Pink Toilet Paper & Immortal Soap

Pink Toilet Paper & Immortal Soap-

My past 2 months in Europe have been amazing. It’s rich with relevant history and geographically accessible diversity. If Asia is the benchmark for cheap living, Europe is the poster child for variety. I tackled 6 countries in my first 2 weeks and slowed down when getting to France. I spent the most time in Spain and Ireland so it’s no wonder why I have the fondest memories of those countries. But still something was lacking. What I missed is the level of excitement you can only get by being completely out of your element. Like the first time going to Europe for me. I was with my brother in Italy and remember how amazing EVERYTHING was. And I’m not talking the Coliseum or Sistine chapel it was more like; “can you believe we are eating caprese salad IN ITALY!!”… “Look at us, just chillin in the plaza and having a glass of wine in ITALY!”…”Check this out! We are in ITALY right now!”. Everything was exciting because the experience was so new. This happened for me again in Peru, several times in Asia and plenty in Africa. As wonderful and charming I believe Europe to be, this enthusiasm of the unknown element is what was lacking, and adventure only begins where your comfort zone ends.

When going to Spain we had our sights set on Morocco, as do a lot of travelers. We gave ourselves only 4 days before returning to Barcelona. Just barely enough time to check out Marrakech then head back to continue on through Europe. Stepping off the plane I was prepared for intensity. I cracked my neck, gave myself a little pep talk and was focused for the hustling touts that would surely be awaiting us outside the airport exit. We breeze through passport control, collect our bags and all is good. Ok here it comes, time to walk out that door, we’re ready! The automatic doors slide open and we step into the twilight zone. No tuk tuk drivers jockeying to get your fare, nobody grabbing at your bag, no street vendors selling noodles, no kids begging for money, nobody offering you a hotel room, none of it. Just a clean, orderly and quiet sun shiny day. It was disappointing. I panned left and right a few times then let out a “huh”. We make our way to the taxi que and had to convince one of the 6 guys on smoke break to give us a ride which, also notably, was a fixed price of 70 dirhim ($10), no negotiation. I mentioned to him how clean and orderly the city was and he says something to the effect of “This is the new part of town, give it a little bit”. The old walled off part of the city, where we were headed is called a “medina” (as in Funky Cold Medina). He takes us as far as the taxi is allowed and points out which direction to head. Immediately after getting out of the taxi, and before the trunk holding our luggage even closes, we are approached by a good samaritan volunteering to show us the way. Ahh ok here we go. “No thanks man we are good, already got a hotel and know where we are headed”… He just turns and says “ok got it, just follow me” then proceeds to walk 5 steps ahead of us in our same direction, which just happens to be the only direction you can go. I shout from behind him “we’re good man, we got it”. When we finally get to a fork in the alleyway he stops and motions at us like a 3rd base coach waving us through. “Dude! We GOT IT, thank you!”… “I’m just showing you hospitality! You ASKED me to show you the way and NOW you are refusing it my services now that we are already there!? I stated what he already knew that not only did we not ask for his help, we told him to leave us be. As we walk away he yells to my travel companion Dolpin “that guy! Your friend, he’s a bad man! Don’t hang around him, you should leave him behind!” As we walk away he continues to yell and I’m finally refreshed by encountering the shake and bake that you can only get in a 3rd world country. I say to Dolpin with 100% honesty “I love this place”.

Marrakech is a little like Katmandu on Valium. The tourist curio shops surround you, but trash and honking horns don’t. Instead of Sherpa guide companies it’s desert excursion trips, instead of hiking gear it’s hookahs, instead of home made North Face jackets it’s sweat shop painted stained glass lamps, instead of knock off Tag watches and Ray Ban’s, well wait a second, I guess that didn’t change, they still slang fake Tag watches and Ray Ban’s pretty much everywhere I’ve noticed. No longer trying my hand at Spanish I’m back to speaking an abbreviated version of improper English (“excuse please, table for eating”? or “can no use big rug, backpack no fit” or my favorite- “here have password for wee-fee?”). Although now deep in the Funky Cold Medina it’s still remarkably clean and relatively calm. The roads are all in great condition, but the drivers have the familiar disregard for lanes and traffic laws making it the most fun I had crossing the street since Hanoi. People are more than happy to pose for your picture with the common understanding you’ll be tipping afterwards. Because I was looking to do it anyway I didn’t mind when a guy threw 2 snakes around my neck and took my camera to snap photos with me in front of the charmed cobra.

On the other hand my travel companion politely refused a henna tattoo, but the lady went ahead and started drawing on his arm anyway until he ran away. Guys platonically holding hands walk by wearing sports coats or windbreakers in the searing heat of the day and several mysterious burka cloaked females pass showing no skin except their henna covered feet. If you’re lucky enough to get toilet paper in the bathroom it’s guaranteed to be the same cheap pink 2 ply variety that I came to know and love all throughout Asia and Africa. If through divine intervention liquid hand soap is present it’s guaranteed to be on it’s 3rd or 4th life of being diluted with water and just barely still meets the definition requirements of soap. It all felt so uncommonly right again. In my first 3 days I was called Ali Baba, in reference to my beard, AT LEAST 50 times. A street performing belly dancer even stopped her show to yell Ali Baba at me before approaching with an open palm for a tip. As long as you are polite the people in Marrakech are always exceptionally nice even the ones vying for your pocketbook. A passage from a Paul Theroux book I read came to mind; “You think they have been briefed to make jokes by some government bureau, but no they are just hungry, desperation making them genial and innovative. It was obvious they were hoping to make a buck at least they had the grace to do it with a smile.”… The only unpleasant encounter we had was the very first guy who forced his chaperone services on us. We ran into him a handful more times and before leaving Marrakech he and I were boys, hugging it out and giving bro hugs every time we passed.

Although I really really really liked Europe, I LOVED being back in the 3rd world where everything is just so much more exotic, so different. We decided to stay. It is the first time my plans really took on any drastic alterations. This was SUPPOSED to be the European leg of my vagabond journey. We had, not 1, but 2 non refundable flights booked (Marrakech to Barcelona and Barcelona to Krakow), but we wanted to stay. We made the hard decision of downing those tough to swallow pills and forfeited the flights completely. We expanded our time in Morocco to include a 3 day camel excursion to the Sahara Desert, another bucket list item for as long as I can remember. As excited as I was to ride a camel (a first for me), by the end of the 1st hour I never wanted to see one again. Sitting on top of a sand dune as that 1st day came to an end, with a fixed gaze towards the setting sun, what I said to Dolpin came out naturally; “look at this! we’re in the SAHARA DESERT right now!” I was cheerfully reminded of my first trip to Italy. And everything was new again.

Bob