By ahblackwell
I am currently riding the train back to Rabat from Marrakech, which is a five-hour process that will get us home at about two in the morning. Even though it’s late and I am more physically exhausted than I have been in a while, having a whole two seats on the train to stretch my legs and doze off is more than I could ask for. This weekend, a small and very wonderful group of students from our program decided to go to Marrakech in order to get in some good hiking and exploration in Ourika Valley, which is about an hour outside of the city. On Friday evening we boarded the train to Marrakech, and were very unpleasantly surprised by the crowd that we found on the inside. For the first half of the train ride, we stood in the hallway or sat on our backbags on the train floor because we weren’t able to find any seats. I had been looking forward to spending the time reading and writing postcards and was disappointed that we had to stand, but the packed cars seemed appropriate for a train going to Marrakech. We stood completely still, trying not to sweat in the humid and crowded aisles, while young Moroccans who were eager to practice their English talked to us about the places we had been within the country. Eventually, a group of young men returning home from the police academy in Rabat who had started talking and joking with us offered to give up their seats. At the end of the ride, they even helped us get our bags down from the overhead compartments and made sure we knew where we were going once we got off in Marrakech. I am continually amazed by the helpful nature of Moroccans (last week a boy and his sister got on a bus that they weren’t waiting for in order to ensure that we got to the destination we had asked them about... what?!). I have encountered so many incredibly friendly and helpful people who are willing to go far out of their way to ensure my safety and security. It is truly astounding.
The crowded Jema al-Fna square was much livelier than the last time we had seen it in the rain and cold only a month before. The lights from the various stalls and food venders glowed in the haze of heat and smoke and men with monkeys on chains and snakes around their necks called us over to take pictures with their animals. We headed straight to our hostel, which was on a small street right off of the large square, and went back out into the chaos of Jema al-Fna to find some food. Even at midnight, the square was loud and crowded and we found ourselves bargaining with several stall owners about what deal they would give us if we chose to eat their food instead of the food at the neighboring tent. With an offer of free drinks and two free meals, we settled into benches under one of the vendor’s tents and ate a huge meal of pocket sandwiches stuffed with grilled eggplant, sausage, chicken, and grilled peppers and onions, in addition to sides of olives and freshly-made french fries.
After dinner we headed back to our hostel and all fourteen of us sat on the floor-mattresses in our bedroom and talked and laughed until about two in the morning. For my first hostel experience, I think it went very well. I slept like a rock and woke up the next morning to the smell of breakfast and the stifled conversations of other guests sitting below our balcony. After brushing our teeth and getting read in the communal bathroom, the extremely chill hostel owner brought us a breakfast of khubs (bread), fruit, Moroccan crepes (similar to pancakes), butter, and apricot jam. We ate our breakfast and sipped on tea and coffee while the voices and drum beats of a group of students singing on the terrace above us echoed through the walls and old men with dreads lounged on the cushions next to us, smoking from a pipe. Morocco’s extensive hippy culture will never cease to amaze me.
The grand-taxi ride to Ourika Valley in Toukbal National Park, situated in the middle of the High Atlas Mountains, took about an hour-and-a-half, but we enjoyed talking and feeling the wind on our faces as we drove. Once in Ourika, we adopted a guide (only 100 Dh for all fourteen of us!) to show us to the cascades. Our guide, Hassan, looked fragile and wrinkly and had a tanned wide smile that revealed very few remaining teeth, but he still scampered up every treacherous boulder ridge with ease. Ourika has seven waterfalls, and we passed each one on our way to the top. The trek was much more of a climb than a hike, and I was glad I had decided to wear shorts and a t-shirt for the occasion (it was my first time wearing shorts all semester). At the second-to-last tier, we took our shoes off to feel the water in the pool that had formed in the rocks. I had every intention of fully submerging myself in the water, but the stabbing pain in my feet from the cold water when I just dipped in my toes made me rethink that decision very quickly. The climb was difficult and I was dirty and soaked with sweat by the time we reached the top, but the scenery was so incredible that I still have a hard time believing it was real. The snow-peaked mountain ridges of the High Atlas loomed behind the huge brown and grey peaks that stretched at ninety-degree angles on all sides of us. All throughout the ridge, water gushed over the sides of the rocks and tumbled into the green and fertile trees and river banks below. We sat for a while at the top of the ridge and munched on dried fruit and granola as our feet dangled over the edge. It was exactly the kind of day I had been craving.
The ride back to Marrakech felt like a moment out of a late summer afternoon. We all sat in silence and dozed off, exhausted, as the wind pouring in from the windows dried the sweat on our sunburned faces and blew wisps of hair into our eyes.
Back in Marrakech, we grabbed our stuff from the hostel and went hunting for Earth Café, our favorite vegan-vegetarian restaurant that we discovered on our first visit to the city. Then, bellies full and feeling good, we walked back to the train station, passing through the smoke and noise of Jema al-Fna and making a gelato-pitstop at Dino’s, our favorite dessert café, on the way.
I have had so many incredible and perfect days during my semester in Morocco, and it still does not feel as though most of them have actually happened. The density of Morocco’s variety of landscapes and people and its beauty is not something I will take for granted during the last six weeks of my stay, and it is not something I will ever forget in my lifetime.