Ifrane

I will now pause to update you on the driving situation in Morocco. It seems a good time to do it as we spent a fair amount of time in the car yesterday driving to Ifrane. Some of you may have driven with Nic in a car, if you have not it is a special treat. I can say this here because I have very little concern he will ever read it. 

In the States when Nic drives he assures all of his passengers that he learned how to drive in England and as a result he is the best driver in America. Because he learned how to drive in England, and American roads have been built for the idiot Americans, who do not know how to drive, Nic can drive without a seatbelt. He can also drive at top speed while looking a birds, or something on the side of the road, or behind him at a deer, or a rock, or a mountain in the distance. He can spot distant planets, rare trees, and identify fish. My children and I all fear for our lives as he barrels down the roads. The kids have taken to reminding him to watch the road.

When we travel I am the copilot. I was assigned this job because I don’t drive. I do not like this job.

Google Maps is completely optional in the States. Nic wants directions. He says he wants directions, but he does not want directions until he has completely disregarded all of the directions and we are in a quandary. It is usually my fault for not delivering the directions properly. I have still not mastered the delivery of the directions. Please note: I do not want this job.

When we travel in the UK Nic believes nothing has changed in the 40 years he has lived in the States. He does believe in seatbelts in the UK. “Only an idiot would not wear a seatbelt in the UK.” Per Nic. He DOES NOT want direction, but a small part of him realizes he needs it, so I hold the phone and attempt to direct him - when I am not knitting. However Nic is convinced that his knowledge from forty years ago is greater than Google Maps, so he will argue with me when I give direction, asking me, “Are you sure?”

“No, I am not fucking sure. I have never lived or driven in the UK. I am simply repeating directions from a robot.”

Nic is convinced that if I could read a map this would help us AFTER he has disregarded my instructions and doing whatever the fuck he thinks it was years ago. As we drive past our turn, he says, “Well! Where are we going?! Read the map.”

Listen Pal, if I could read a map do you think I would not have told you what to do? I am here for Google. That’s it. Remember, I don’t want this job.

This results in lots of slamming of brakes, phone, glasses, knitting, snacks flying through the air. Google Maps then frantically trying to redirect us, while Nic continues to ignore it and demand I sort this situation out. You can imagine how harmonious this might be.

I had serious concerns about how driving in Spain, Morocco, and Portugal might be. I am here to report that things are going much better than I had feared. Nic has largely listened to Google and driving in Morocco is fairly terrifying. The few times we have been lost it has been my fault for not paying attention, or letting my phone die because I keep getting confused about which charger works with which car, Ramona and Adil’s car need different chargers. I now have 20 chargers and bring them everywhere.

Yesterday we decided to go to Ifrane, the Switzerland of Morocco. We made this decision primary on the advice of Moustaffa, who warned us Fes would be closed due to the holiday and we may as well go see the countryside.

Throughout this trip some things have been my deal, and somethings have been Nic’s deal. Nic and I both decided that Ifrane was the other person’s deal, but neither of us shared that information with the other. When we got into the car I asked Nic, “Do you have a specific address you want me to put in, or just Ifrane?”

“Start with Ifrane.” He responded - so I did.

One hour and half later we arrived in a very mountainous town with weird Swiss looking houses that were not well kept and looked oddly out of place. We wove our way through the streets when Google announced, “You have arrived.”

And there we were in front of some random house in Ifrane.

Nic said, “Where are we going?”

I said, “I don’t know. I put in Ifrane. We are in Ifrane. Where do you want to go?”

“Not here.”

We drove around a bit trying to sort out Ifrane’s claim to fame other than being the coldest city in Africa and housing a ski resort. We found a coffee shop.

During our coffee break we decided we wanted to go see the famous cedar trees in Morocco. Nic advised I put in “National Park Ifrane.”

We got back in the car full of caffeine and optimism. We drove twenty minutes through some plains. Google announced, “You have arrived.”

There was not a cedar to be found. 

Nic demanded I read the map, thankfully I had foreseen this possible situation and showed him, “Yup. Here we are in the National Park.” You might be surprised to learn there are many miles of National Park and further investigation on my part revealed a cedar reserve and endangered monkeys. (Please note that it was at this point that I realized I was in charge of Ifrane and Nic was not). We both tried to rescue the day.

We found these monkeys, Barbary Macaque.

They are very cute. One chased me across the street, followed by a nice man trying to sell me geodes.  I made Nic rescue me.

Then we saw these cedars.

And we looked around. Who knew Morocco looked like this??

And then we took our selfie for the day. I have been pretty careful about covering my head, especially in more rural areas. Fes seems more relaxed, but the smaller towns are not,

We found the ski area. Nic was unimpressed. He does not think the King skis here.

Then we drove back and I got us lost. But we watched some soccer in a coffee shop and regrouped and charged my phone. I had another traumatic encounter with a toilet and no lights. 

We made it back to Fes. I rested for a bit and charged my phone and then we headed out hoping for a more authentic Fes experience. This was firmly Nic’s deal. I was terrified of getting lost. I took pictures to hopefully have landmarks so we would someday come back.

This fountain was our landmark to the alleyway that led us back to our hotel. 

We had a solid wander. 

I still love the cats.

Some local found us and lured us back into the tanneries. Apparently this is what Nic wanted. I was unaware. I really felt that I had had enough tannery the day before. I will spare you the details, but let me tell you, I will not be going back. It was a hard visit. Remember that I am blind - ish. For some parts of this journey it was good I am because I missed the piles of fleeces and pools of blood. It also meant I stepped into those pools while wear flip flops. We also walked on the ledge of the vats of where the hides were soaking. Visions of myself falling in filled my brain. This is not the tannery on the tour, friends. This is the one where shit gets real. Real is very exhausting.

These pools are filled with pigeon poo and lime.

These are color. 

I really love Morocco, but there is an underlying edge to it that wears you down. I feel like an enormous jerk even mentioning it because all I can think of is that this is the reality for millions of people everyday. They do not have the luxury of being worn down. Life here is so close to the edge.

I believe it is good to be uncomfortable and travel includes a fair amount of discomfort. There are uncomfortable smells, and sights, and realities. Sometimes you are hungry, or thirsty, or wish for your wool slippers, and a hamburger (Nic, not me). Sometimes you step in a pool of blood, and feel slightly hysterical and then find the only restaurant in Fes with wine and pay $40 for a really shitty bottle of wine and feel it was money well spent. 

And we made it back without any help.

My gratitude journal this week has been full of: Grateful for a toilet I sit on. Grateful for trash collection. Grateful to easy access to running water. A shower in my home. Grateful for the privilege to be vegetarian. Grateful for my life. Grateful to be able to see life other places. Grateful for traffic laws, seatbelts, car seats. Most of all grateful for Nic.

These are just a few shots of some of things we saw along the road.

Horses and donkeys are used widely rurally as transportation, taxis, and workers. Motorcycles are also common. Helmets are not. Entire families can be seen piled on. 

This is one of the National roads of Morocco. 

.

Which brings me back to driving in Morocco, Nic has done a great job. Driving here is hard, stressful, and dangerous. I still fly around the car. I don’t even try to knit. Nic has barely looked at the birds while driving. Moroccans seem to have a flexible relationship with lanes, passing, stopping, going, parking, right of way, and all other driving laws I can think of. Idil’s Car has good brakes, and a solid seat belt. I am very, very grateful.