Traipsing through Morocco --in one week!

We start our great adventure early on a Saturday morning with a SNACK PACK stock full of Bimo cookies! How to describe the Bimo... It's like a  Moroccan Oreo in its ubiquity, like chocolate cardboard in its flavor and like heaven in every way. 

And SO IT BEGINS: we made our way to the wineries and delights of the Middle Atlas mountains (Have you ever held a barbary monkey in your own two hands? Felt its warm vulnerability and erratic heartbeat?) After traversing in the bitter cold and snow--these are the mountains after all--we settle in to our casbah fortress for the night and tuck into a dinner of WHOLE FISH cooked in tin foil. And yes, you eat the eyes. 

In the morning, I WIN A SNICKERS BAR FOR MY EXCELLENT TRIVIA SKILLS. One Moroccan twinkie later and we make it to the desert. 

SAFARI? One riotous land rover ride later ("We're in the desert now, girls"--Said, dardevil off-roader) and we finally finally get to our camels and the famed Saharan dunes. 

ARE WE EATING WITH BRAD AND ANGELINA, THEN? Not to make a terrible fuss, but we do spend the night in a bare-bones rustic auberge that once housed the Jolie-PItts. Have deliciously authentic salad and tagine, bread of course, fruits of the seaon--you haven't lived until you've eaten an Orange the MOroccan way--and then are treated to a night of Gnawa music and dancing.  I impress all my fancy footwork and narcoleptic spasms. Bowed out early to sleep before awaking before the sun in order to

CLIMB A SAND DUNE? No problem. To my great relief, and a real triumph I think for all, I am not the last one up the mountain. Nothing is written I guess...(You were right Dad,  it was just like  Lawrence of Arabia..")

ONE NIGHT IN AFGHANISTAN: In Ouzzazate our tour bus disrupts the filming of the next Afghani blockbuster. Ouzzazate is the Hollywood of the country. Fittingly we treat ourselves to cocktails at the Bel Air!

BEATLES LYRICS? We finally make it to Marrakesh. And if by express, Ringo you meant excruciatingly long bus ride through torturous mountain roads, then by George, yes!

THEY'LL PUT MONKEYS ON YOU. Snake charmers, monkeys, henna. Now this is authentic Morocco. Be careful. The souk will suck you in and spit you out without any dirham to your name. but I"m richer in shoes, MOm! And rings. And scarves. And SHOES, MOM! Shoes. And also nifty little kebab sticks that I plan on using all the time. All the time. 

SO THIS IS WHAT JIMI HENDRIX MEANT. I could live in Essouira. I never wanted to leave. It is the founding place of rock and roll and humanistic Judaism, after all.  It is now best known for its fresh fish and the best ice cream to be found this side of the Sahara. 

We make it partly home (back to Rabat) on Saturday but extenuating circumstances (intolerable bus ride) force us to stop and stay the night in El Jadida, reportedly another lovely beach town. You know what else is lovely? Hotel Ibis. With their 500 dirham promotion (LIES) and free included buffet breakfast (CRUEL LIE) what's not to like?

LIMITED vision and funds (contact fiasco and the obvious) make our stay a short one, that's shortly enjoyable: The famed Portuguese Cistern is in El Jadida. It's supposed to be beautifl. But then again, so is Hotel Ibis.