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Relived Scheherazade's
1000 Nights in Mysterious Morocco
By Vladia Jurcova
 The streets of Fez smelled like oriental spices, sweat
and the everywhere present donkeys. The local markets have not changed too
much from the mysterious times when charming Scheherazade was telling her
stories to cruel and foolish King Shahryar. This smart lady would come every
night cowered in the silk robes, gold jewelry and seductive perfumes to tell
her husband a story in the quiet luxury of the castle about the medina,
while merchants would hassle and bargain with their potential customers and
drink hot and sweet mint tea outside. Still today, the great grandsons of
these bold merchants will pull you by the sleeve into their stores and
sweetly trick you into buying “flying carpets and Aladdin’s lamp” if they
see that you are a vulnerable tourist.
 After a few days in Morocco, I figured out my way
around this diverse ancient country. I got my first henna from a young bride
and even learned how to deal with the strong and ever-present smells. While
visiting a local leather factory, my guide Ali showed me the easiest way how
to survive some of the most repulsive smells. “It is so simple, habibi,” he
said, and gave me a bunch of mint leaves. “You can keep these mint leaves
close to your nose and you will never feel sick from the smells again,” Ali
advised.
Wandering through the narrow, shabby streets of Fez,
smelling my mint leaves and trying to keep my distance from the white dirty
walls, I felt like time certainly stopped centuries ago in this little
oriental town of Morocco. It was not only the original architecture
deteriorated by time, but also the carefully covered faces of Muslim women
and the long robes on men that made me feel like a character from
Scheherazade's stories.
 At
first I found the hustling and bargaining quite entertaining. As I was
getting more confident at it, one merchant shouted at me with laughter: “You
bargain like a Bedouin woman!” I was not sure if it was a compliment or
insult, so I decided to take it as a compliment. Although the most of the
local people were quite nice and polite, I realized that I had to hire an
experienced local guide in order to avoid annoying hustlers that were
approaching me left and right. That’s when Ali crossed my path to show me
all the secrets of this sacred city.
Hiring Ali was the best idea. Before he came to my
rescue, I would sit in a taxi and argue with a smoking driver for an hour in
order to get to my destination. No amount of money can persuade these
drivers to take off. “The rules are clear”, the Bedouin driver said to me in
broken English, “unless there are six people in the car, we don’t go.” Their
rules were driving me crazy and I needed an insider to show me around. I was
in need of a teacher who would give me a lesson in survival tactics.
 In
general, European women stick out like a sore thumb everywhere in Morocco.
Although I would always wear a long skirt and a hat to cover my hair, my
tall figure and fair skin would always give me away. In some parts of
this country, the old traditions as well as the original way of life has
changed little over the centuries. In the remote Sahara desert I was turned
away by a Bedouin who told me to get my husband in order to bargain for a
souvenir. Since I did not have a husband, he did not care to sell to me. The
double standards are still a part of life in many rural parts of the country
and it was not uncommon that men proposed to me in the exchange for camels.
I could not prevent myself from sneaking a grin when I imagined my mom’s
face when trying to accommodate the precious smelly camels in her garage.
Before my arrival in Fez, I made a quick stop in the
Atlas Mountains. I was getting ready to conquer the Jebel Toubkal (the
highest mountain in northern Africa, about 14,000 feet high) in a small
village right under the foot of the mountain when a local merchant
approached me with an offer of several dozens camels that he would deliver
to my father in exchange for my hand in marriage. This deal would of course
be sealed in case that I survived the climb and came back. I saddled my
donkey and proudly refused his offer. I never knew how serious these crazy
merchants were, but I made sure that I would not run into the same man
again, and did not spend any time in the mountain village after my return
from the Toubkal.
After these partly flattering and partly scary
encounters with the Moroccan men, Ali became a victim of a long obnoxious
interview. He undertook my torment very bravely, but only when he told me:
“I will never get married; Miss, although Islam allows me to have three
wives. Too much headache!” I was convinced that he was the right person to
guide me around.
 Every
day I thought to myself, “I am pretty safe with this tall white haired man
of uncertain age.” He proved to be an excellent guide with a great knowledge
of Fez and his business. He was probably getting his cut from every purchase
that I made at the little souvenir stores recommended by him, but on the
other hand he saved me from annoying hustlers. As promised, he also thought
me how to comfortably survive around here. Ali knew the history of every
building; he found a silver jeweler who created a cheap custom made bracelet
and ring in only one day; he took me for a private tour of a clothing
factory and made my childhood dream come true. Thanks to Ali, for a tiny
moment, I became the glamorous runway model that I always wanted to be. You
may still find my pictures dressed in the colorful garments from cheap
fabrics in the factory catalog.
After I explained my troubles with digesting the local
cuisine “too fast”, he recommended the best restaurants in the old town (I
still had to wipe my plate and silverware clean). Food was my biggest
problem in the “off-beaten-track-Morocco”. Before they delivered my meal to
me, it usually “welcomed” me at the door of the restaurant as it was still
hanging outside on hooks (like whole de-feathered chickens) in the direct
sun. I have to admit that not even a glassful of gin in the morning, right
before I brushed my teeth with the polluted water, would help to ease my
suffering from the local food. I just could not convince my digestive system
that it was a time to get used to the beans, cuscus and snails.
Unfortunately, Ali also proved me wrong in my ability
to judge character. While saying good-bye, he said: “You charmed me, Miss,
please marry me and stay in Fez.” This man who could not remember my name
and never wanted to marry told me of his plans to teach me about Fez, so I
can undertake the greatest social profession - the guide in Fez. I politely
refused and decided that I wanted to be alone and hustled for a while.
But men were not the only “funs” that found me
attractive or vulnerable in Morocco. When discovering the hidden treasures,
souks and mosque, I would be often approached by begging children. I knew
from Ali that they really did not beg for themselves. “This is their job,
they are usually employed by a hustler who takes all the money they get from
generous tourist,” he said. I kept this in mind and although it was breaking
my heart, I did not give any money to these little dirty workers.
 A
little beautiful girl slipped her hand into mine one hot afternoon. She
smiled and said, “You are so pretty.” I immediately liked her. “She was not
begging,” I thought to myself. She walked with me for a minute and I was
trying to remember if I had my hand sanitizer. She smiled and gave me a
little silver mirror. I felt ashamed for being so spoiled and my hand
sanitizer thoughts.
I looked at the mirror trying to figure out its value.
It was silver and hand made and could not cost more than a couple of
dollars. I started looking for some change to give to my little dirty
Moroccan friend. I was able to find only a few pennies, so I showed her what
I had. She suddenly stopped smiling, grabbed the mirror and angrily walked
away.
She left me standing there in shock. I could not
imagine where this mean ugly child came from and what happened to my little
beautiful girl that a minute ago told me that I was pretty. I was feeling
confused and disappointed, but glad I did not get robbed. I sat down to
gather my thoughts. Sitting there I realized that not even this incident
could influence the fact that I fell in love this enchanting oriental
kingdom. I wanted to call Ali, to tell him how silly I was. But I really did
not want to get married nor face the dirty faces of poor children every day.
Happy just to simply be here and experience it all, I walked away alone to
discover more amazing treasures marked and forgotten by time and generations
of people.
Images by Vladia Jurcova
Email:
VladiaJurcova@comcast.net
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