Yeah, I watched Food, Inc. I pride myself on being careful
where I acquire my food. I don’t like to think of eating meat that has been
butchered from a cow that is so stuffed with high caloric ‘fatteners’ that it
can no longer stand on its own four legs. But in just a few days really I will
be fed from what we Westerners might think of as an inhumanely slaughtered animal. We Westerners are often far removed from the source of our food.
Oh well. At least it will be local – very.
I have that feeling one gets when one knows the world will
suddenly be very, very different. Fortunately, my transition to Morocco begins in
cosmopolitan Madrid. I will visit the Prado, one of the most extensive and best
art museums in Europe. I intend to find a few jazz clubs to introduce me to
jazz with Spanish influences. I want to visit Madrid’s Chrystal Palace in Parque del Retiro and
see what beautiful flowers grow there. I hope to visit the Mercado San Miguel, where
the food is said to be ‘unlimited and top-notch.’ I will spend three lovely
days in a luxury hotel in the right across from the Prado. It will be much like
other cosmopolitan centers, expensive and rich in culture. The trick for enjoying these very civilized
cities is to discover the unique richness that it offers. This takes quite a
bit of listening and observing but I have no doubt I will find it.
Then, too few short hours after that visual, gastronomic and
musical feast, I climb on a smallish airplane on the airline most popular with European
college students, RyanAir, that only has room in the luggage racks for 20”
suitcases, a privilege for which you have to pay. In just a couple of hours, my
plane will land in Marrakesh Morocco, one of the four Imperial cities of the
long line of Sultans, who have ruled Morocco for centuries. It is predicted to
be blisteringly hot, hotter than even this desert rat is used to. And my hosts
have no air conditioning.
Boumalne du Dades by Jerzy Strzeleck
Marrakesh is on the southern edge of the ‘civilized’ part of
Morocco. Its famous souk (an impossible maze of shops with ‘streets’ that are
often so narrow as to accommodate only two people abreast) will be full of
mysterious offerings – snake charmers with their cobras, potion sellers, rug
merchants, jewelers and thieves. After a few short days there, I will continue
my journey up into the Atlas Mountains, a range that slashes Morocco in half
from the north to south, to Boumalne, a small town in the verdant Dades Valley.
I am hopeful from there I will get to visit Ouarzazate, the oasis gateway to the Sahara,
and then maybe the fabled Saraha desert itself with its tall and turbaned Berbers and
striking scenery.
I think a looking glass is a wonderful metaphor for the kind
of travel I may be undertaking. Having visited Mexico and Southern China, I
know that it is possible for everything to look at least similar but feel very,
very different. That is exactly what travel is about – turning your notion of
reality on its ear.
After all my reading, I am certain I will love beautiful
Madrid with its gorgeous buildings, its international flare and its verdant
parks. But Morocco? I admit I am apprehensive about the heat, the smells and
other-worldliness I might find. I am perhaps even more apprehensive I will fall
in love with the Sahara desert, Morocco’s colorful souks and mysterious
medinas, its stalwart and faithful people, its exotic sensuousness. I may find
myself feeling like a calorie-counter at a delectable smorgasbord – delighted
by its succulent sweets but so very disappointed at having to sample so little
and leave so much untouched. I am afraid mysterious Morocco will have me firmly in its
grip and will lure me back to finish my sampling.
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