I write this from a guesthouse in Chefchaouen, the blue city in northern Morocco. But before we talk Morocco, let’s start with a little recap of what we’ve been doing across the world! Last time I wrote we were in Thailand (<3 elephants). Then, over the span of a week, we got stuck for a day in the Philippines (*shakes fist forever at Philippine Airlines*), celebrated a family wedding in California, and flew to Casablanca. We are now only 6 hours behind Bangkok, which means we went more than 75% of the way around the world…the long way. For those keeping track (mostly me), that’s sleeping (hah!) in four time zones in 7 days and I am wrecked.
But tiredness aside, the show must go on! We had a vacation to Morocco planned in 2020 (womp womp), so this is our redemption trip. We started in Fez, which is billed as the cultural capital of Morocco. There we spent two days wandering a small percentage of the 9,400 walking streets and alleyways of the old city — one of the oldest and largest medinas in the Arab world. The Chouara Tannery got a lot of coverage in my Instagram stories (check out the Morocco highlight on my profile if you missed it). Leather products are huge in North Africa — you see colorful shoes and wallets and jackets and purses everywhere here. Chouara is one of the oldest operating tanneries in the world, and the tanners still use techniques from the 12th century.
There’s a lot on the internet about how difficult Morocco is and how careful you have to be about scams, so we arrived full guard up. I gotta tell you though, maybe I’ve been traveling for too long (lol jk no such thing), or maybe after India, Egypt, Turkey, Indonesia, etc. my tolerance of and sensitivity to shenanigans is off the charts…but so far it’s fine! Touts be touting everywhere, and in Fez, at least, they are exceptionally persistent, but also extremely polite (when we eventually shake someone, he usually ends the interaction with a marhaba/you are welcome here!).
What is a “tout”?
A person who solicits business, employment, support, or the like, in an annoyingly persistent way (source)
We often joke about “what they learn in tout school” because somehow the ingratiate-yourself-to-tourists techniques are word-for-word the same all over the world.
It starts with greetings and “getting to know you” — you kinda feel like a dick if you brush them off at this point, since they’re a local person “just being friendly” though obvi we all know where this is going…
Hello my brother/my sister! Where you from?
Oh nice place! Americans very nice people very nice!
Where in America, New York, Chicago, California? [The American cities and states the touts know tells you a lot about the tourist profile of a place: for example, in world hiking capital Kathmandu, they ask “California or Colorado?”]
Ah yes my brother/uncle/friend lives there! OR Ooh the capital yes Barack Obama!/President Joe Biden! [Notably, no one has ever enthusiastically said “President Trump!”] And always, Nice city nice people very nice people from there!
Then as you’re trying to escape…
You want to go to tannery? I am not a guide! Just helping, no money! I want to practice my English!
At this point, our polite obligations fulfilled, we continuously say “no thank you” and walk away. Of course, our tolerance for this back and forth depends on how many times we’ve had the exact same conversation and of course wanes through the day. Sometimes you do need someone to take you places, but anyone who brings you to a shop/restaurant/tourist site receives a kick-back and the price charged to you will reflect that. I’ve had wonderful experiences picking up a tout for a day (lol many of you have heard the story of my Tunisian “fiancé”); and I absolutely respect the hustle! I just don’t always want to be a part of it.
Some other notable classics of the tout and foreign salesman lexicon are:
Happy wife, happy life! [Translation: Chris should buy “The Madame” things!]
No money, no honey! [Same as above]
First customer! [Implies that they’re giving you a deal]
Looking is free! [Lol duh?]
No push no pressure, if you’re happy I’m happy! [Not necessarily true, but nice to hear]
Despite many men’s best efforts we did not buy a rug (though they are beautiful and relatively cheap — if anyone wants me to shop on their behalf and ship to the US I am more than happy to do so!), but I did end up with some nice gold leather sandals.
From Fez we took a bus north to the famous blue city of Chefchaouen. Everyone loves this place, and I can see why. The city is kitschy but beautiful, with a very chill vibe (the amount of hash here—illegal in Morocco, but sold quite openly in Chefchaouen—is likely a contributing factor). We stayed in a delightful hobbit hole of a hotel, and spent a couple days meandering around the blue old city, hiking up to hilltop viewpoints and taking too many photos of cats in brilliant blue alleyways.
But why the blue? A student selling “trinkets” as his “side hustle” (both his words) at a hilltop viewpoint explained to us that way back in 1492 The Inquisition/Queen Isabella of Spain said convert to Catholicism or GTFO—I’m not committed enough to read really old Spanish law, but I’m pretty sure that was the gist—causing a mass exodus of Muslims and Jews to Morocco. The Jewish quarter of Chefchaouen was painted blue because the color symbolizes spirituality and peace, and here we are 830 years later.
This kid was of course a salesman, but we had a few hours to kill before sunset and he was waiting for his customers to show up, so we had a nice conversation about travel and Morocco and languages and business. He was clearly very proud to be from such a beautiful and popular city, which he described as a really strong community where everyone looks out for one another. Chefchaouen became a popular tourist destination about 10 years ago, when a Moroccan television series was filmed here (try explaining the different spellings/pronunciations/meanings of shout/shouted/shoot/shot!); between that and the Instagram explosion of the mid-2010s the city is flooded every summer with Moroccan tourists escaping the heat of the south and Europeans on vacation.
The language situation here is fascinating. Morocco’s official language is Arabic, but a lot of people in Fez were speaking French, even to one another (Morocco was a French “protectorate” from 1912-56). Once we got to Chefchaouen, however, things got more confusing — I assume all locals speak Arabic (though different cities and regions have different dialects!), and in addition to that it’s a mix of French, Spanish, English, and sometimes Italian. Every conversation begins with a mishmash until you settle on an optimal language for both of you. And if someone thinks you’re not understanding them they’ll say the same thing in French, English, and Spanish just hoping one will stick. I love places like this because people tend to be patient and non-judgmental — it’s a great way to dust off my French!
À la prochaine!
What am I reading?*
Just finished: The Wolf and the Woodsman (Ava Reid)
Currently reading: Empire of Pain, The Secret History of the Sackler Dynasty (Patrick Radden Keefe)
Up next: Piranes (Susanna Clarke)
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