where only boys are allowed to go to school. Women in general are discriminated against and she has the desire to start her own business, maybe being an agent of change. While she has interest it scares her as well because of the social and structural barriers to doing so. Anyway, at the end of the train trip she invited me to come see her town, Infrane. Knowing how rare this type of opportunity is, I pounced and my entire thought plan changed to making this happen. I’ll be heading to Infrane on Friday to spend the afternoon and am excited to see more of Morocco through her eyes. I could see she has the caring compassion and drive to be an example of something better for her people. I wish her well and hope to stay in contact to see how her career and life develops when she has so many things going against her that we as Americans take for granted. Oh and did I mention, she speaks 5 maybe it was 6 or 7 languages fluently. Par for the course for a Moroccan.

I arrived in Meknes elated about the invite and to my surprise I wasn’t inundated with the hussle of what I’d seen thus far. No bartering with the taxi driver, nobody hassling me to buy from their store, nobody wanting to be my guide. In all other senses the Souq and neighborhoods where quite similar to what I’d seen but far more laid back and I feel I got a better sense of what daily life is like here. The other contrast here is there are a lot of shop makers, making their own goods in small shops along the way.

Today’s my birthday and I head for Volubilis, a 2000 year old Roman ruins city a few miles from Meknes. My first task is to arrange a ride in a Grand Taxi, one of the major modes of transportation for Moroccans. Want to know what it feels like to be a sardine in a can? A Grand Taxi is a shared taxi to the same destination. They are all old Mercedes. Four passengers in the back and 3 in front. Somehow I squeeze in for the 30 minute ride and decide I’ll bring the bus back or buy two seats instead of one for my return trip.

I spent the afternoon being a child tromping around dreaming what it must have been like thousands of years ago riding a chariot in this complex yet simple town. While we think we are so much better now days, after being mesmerized by countless mosaic-ed floors in dozens of 1700 sq ft plus homes. I wonder, are we really all that much more advanced? Sure we have cell phones and computers, but was life worse for them just because to us it’s ancient. Besides, only a few miles away are Berber villages where people live today in the most basic of standards and here thousands of years ago they had ornate homes, fountains in the courtyards, and more
Since finding a bar, beer, or any alcohol for that matter is about as easy as finding a needle in a hay stack (more on this topic another day) I decide to go to an authentic Hammam (public bathhouse) for my birthday night. Every neighborhood and every town in Morocco has at least one. The Hammam as it came from a practical standpoint at one time is now based in tradition, practicality, and the social nature of the experience.

A hammam has three chambers/rooms interconnected one after the other. The warm, hot, and very hot. Basically each floor to ceiling tiled room is a big steam sauna. Me and, don’t remember the technical name for the profession, (I’ll call him the wash guy, for the ladies there is a women during different hours) head straight for the very hot room. Abdul, my wash guy, lets me sit for about 10 minutes to allow my pours to open then he rubs some sort of black molasses looking type stuff (again don’t remember name) all over my body while he has me lay on the floor. First on my back and then on my belly. When I say rub all over that means from the top of my head to the soles of my feet and the only thing he misses is Mr. Happy. Then I get to sit in sweltering steamy heat for another 10 minutes to let whatever this stuff is work into my skin . I should mention the room is full of other guys getting the same treatment from other wash guys and the atmosphere is very social in nature. While sitting around they chat away about who knows what. In the corner of the room there are two spigots one with scalding hot water the other ice cold. Abdul and the other wash guys are busy filling rubber buckets with hot and cold water then mixing them to make a nice warm showered temperature. They scoot the buckets across the floor and when it’s my time use a bowl to dip out of the buckets and rinse me off. Then comes the scrub! Again on my belly and then on my back Abdul takes about 10 minutes to scrub my entire body with an exfoliating glove (sandpaper would be a better description) I had to purchase to participate. I’m not sure how many layers of skin where removed, however I’m shocked there is any left, and I ponder how some think this is fun as I grimace when Abdul repeatedly scrubs every inch over and over with intense pressure. This is followed by another rinse and then a massage I was looking forward to.

During this whole experience I found myself taking in the environment and wondering how the hot steamy wet room with dirty bodies in it, isn’t the perfect environment for a bacteria farm. Maybe it’s all the soap frothing on the floor. Second thought maybe that’s why they scrub so hard to remove all the skin, there’s no way there’s any bacteria left after that.

Upon being rinsed we move from the very hot to the hot room which now feels a little cool. Before we start the massage I get another washing with my own bar soap I was instructed to bring with me. Same drill on the belly, back, then rinse with bowl out of water mixed from hot and cold buckets. Ah now the massage…… Abdul contorts my body in every which position, crossing my legs and arms, pulling, tugging, pushing. I feel like I’m practicing to be a contortionist as he twist my body in knots and my spine cascadingly pops as if I’m at the chiropractor. After 10 minutes of this we’re finished and I’m free to go. Nothing like any massage I’ve ever experienced

I walk out an hour after I entered, feeling cleaner than I think I’ve ever been. Your own mother never scrubbed you this good as an infant. I head to bed pondering whether this is something I’d do again in the future, happy that I at least tried it. Decision made, I think I like taking a shower and cleaning myself better.

Tomorrow….. heading to Chefchaouen

Note I’ve added some picks from the first few days of the trip, check them out. https://www.findingflattop.com/?page_id=39