Semester at Sea left Cádiz, Spain on a Saturday night for a Monday morning arrival in Casablanca, Morocco. That Sunday, we went to Gibraltar to bunker — in other words, to refuel — but we didn’t leave for another 24 hours because of weather conditions. Consequently, we arrived in Morocco a day late, which meant that there wasn’t sufficient time for my much-anticipated “Camel Trek through the Sahara.” This foreshadowed the flexibility and spontaneity we would need during our time in Morocco.
At 8 a.m., about 40 SAS students piled in four vans for a drive across the Atlas Mountains to a Berber nomad camp, which was closer to Algeria than Casablanca. The scenery was beautiful to look at while we travelled; we passed shepherds grazing their flocks, women in colorful robes, donkeys bearing heavy baskets up the mountains, ancient mosques signified by their tall towers, villages made out of mud, scarecrows in farmlands, food markets and desert cacti. Then we gasped at the beauty of the snow covering the Atlas Mountains as they instantly appeared behind a bend in the road. The Atlas Mountains divide North Africa from the Sahara Desert, creating social and religious differences between the two sides. The range stretches from Morocco to Tunisia and has peaks close to 14,000 feet. The landscape reminded me of the Rockies, with flat, red land resting at the feet of towering snowy mountains.
We stopped for lunch at 5 p.m. in the city of Ouarzazate (“the door of the desert”), where there is a casbah — a type of fortification — dating from the 16th century. Long ago, it was a stop on an African trade route. We sat around large tables and ate our courses from a communal dish. The meal closed with sweet oranges sprinkled with cinnamon and cups of mint tea. Content and happy, we returned to the vans to make the final two-hour push to camp.
The nomad camp was in a gorgeous canyon, which required us to make a steep, rocky descent and then ford a river. There, surrounded by towering cliffs and palm trees, was the nomad camp. Ten blanket-covered shelters awaited us as did a delicious dinner similar to our last meal. Soon after our dessert of tea and fresh fruit, the nomads started to dance and play music. But there were no drums or chanting. Instead, there were speakers and a boom box used to blast 1970s disco music, Rihanna and Christina Aguilera. The fire warmed the campsite as pop music brought American college students and Moroccan nomads together in some small corner of the Sahara Desert.
Following breakfast and goodbyes the next morning, we prepared to reload the vans for the drive back through the canyon. We soon learned that the vans were too heavy the night before and nearly bottomed out in the river, so we were forced to cross the river and then get in the vans. My van driver must have thought we were too fat for his van to make it back up the mountain, and so without warning he drove straight past us up the steepest part of the canyon. Meanwhile, the other three vans loaded up, whisked past us and waited for my van’s occupants to reach the top of the canyon. At least we got our trek through the Sahara — with or without camels.
The next scheduled stop was five hours away in Marrakech. I wasn’t sure we would ever see Marrakech or the United States again as our driver careened around blind curves in the mountains and sped through whiteout conditions. A little white-knuckled, we arrived in the bustling city center. It was an exciting and overwhelming place. Women were wisely cautioned against walking around without a man. The sights, smells and sounds there are practically indescribable. Snake charmers, fortune tellers, monkeys and acrobats perform in the market square. Food stalls offer every imaginable type of produce, spice and pasta. Shopkeepers yell for your attention with catchphrases like, “’Jewelry, scarves, pots!’ ‘Don’t you like to spend money?’ ‘I love Obama!’” One girl on the ship even managed to use Obama baseball-like cards as currency in the bazaar.
Our tour guides took us to a quintessential tourist trap that evening but, unlike most American tourist traps, the food was incredible. We were served spicy chicken lentil soup, hard boiled eggs and meatballs, and a remarkably delicious couscous as Disney-esque musicians and dancers entertained us. The night was a good synopsis of my trip to Morocco: touristic yet memorable. Morocco was a fun place to see, but I’m eager to shed the tourist in me and explore others areas of the world.
Katherine’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. She can be reached at k.rember@cavalierdaily.com.
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