For a while now, my shoes have been broken. Specifically, half of the soul of my left shoe is detached from the rest of the shoe. More than once, I almost face-planted in the street because the soul get’s caught on something, and Hannah started to call my shoes “Will’s flappers,” for the sound they made as I walk. This weekend, we (Hannah, Sam, Daniela, Ryan, and I) decided to spend the weekend at a riad in Meknes, a city on the other side of a mountain from Fez. Saturday afternoon found us sitting in our riad, taking naps or reading, and I decided I was done with my shoes. I stood, told Sam I would be back, and left the riad, stepping out into the street.
In Morocco, there are two types of streets. There are the modern streets; wide, two lanes, with sidewalks, and the shops are storefronts. Then, there are the old streets; narrow, cobbled, steep, and when the shops open their doors, they put the best wares outside to entice shoppers into the small space of the shop. Both these types of streets are common in cities all over Morocco, and in many ways, they are the same. The modern streets are found in the Colonial Districts, which the French built during their occupation of Morocco (or the Spanish, as in the cases of Sidi Ifni and Tangiers). The old streets exist in the Old Cities, built before France, or even Europe, became close to a world power. When I walk down a modern street, it feels similar to American cities; I’m walking to my destination, other people are going to theirs, the cars are looking for a place to park, and the stores are there if I see anything interesting. In the old streets, every corner is a new surprise; there may be hundreds of people, or a donkey, or an empty street, or a motorcycle, or a band of children playing soccer; if I make eye-contact with anyone, the assumption is that I want whatever they’re selling, and we are instantly best friends.
Yet for all the similarities, the streets feel different in every city I’ve been to. It’s these differences in the streets that have marked the differences for me in my mind, that have given each city it’s own distinct taste.
In Marrakech, I spent most of my time in the modern streets. The CLC was in Gueliz, the actual French District of the city, but even Massira, where I lived, had sidewalks. The difference, to me, of these two neighborhoods was the walk towards my destination. In Gueliz, as I walked to the CLC, the streets were quiet and shaded by the trees that grew in the courtyards of the houses. Massira was louder, more exciting. When I arrived at night, a lot of vendors had set up their small food carts on the sidewalks, caught between handing food to patrons and shooing away the street cats. I rarely went to Marrakech’s Old City, and when I did, I only occasionally went beyond Jamaa El Fnaa. In those streets, I thought every shop owner assumed I was a tourist, looking for some kitsch gift to bring back. It was in Marrakech’s Old City that I got called “Ali Baba” the most. If I have one regret from Marrakech, it’s that I never got to explore past the tourist souks of the Old City and see where people lived, like I have in Fez.
In Agadir, I only really walked along the main tourist street, with the beach on one side and hotels and restaurants on the other. The way it looked reminded me of Waikiki in Honolulu, though the beach and atmosphere were drastically different.
In Essaouira, I got my first taste of old streets without a press of shops everywhere. It was the first time I ever entered on Old City and felt like I could breathe. The shop keepers, too, seemed less aggressive in their sales pitches, and street musicians were everywhere. Essaouira was also the only place I’ve ever been asked if I wanted to go to space, which is another way of asking if I want hashish.
In Sidi Ifni, we never went near the Old City, so all I saw were the modern streets. Sidi Ifni gets very little tourism, and that was reflected to me in the way no one tried to get me to buy anything there, but instead just looked surprised at my presence. My favorite memory of the Sidi Ifni streets, however, is while we were on a tour of some of the famous places from Spanish colonialism, a Sidi Ifni woman shouted at some street harassers, in Arabic, “I’d rather talk to the Christians than you f****g pigs.”
In Tangiers, the streets were grey and wet, wherever we went. The sidewalks of the modern streets were slippery, and people slipped more than once. Two things also happened the most, to me, in Tangiers. First, I got offered hashish more in my five days in Tangiers than anywhere else in Morocco. Second, more waiters at cafes or restaurants told me I needed to eat there. In Marrakech, I had learned to tell these men, “Later,” and they would nod and agree. I did this in Tangiers too, except then the men at the restaurants would see me that afternoon or the next day and say, “Hey, you said, ‘Later.’ It’s later now!” By the end of our time there, I had made 5 or 6 ‘friends’ that always called to me when I walked by.
So far, I have yet to leave Fez’s Old City and explore the French District, mostly because I need to take a taxi to get there. In the Old City, I’ve walked down old streets that are part of the local souks, each of which has their own neighborhood. Down by the river is the leather souk, while at the bottom of the hill INLAC is on is the wood-worker’s souk. It’s the streets with the specific souks that are the busiest, while the other side streets, the ones I take to get home, that are quiet. When I walk home after class, my route is almost entirely empty, except for small groups of young men. Mostly, they don’t bother me, except when they occasionally try to warn me that I’m going the opposite direction of the tourist area.
In Meknes, people called out to us the least. The walk to our riad took us through several old streets packed with shops, but none of the shop owners ever told us to buy anything. On other streets we walked down, shop owners stood on tables, just outside their shop, and shouted prices in booming voices, while hundreds of people rushed below them. Meknes is smaller than Fez, but the two cities are closely related.
After leaving the riad on Saturday, I walked until I found the first shop selling shoes. I talked with the man for a moment, and then I tried on three different shoes. I settled on a pair of black high-tops, paid the man 200 dirham, and am now done with my other pair for good.
I’ve realized that this post is coming at about the half-way point. I’m ending my eighth week in Morocco, and the eighth post after this one will be my first post from back in the United States. In the time I still have here, I plan to do much more traveling, so the description of the cities I’ve been to above is incomplete. Ifrane, Tetuan, Ceuta, Azrou, Chefchaouen, Rabat, and Casablanca are all cities we’ll be visiting for the first time, and I also plan to go back to both Marrakech and Sidi Ifni, not to mention whatever cities Ryan and I go to in Europe after the program ends. When I feel it appropriate, I’ll add in descriptions of all of these cities.
Half-way done. See you soon, Amrika.