Art is Life is Art: Susan Reep Photo Art

It’s been a long time since I’ve blogged.  I guess you could call it “blogger fatigue,” or the lack of any desire to express myself.  Part of the reason I’m starting again is to give my creativity a nudge.  More like a giant push, really.  Another part of the reason is that my blog was ill-defined, jumping all over the map, and it’s circled back to photography.  What I like best is photo essays, or essays with photos – depending upon the ratio of words to pictures.  I fear the words often win because I’m a wordy person.

A good place to begin again seems to be with my recent vacation in Morocco, my “second country.” I have dual United States and Irish citizenship, but I lived in Morocco for two years as a Peace Corps volunteer, and it really does feel like home.  This was our first trip back in 40 years, and this is the first installment in how it went.  It starts with Eric Whitacre and Justin Beiber.

Morocco, March 4, 2011: Casablanca

Back in Morocco after 40 years. We’re in Casablanca which is a huge, noisy, industrial city teeming with people and traffic. So far, things seem to be much the same, only bigger and more crowded.  Compared to the rest of Morocco, Casa doesn’t have much to offer to the tourist. In a series of mad taxi trips, we saw what there was.

The flight over was long – from the time we left our house to the time we arrived at our hotel, it had been at least 30 hours.  I did sit next to a really neat person on the L.A. to London leg.  His name is Eric Whitacre and he’s a composer, musician and conductor.  You can Google him. His wife is an opera singer and they are opening a show at Disney Hall on June 25.  He’s going to give me two tickets – can’t wait! Check out the link for Whitacre, and especially the Virtual Choir, embedded below, which is quite an internet sensation and now getting air time on talk shows.

Justin Beiber was also on the flight.  We followed him off with his bodyguard and entourage, which was rather small.  He himself looked so small and so young, and I was so tired, that I couldn’t imagine the life of constant traveling, being on stage, having paparazzi at every turn, and giving your life up for fame.  I do understand the money part of it.

We weren’t happy with our hotel when we checked in at 9:30 p.m.  I had reserved a “budget” hotel and now I know that for the first night, I should reserve an extravagant hotel that I’ll be very comfortable in.  Mark agrees. I hardly slept – the blankets were scratchy and heavy, and we had two towels.  Period.  Two microscopic bars of harsh soap.  And it was cold.  But I can’t complain too much because I was prepared – having brought my travel towels, bathtub puff ball (whatever those net things are called), Kleenex and my expandable camping cup.  The most valuable thing I brought turned out to be my silk long underwear! And we had plenty of hot water, which is not always the case in the lower rung of establishments.  Nonetheless, I never sleep very well the first night somewhere, and last night was no exception.

The first day, like a zombie, I managed to get up and out, although I fried my new travel hair dryer because I forgot to turn the current switch.  I really should not do anything in the morning.  We took a taxi to Paul, a tea house (excellent) where we had breakfast; then we took a taxi to the Habbous District, but the cabbie dropped us off at the wrong place (which I was fairly sure of), so we got another taxi to go to Hassan II Mosque, and then the same driver took us to the Habbous for real.  That made three taxi rides back and forth across this very big, noisy city.  Man, my nerves were jangled.  The taxi driver we got after the one who took us to the wrong place insisted on waiting for us everywhere and we couldn’t shake him.  It actually turned out to be a good way to do it. At the end, after we had him drop us off at Place Mohammed V, he wanted to be paid like a tour guide, and we couldn’t understand each other, so I have no idea if he ended up happy or mad.  I thought he wanted more and my husband thought he was thanking us for being generous.  I am just glad there are many dirhams to the dollar.

We walked around Place Mohammed V – that’s where the Feb. 20 protests were held in Casa. But there are no indications of unrest anywhere and that’s what we expected.  We’ve been talking to people and no one has anything particular to say about it.

Details of the Day

King Hassan II, who was king when our daughter Karen was born in Rabat, built a mosque – the second biggest in the world.  I’m sure he would have made it the biggest, but that one is in Mecca and it’s probably not a good idea to trump Mecca.  Anyway, it’s huge and impressive and beautiful but we couldn’t go in because – bad planning – we were there on Friday.

So the taxi driver, who had waited even though we had told him to go, took us to the Habbous, which is the “new” medina, or the medina that was constructed during the protectorate, so it’s not terribly exciting or interesting, but both the new and old royal palaces are in that district. (I didn’t want to go into the ancien medina because in Casa, it’s run down and not particularly safe.  It’s considered to be the breeding ground for terrorists, or what terrorists originate from Morocco, which are hardly any at all.)

We did see the juxtaposition of old and new in the Habbous, as we did all over Morocco, such as this man with his donkey cart and the woman carrying the mattress on her head.

We also saw rows and rows of babouches for sale.  These slipper/shoes are traditional and are still worn.  We brought some home – those of the first quality should last a good four years.

Thanks to our taxi driver, we got to spend time in the old Royal Palace. We did not request that he arrange this, but he talked to soldiers at one entrance, turned and told us, “Closed.” At least we think that’s what he said.  He didn’t speak English or much French, we only speak a tiny amount of Arabic, so when we were all in agreement about anything, I’m not sure anyone knew what we had agreed upon.

We walked around a corner to another entrance and the soldiers on duty there let us in, telling us ten minutes only.  When we came out, the soldiers were getting a talking-to from their superior who was not at all happy that we’d been let in.  We’re glad they did. The building is in fantastic condition and the decoration, carving and tile work were as good as we remember from the Alhambra. Mark said the quality of the workmanship is much better than that at the new Hassan II Mosque.

The biggest reaction we’ve had so far was right here in the Hotel Guynemer.  We were showing the desk clerk photos from when we were in the Peace Corps in Oujda in 1971, and soon six or seven other employees were gathered round.  We showed them photos of us with Jennifer, who was two at the time, and Karen, who was born in Rabat, and our Moroccan friends. Then we showed them photos of Karen and Jen’s families, and our daughter Kim’s also even though she didn’t have the Moroccan connection.  Just like we laugh at old pictures and old styles (I’m thinking avocado green and harvest gold appliances, shag carpets, macramé, etc.) the Moroccans started recalling past trends. One pointed out the dress Zohra, our housekeeper, was wearing and commented on how old the style was.  Another pointed out the pattern on a banquette and remarked that he had one just like that 40 years ago. And they all laughed about a white enameled platter that food was being served on and said everyone had one of those 40 years ago.

We’re heading out to dinner soon, and it better be good so there is a redeeming feature about the start of this trip.  If I sleep well tonight, all will be well.  If not, don’t know what tomorrow will be like as we take the train to Marrakech.  I’m sure it will be fine.  As long as the jet lag is gone.  At least I know how to wrangle the blanket tonight and that I should wear my long underwear to be warm enough.

P.S. Dinner was outstanding at Al Mounia.  It was walking distance, right around the corner.

Next: the road to Marrakech.

Tags: babouches, carved plaster, Casablanca, donkey cart, Eric Whitacre, Habbous, Justin Beiber, Morocco, Mosque Hassan II, Old Royal Palace, Place Mohammed V, virtual choir, zellige tile

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 13th, 2011 at 4:41 PM and is filed under General, Photography, Travel Journals. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.