AdventuresintheMaghreb

For the past few weeks, I had been seeing these flyers all over Rabat, advertising the week-long “Fantasia d’El Jadida.” El Jadida is a town about three hours south of Rabat, known as a quiet beach resort. A fantasia (the name in Arabic is “Game of Gunpowder”) is a traditional equestrian performance held during cultural festivals in Morocco, or at Berber (nomadic tribesmen) weddings. The whole thing is hugely nationalistic, evoking images of proud desert knights roaming the Sahara with naught but a rifle, a tent, and an Arabian stallion.

So needless to say, I was determined to go. Thus began the luckiest weekend I’ve ever experienced! I started researching hotels online, only to be dismayed at how everything in town was booked because of the 150,000 people flooding into town to see the fantasia. My last call was to the Dar Del Mare, a tiny inn in the old Portuguese city on the coast. It turns out that they had just had a cancellation, and I snapped up the room without having anything else settled: train tickets, travelling companions, nothing. A Moroccan friend of mine here heard that I was going to the fantasia, and mentioned that her family had two “invitations” to the show that they wouldn’t be using. Without understanding quite what these invitations were, I was happy to take them on the off chance that they would be useful. So my friend Alyssa and I headed down on the train after classes on Friday, arriving Friday evening. We were met in the Cité Portugaise by Monsieur Lionel, the lovely old French gentleman who runs the inn, which turned out to be a jewel box of a home:

The terrace outside our room

We drank mint tea and chatted with him, during which I learned that Morocco is corrupting my French! M. Lionel found it hysterical that I would unconsciously pepper my sentences with darija Arabic. I have even greater respect for Moroccan language abilities than I did before, because people switch flawlessly between languages seemingly without even thinking about it. My dream now is to get to that point.

Alyssa and I then hurried off to see the show, which was at a stadium outside of town. The entrance where the taxi driver dropped us off just happened to have a mini-riot taking place! Fuming Moroccan families clutched the very same invitations I had in my bag, brandishing them at the security guards who were refusing to let them through the gate. “But we have invitations!” shouted one woman. “We’re not stupid, we have a right to get in!” yelled another. Alyssa and I looked bemusedly at each other, trying to understand as much of the rapid-fire Arabic as we could to figure out what was going on. Somehow or other, the guards capitulated, and we hurried through the gate, expecting at any moment to be turned back. On our way to the main theatre, we were stopped at another checkpoint. Here we finally got a real explanation from one of the young guards preventing people from entering the hall; he puffed out his chest impressively and explained that “the king of Morocco and his family are here to watch the show, and it’s my job to protect them.” Unfortunately for us, the extra security meant that there were no more seating in the hall. Disappointed, everyone milled around the barrier, trying to explain to their children why they couldn’t go in and see the horses. It was an intensely proletarian feeling, to be part of the masses up against the establishment! Alyssa and I were at the front of the crowd, and starting talking with some of the families near us.

The next thing I knew, the whispered consultations going on behind the barrier resulted in an announcement that they had places for ten people in the hall. A group of djellaba-clad Moroccan men near us winked in camaraderie at Alyssa and me, told the security guards that we were with their group, and all but shoved us through the barrier!  All of a sudden I was sitting in front-row seats in a packed auditorium, watching the fantasia!

The show was more of a circus than anything else, with different equestrian acts from all around the world. We saw a funny little Scottish man who had more than a passing resemblance to Sean Connery perform a Chaplin-esque routine of being unable to control his recalcitrant horse, four Belgian brothers crack gunpowder whips in unison and perform amazing stunts (have you ever seen a horse jump into the air and click its hooves together?), a Spanish man with a beautiful flowing Arabian perform a matador routine, and Tibetan archers shoot flaming arrows from horseback towards human targets! But the real point of the evening was the Moroccan spectacle. The lights dimmed, and a few lone musicians began a sinuous, serpentine melody. The crowd broke into a spontaneous cheer as fierce desert tribesmen riding pure-white Arabian stallions thundered out, firing their rifles in unison and presenting a very intimidating sight. My favorite (and also most terrifying) moment was having a line of riders gallop towards me at full speed, continuing long past the point where they should have slowed down, and finally pulling up two inches from my nose! All together, it was an evening of pure fun, just to get lost in the excitement and wonder of the spectacle.

Imagine this roaring towards you!

The next morning, we went on a walking tour of the beach, which was lovely. I’ve now been in the Atlantic Ocean in New Jersey, Ireland, and Morocco – three continents! Wandering through the town, which is calm and the least touristic place I’ve been so far in Morocco, I noticed signs that called El Jadida…”The Deauville of Morocco”! Of course any McNamara reading this has the same point of reference that I do, and I love that I can find a Strathmere connection thousands of miles in Morocco. A bit of research revealed that Deauville is a town in the northwest of France, and has been “a fashionable holiday resort for the international upper class since the 19^th century.” Our Deauville Inn is more pedigreed than we thought!

Alyssa and I wandered the beach, marveling at the fact that we’re spending a day in the end of October on the beach, and found lunch at a hole-in-the-wall right on the beach. Being on the coast of course means seafood, and my three dollar “variety” plate consisted of me watching in not a little alarm as the large jolly Moroccan woman, who obviously ruled the kitchen with an iron fist heaped a platter with shrimp, calimari, mussels, and every type of fish under the sun!

We came back to the hotel, drank one last glass of tea with M. Lionel, and prepared to depart. I jokingly asked him if he needed any employees, since I would happily live here, and he immediately replied, to my great surprise, that I would be very welcome! “I need someone to manage the hotel and attract more tourists, and you speak English, French, and Arabic,” he told me, “so give me a call when you finish your studies.” So here’s my first indication that learning languages actually will help me find a job! Who knows, if I graduate without any idea of what to do, I might decide to take him up on it!

Alyssa and I in my future home?

This week was midterms, which I have just finished and am celebrating by writing this blog post, which I have been meaning to do all week. We’re headed off tomorrow morning with Amideast for a three-day trip to Tangier and Chefchaoun in the north of Morocco and Ceuta in Spain! So I should have many more adventures to write about very soon! Love to everyone!

p.s. The rest of my photos are here from this weekend: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=119155&id=676158521&l=99acb462a1