Games, Trains, and Big Naked Group Baths

Our stay in Marrakech is officially over. So far Fez is absolutely absurd, but before I get into that, here are my final reflections on the Red City:

1.     Soccer Hooligans

On Thursday night, around 11 p.m., I was lying in bed when all of a sudden I heard chanting, singing, and horns beeping in unison.  It was coming from the Plaza, about  a 10 minute walk from  our house. I didn’t think much of it; kinda just ignored it and went to sleep. I didn’t know it yet, but this was the pre-pre-pre-game.

On Friday night, around 7 p.m., I was in the kitchen with Jess v.2. We were making dinner for our host family, and our mom Zakia was in the kitchen helping us, when all of a sudden, I start hearing the chanting, singing, yelling, blaring music, and musical car horns again. Then Zakia informed us that this was all in anticipation of the Morocco-Algeria soccer game, which was going down the following night, right in Marrakech. Apparently this game was to determine who would get to play in the African Cup. Also, apparently Morocco and Algeria (which are neighboring countries) are bitter rivals, not unlike our beloved Redsox and those soul-less, talent-less vermin the Yankees.  So what we were hearing was the pre-pre-game.

(On a separate note, the pizza we made turned out kinda rancid. Of course our host family pretended to love it, but Ouidjienne’s face every time she took a bite was worth 1,000 words.  She would hold her breath, and slowly bring the pizza to her face. Her expression as she chewed was that of a person stranded on a lifeboat who is eating their ex-companion out of sheer need to survive. Then, using every ounce of willpower she possessed, she would stop herself from gagging whilst she swallowed, and then she’d give us the thumbs up. True to character, though, she still ate 6 pieces.)

sitting on top of a moving car / dancing in the street

Anyways. Saturday was the day of the big game. We were by the medina early in the morning, waiting to catch a bus out to visit a Peace Corps site for the day. As early as 9 a.m. there were big swarms of fans walking around, yelling, singing, wearing the Moroccan flag as a cape, and taking pictures. We all decided then and there that we had to get together to watch the game later that night.

 

Sure enough, after our day trip,  we all met at a café in the Plaza to watch the game on their huge flat screen. The game was at 9, but our group started trickling in at 6 and we were all there by 7, to make sure we would all have seats at our table. While everyone was waiting for the game to start, some of us went outside (having decked ourselves out in Morocco gear) to check out the pre-game madness, and here is some of what I saw:

roller-blader holding onto a moped going 25 mph

2 mopeds get in an accident, gasoline is on the road, so they light it on fire.

lots of obnoxious fans.

Back inside, it was game time, and things had gotten significantly livelier.  As the ref blew the first whistle, I ordered my first beer in almost a month. Even with the exchange rate, it was more expensive than a beer back home. I don’t think the quality was actually that great, but I’ve never tasted anything so refreshing. That, plus the fact that Morocco went on to cream Algeria 4-0, made it all in all a pretty satisfying night.

So that was the game, wanna know what the post-game involved?

craziness.

Part II: Jess and I Pay a Professional to Clean Us: Hilarity Does Not Ensue. 

“Hamaam” is a really big thing here. It means, essentially, a Turkish bath. Lots of families, especially in the Medina (historic part of town), don’t have great plumbing (spoiler alert! More of this in Fez). So lots of Moroccans take care of all their personal hygiene at the hamaam. After the High Atlas, we were really disgusting and putrid smelling, so some of the girls and I decided to go to a hamaam. Our “friend” Yassine (acquaintance? Would-be suitor? Misguided errand boy?) works as a receptionist at a “hamaam” in the medina, so he made us all an appointment there. But, as it turns out, that hamaam was for tourists and totally sucked ass. What the hamaam is supposed to be is 3 sauna rooms, each hotter than the last, with clay walls and running water taps, and you go in there and cover yourself in this oily-black soap, and then take this scrubby-pad thing and literally scrub the shit out of yourself (or your friend does it for you, or you pay some lady to). Then you can hang out in the nice hot rooms, chit chat, and afterwards you drink fresh-squeezed Oj. Sounds nice right? That’s the real hamaam.

Fake hamaam was this: we paid about $18 to get herded, two at a time, into a tiny creepy 3x7 room on the roof of this spa. We were supposed to go in naked except for these white paper thongs they gave us (I kept my bathing suit bottoms on—sorry,  but if something looks like it could double as one of those disposable face-masks that dentists wear, it’s not going anywhere near my holiest of holies). So there were 2 stools in this tiny room, and one “hamaam assistant” who dumped buckets of water on us and then gave us the briefest (and yet most invasive) of rubdowns, while she had the door partly open so she could chat with her friend who was mopping outside. Also, she was inexplicably wearing Mickey mouse pajamas, with her thong showing (not made of paper, thank god). But anyways, it was weird and uncomfortable, and as always when I’m extremely weirded out and uncomfortable, I just started laughing hysterically and couldn’t stop.  I tried to play it off like I’m really ticklish, but I think she definitely realized that I’m just super, super immature.

Since then, we have gone to real hamaam, and it is awesome.

Also, if you like reading about uncomfortable cleansing scenarios, stay tuned for the Fez post.


Trains


On Monday, we all boarded the train to Fez. It was about an 8-hour ride, but I love trains, so no complaints here. It was a compartment-style train, typical of trains in Europe. Jess, Emily, Jessie and I got into a compartment for 4 people. We watched the country go by, and the medley of interesting characters who came to sit in our compartment at the various stops along the way. Memorable people:
1) mean, smelly old women who stared at us and whispered to each other. Keep it down, ladies.
2) nice old lady with henna all over her face and hands.
3) several creepers:
   3a) the man who would not shut up
   3b) the man who asked us if Professor Fraunholtz was "like a daddy to us" (language barrier, or more         sinister?)
   3c) the man who tried to squeeze into our compartment when there were already 7 people in there, and I just looked at him and said, No.

Anyways, now we are in Fez and it is totally, utterly absurd. One more week in Morocco!