"Where are we??" oh right, Africa...

Friday after our 8:30am fusHa (MSA) class, 10 of us got on a train in Agdal, Rabat, headed for Asilah.  Asilah is a more touristy beach town about 3 hours north of Rabat, and we were looking forward to finally going to the beach during the day and getting some sun.  Nora and I had originally planned to go with two of our other friends, but due to various circumstances (only explainable by the phrase, "welcome to Morocco."), our two friends did not come, and we ended up going with 8 others.  Needless to say, we made quite a spectacle.  A pack of 10 Americans with backpacks (and in one person's case, an over-stuffed suitcase on wheels-- for an overnight trip) are pretty conspicuous. 

There were so many times on the train ride where I took a picture of the scenery, and was amazed at how little the resemblance was.  There's just no way to describe some of the sights here.  As we pulled out of the Agdal station, and then through the main Rabat station, the sprawling buildings and outlying shacks were left behind us and all we could see was dry, scrubby farmland on rolling hills, with the city mosque's minaret still visible if we looked back.  We sped past fields and fields of dry earth in a grid; sheep or horses or cows were grazing on some of the blocks and you could make out a lone herder if you looked hard enough.  One thing we kept seeing were fields of yellow melons, over and over again.  I had never tasted a yellow melon, but that would change later in the trip...  When we weren't marvelling at the scenery, at the stark buildings of some towns and the explosive colors of laundry, rugs, and paint of others, we passed the time playing Rummy. 

Countryside leaving Rabat

We arrived at the Asilah train station, and made our way to the main road.  One petit taxi finally came along, so three people went on to Christina's House, the "guest house" where we planned to stay.  The rest of us waited some more, then made our way back across the tracks to the front of the station, hoping to have more luck getting transportation.  There were no cars of any sort back at the station, so we walked to a main intersection and began flagging down any vehicle that looked as if it would take 7 people.  One finally pulled over-- an unmarked white van, out of which jumped a very enthusiastic, toothy-grinned man.  Through broken darija, French, and English, we found out that he would take us to the guest house for 15 dirham each.  We asked the price again and he said fifty, and we all immediately said "leh leh leh leh, welliwelliwelli", which basically means "wooooahh man, no way".  We bargained our van-ride into town down to 30 dirham for all of us (= less than 5dirham each, which is basically fifty cents).  The drivers were surprised that we spoke Arabic, like most people.  They mostly just kept looking back at us and grinning/leering. 

We finally got to the guest house, which we found by directing the drivers to the "hammam jedida", or the "new hammam", and were welcomed by a man named Nabil.  He offered to show us around the town, so we walked with him to the old medina (one in every town) and the beautiful kasbah, and through the markets which were packed with people buying food right before their ftour.  We went back to hang out at the guest house while Nabil went to have ftour with his family, and then realized that Nabil was not so much a friendly resource to use if we wanted, but a chaperone-esque type figure, included in the price of our stay (or added to it, as it would turn out). He insisted that all 10 of us go to dinner at a paella restaurant he knew of, and do everything else together, too.  He knows everyone in Asilah, so we went to his friend's restaurant.  After dinner, he left to buy fruit with two people from our group, so me and a few others left the house to explore a bit on our own.  We found a cafe and walked down by the boardwalk/beach near the kasbah, and it was refreshing to wander around without our overly enthusiastic guide for a bit. 

Dining room of Christina's House

View of the kasbah walls in the old medina

Zelijj tiling on a door in the kasbah

More beautiful doors

Saturday morning:  woke up and had breakfast prepared by Christina herself (crazy British woman with too much cash to burn).  We were waiting downstairs when we heard a knock on the door; walked outside and found a spanish-moroccan man with a dark moustache and a hat waving us over to our horse carts, arranged for us by our trusty Nabil.  Ten Americans, six horse cart men, three horse carts, and Nabil... we were off to the beach!  The carts made their way out of the rocky streets of the neighborhood, past fields of farm/trash/sheep, and onto the highway, where our horse cart raced the others as well as the cars on the road.  We saw a cluster of white-washed buildings with the ocean behind them, and thought that was where we were headed... and then we past them.  We finally veered off the highway onto another dirt path, and bumped along closer and closer to the ocean.  We finally rounded the mountain and the saw the ocean... that sight was worth all the bumps and bruises of the horsecart.  As we wound our way down the mountain, we saw thatched roof houses and straw umbrellas.  We had found Paradise Beach!  It was impossible to believe that we were in the same country as Rabat.  We were, actually, in Africa. 

