Unheeded -- and Unneeded -- Warnings

I will eventually get to the story of the hammam. It's an interesting ritual that I don't think exists in the U.S. -- but that won't stop me from looking for it when I return. In the meantime, I'll do a brief catch-up and talk a little bit about what I would/will do on my next visit to Morocco. I think I left off mentioning that I was quite ill and looking ahead to a three-to-four-hour drive from Rabat to Marrakesh. (It was four hours, possibly more with extra stops.) I was waiting in the lobby when my guide arrived on Sunday morning. I said, "Samir, I'm glad to see you every morning, but I'm especially glad today! I am so ill, and I'm concerned about the trip. And it's hard to be so sick away from home." He was pure compassion and sympathy. I had been slightly early the day before and bowed out of our Saturday sightseeing; seeing things the next day would have been fine -- if I hadn't been awake and on the toilet all night. (Sorry if that's too much information!) Samir assured me that there would be a Western toilet (I might have to explain that later in more detail) at least every thirty minutes along the way, and if I thought I could make the trip we would go straight to the hotel and I could rest. I tried to explain Gatorade and/or sports drinks in general. Apparently those don't exist here. He thought I meant something like Red Bull, so I explained the difference between energy drinks and sports drinks -- the best I could. Every time we approached a rest stop -- which is something entirely different here than in the States -- he asked if I would like to stop. I was alternately freezing and sweating; it wasn't food poisoning but more likely a virus, and thankfully one that was severe for only one day. I fell asleep in the car, something I never do. I said, "Oh, gosh, I hope I wasn't snoring!" Both Samir and Rafik (the driver) assured me I had been as quiet as a baby. After our week together, my silence alone was probably a great cause for concern for them -- or a great relief, not sure.

We arrived at the gorgeous hotel, and I barely remember checking in. The only thing that stands out is that the very nice lady at the desk hugged me and kissed me on both cheeks, and continued to do so even as Samir told her I was ill. She welcomed me so warmly. That has been the case with everyone I've met. I have had the feeling with everyone I'm met and some I've just encountered that they are sincerely delighted that I'm here. Anyway. I did a quick text-time with my granddaughter and around 3:30 in the afternoon I fell asleep. It's so hot in the room that I left my patio door open, and I didn't wake up until 9:30 at night. I ate a banana (the first bite of anything I'd had all day), drank some water, and went back to sleep until 5:30 this morning. I was still a bit queasy, but ready to get out and see Marrakech. (More on that tomorrow.)

If I could go back in time, I would pack lighter. I would bring fewer long skirts and re-wear more clothes so I would have room in my suitcase for taking things home. I would also ignore most of what I read in the travel guides. Granted, I have had a Moroccan man accompanying me almost everywhere I've gone, but we aren't joined at the hip. (I'm pretty sure that would violate at least one local custom!) I have walked alone, in many places, and no one has looked at me with derision (something I thought might happen given our current political situation), nor has anyone been rude or cruel. At worst, a few people have not smiled back. Today an old woman in the medina threw kisses at me. Women in traditional and modern (Western) dress smile and some put their hands over their hearts (a probably-self-explanatory gesture). Men are not as quick to smile, but that's just how it is here. It's seen as improper. My guide laughs and smiles with me all day; the driver does too, but his English is not as good, so he usually has the guide recap for him. We have talked about so many things -- the guide and I -- and not just the usual history guide things. We've discussed politics and he has answered all of my questions without hesitation.

So I wouldn't be as wary of people as the guidebooks made me before I got here; I wouldn't worry as much about how I was dressed (not once have I needed to cover my hair -- not even inside the one mosque open for non-Muslims -- and Marrakech is the fourth city I've visited) and my slacks/jeans and lightweight sweaters or long-sleeved t-shirts have been just fine. One final note about how kind the people are: tonight two hotel ladies came to my room and asked if the could clean my room. They spread a mat over the rug next to the bed and sprinkled rose petals on both the mat and the bed. As I mentioned on Facebook, there was something so heartbreakingly beautiful about it I wanted to cry. Afterwards, one of the ladies unwrapped a pair of slippers and brought them over to me. I happened to have my tour book out at the time, so I thanked them both in Moroccan Arabic. They clapped their hands together in delight and praised me for the effort. I felt like a child who had learned a new word. I have that childlike feeling several times since being here, learning so much and letting others help me -- the former I do frequently, the latter less so. This is lengthier than I had intended. Bessalama (goodbye).