Day 25: Chefchaoun

An ideal rest day today, with perfect weather (though chilly at night), beautiful sightseeing, and actual rest.  Though as I mentioned before, this is not a particularly early-rising culture (except for the 5:15 call to prayer echoing over loudspeakers all over town), it is possible to find somewhere to get breakfast before 10 am, and this is enough of a tourist town to have a couple spots that will make some eggs for you, washed down with a cafe au lait and absolutely fantastic fresh orange juice. 

I checked some emails , and then meandered the famous Medina, which is all in shades of blue- apparently this was historically the Jewish quarter (many Jews settling here fleeing persecution in Europe), and they added indigo to their whitewash to distinguish their neighborhood.  The Medina is relatively compact, but still and absolute and literal maze.  There is no rhyme or reason (or signs) to the layout, and the alleys-often so narrow you could brush the fingertips of your outstretched arms along either wall- will asss often dead end as pass through.  'Chaouan is also built on a mountainside, so there is a vertical element as well, with twisting staircases leading up and down like a Dr. Suess illustration.  Lots of people live in the medina, of course, but most of the ground level space is dedicated to cubby-like tiny shops selling all manner of things- from practical groceries to all sorts of handicrafts.  Some of these niches are workshops, and the artisans hard at work inside on a loom or doing finish carpentry or making shoes, etc.  All in all, it's a great experience just wandering around getting inevitably lost. 

Without the bike in tow, I didn't have the giant bullseye on my back for the many, many people who claim to have a room or house for rent, and the only hustle is for restaurants or hash dealers peddling their wares.  'Chaouan and the surrounding area is the prime marijuana-growing area in the country, apparently the legacy of a political deal the king at the time made with a minority group: they would help him put down a rebellion, he would look the other way vis a vis the weed. It does seem odd that in a country where it is basically impossible to get a drink you regularly see all sorts of people smoking kif from long thin pipes, but thus is the great fun of travel- those "huh, did not expect that" moments.

Anyway, I saw the sights, including a nice hike up to the "Spanish mosque" that overlooks the town.  Apparently it was built by the Spanish during their colonial period here, and despite the commanding view it has over the town and valley, was never used.  There are great adventurous day hikes one can take further on up into the mountains, but feeling like I should stay true to the spirit of the rest day a long pull to Fes/ Mekenes over the next few days) and the fact that's where many of the nearby marijuana farms are, I took it easy. 

I did take the time today to chat with lots of interesting people, such as two young American recent converts to Islam, who, true to the old saw about there being no more fervent believer than the newly converted, urged me to examine my life and the lack of Allah in it.  On the rooftop terrace of the pension I am staying, I also chatted with a group of upbeat Peace Corps volunteers who were heaped to a rendezvous in Rabat for Thanksgiving. They were more than happy to give me route advice and answer my questions about the culture.  Not surprisingly, they had some friends in the SCA (my very recently former employer), there being a strong cross- pollenisation between the organizations.

And of course many shorter conversations with locals, which made me feel a lot better after a upsetting incident the previous day where I yelled at a guy who was just trying to help me because he was the previous nine such people who had approached me, ( sweaty and tired on my bike, and getting very frustrated at trying to find my pension in a literal maze swarming with people gaping,staring, and laughing at me ) , were scammers. I am not proud of the language I used, and it so happens this particular guy spoke solid English, so the colloquial American English epithets I directed at him were not lost upon him.  Watching him slump away, muttering, "such language, just really uncalled for" made me remember a polite but firm "no thank you'" followed by "please leave me alone" for the more persistent is sufficient.  Maybe when I get a really pushy one again I will use sea jargon to amuse myself, (belay that bilgewater, ye scurvy son of lubberly dog!)

The food here is definitely cheaper than Europe, so I have treated myself to some of the staples: richly seasoned skewers of lamb and beef on cous cous (yum), and tangine, a sort of meat and vegetable stew served bubbling hot in a clay dish (also yum). 

It getting cold at night and there being a dearth of heated buildings to hang out in, I decided that evening to experience a hammam, which everyone told me was like a Turkish bath, which actually told me nothing, because I had also not done that.  This must have been derived from the Romans, because like them, there are a series of rooms, each hotter and steamier (and kinda slimier) than the last. The hottest room is a little cooler than a wet sauna, but defiantly hot enough to sweat vigorously.  The idea is to sweat out all the gunk from your pores (which explains the odor in there of cumin and sweaty dudes), then pour buckets of hot water on your head and body while scrubbing yourself with a scratchy glove and soaping yourself. I don't know if it was more or less weird that you are not nude in there, though it does make total cleanliness a bit more awkward.   There is a big beefy guy in there running things, and if you pay a little extra (and I figured what the hey) he will scrub you (none too gently) with the scratchy glove and give you a "massage." This turned out to be different than the whale song-accompanied incense-burning chi-focusing experiences I had had before- primarily in that it involved lying on a hot slimy floor with a burly dude roughly twisting my arms, legs, and back in painful positions with jerking motions that made my vertebrae crackle, while occasionally having hot water dashed upon me kinda like what you might do to wake up a drunk on your lawn. 

All in all though, a pleasant experience, and above all, a warm one.  I had no trouble getting to bed and a slept well for the long road ahead.