Preferred mode of transportation to the beach

As Nabil knew the restaurant man from the night before, he also knew the horse cart men and a man who owned one of the seemingly deserted restaurants on Paradise Beach.  He told us which lounge chairs to sit on, because they were cheaper than others and in front of his friends' restaurant.  Note:  we were not told the price of anything so far.  Whenever we asked, Nabil just told us "don't worry, just enjoy!"  I was skeptical ever since we met him Friday afternoon.  We swam for a while in the beautiful turquoise blue water, and then Nabil told us we were going to a cave to get argan oil, which is really good for your skin and hair.  Some people went with him, I stayed back to swim and lay on the beach with some others; Nabil was confused why everyone wasn't flocking after him.  Around three, we were really hungry so we asked Nabil if we could go somewhere for lunch.  He shepherded us into the restaurant, where his friends were lounging and sleeping(because they're all fasting).  There were no menus or anything to suggest that the restaurant was actually open, but Nabil told us that they would make anything we wanted.  The owner came over eventually and told us that he could make us fish, shrimp, sardines, or salad.  After much negotiations, we had delicious fried sole and calamari.  Plain and simple, it was delicious. 

More beach lounging, and then everyone had to head home to their families for ftour.  Nabil coralled the horses and their drivers, and we threw our backpacks and ourselves back onto the carts.  Naturally, the horse pulling my cart was derranged-- even though he had the heaviest load (6 people on the cart), he ran ahead of the other two, bouncing so much that we had to clutch the wool blanket covering the cart so that we wouldn't fall off.  One of the other cart drivers was "radio Asilah", and kept singing "I am a disco dancer, dan-sah! Disco! Dan-sah! Disco! Dan-sah!"  We stopped once on our trip across the dry farm fields to help a few scrawny boys get their van out of the sand.  Then we continued along, and reached the highway, where our horse sped up even more.  We passed cars with little old men in the front seats, probably scarred for life at the degree of "harram" ("forbidden") going on on the back of our cart, with our skirts flying everywhere and our butts practically falling off the back of the cart.  Our horse was so energized and going so fast that our driver took a "long cut" off-road, so it could blow off some steam.  Hamdullah, we finally made it back onto the highway, where our horse slowed down a little bit to a manageable gallop. 

Asilah

Horse rides on the beach

Back at the House, we got off the horse carts and prepared to pay.  Things got a little dicey, because Nabil was insisting that people pay for the horse rides that some people took while on the beach.  We tried to negotiate, but the language barrier and the amount of people giving money and receiving money helped in us getting ripped off for the first time.  Next, we told Nabil that we were trying to get to the train station, because there was a train that left at "six-something". He said we could take the horse carts, because there probably wouldn't be too many taxis in the neighborhood (which is true).  He had us all pay in advance for the ride to the station, and we hopped back on the horse carts!  We finally got there, getting more looks from everyone rushing home for ftour, and the drivers pulled right up to the station platform.  As we got off the horse carts, the drivers looked at us and said, "deniro??" Nabil had pocketed the money!!  We began re-negotiating with the drivers, trying to explain that Nabil had their money, when a station officer came us to us and demanded to know what we were doing on horse carts, and where we were trying to go.  When we said Rabat, he told us that the train going to Rabat was coming in 5 minutes!  We threw some money at the horse cart drivers, and rushed into the station to buy our tickets.

The last of us were buying our tickets just as the train pulled up, and we began queing and pushing our way onto the cars.  We literally had to stand on top of people and on top of bags, and the doors of the train stayed open as we pulled away from the station.  We got a little separated, but at least we made it on!  People were grumbling and sulking, and as the sun set lower and lower they kept checking their watches and getting antsy.  Then, all at once, people cracked open the bottles of juice they were clutching in their hands, and opened plastic bags holding their own personal ftours.  Ftour on the train!  People do a complete 180, from being grouchy and mean to gregarious and pushing food onto anyone in sight.  We ate dates as we sped along the countryside.  Sidenote-- you can't smoke during the day on Ramadan, so eveyone lit up on the train, too. Talk about fire hasard. 

Crowded train leaving Asilah

At the first few stops, some people got off but more got on.  I ended up spending most of the trip standing up in the bathroom, with some bags, some melons, and a young couple who I think exchanged numbers on that train ride-- how romantic...!  My backpack and my friend Johnathan's were in the middle space between two cars, and at one point he caught an old woman stealing from his bag.  He launched the backpacks over to me in the bathroom-- of course they'd be safe there! Eventually, enough people left so that we could get actual seats on the train, and we moved into a first class compartment, everyone finally reunited. 

View from the train door

We pulled into the main Rabat train station a little worse for the wear, bought the first water bottles we could find, and wandered through the medina to get some ice cream and relax.  I was so happy to finally be home, with Rachida and Rihab and to sleep on my wall couch!  I woke up to a prolonged call to prayer around 4am, but slept like a rock after that. 

If our trip had been any longer, I'm not sure I would have survived.  Staying home this coming weekend for Eid al-Fitr, inshallah.