CUBA -- Tourism

Cuba’s tourism today is a $2 billion per year industry and as American visitors pour into the country, this income will undoubtedly grow exponentially. Currently, American visitors are only allowed to make “educational tours,” which was the purpose for our tour. This kind of travel suits me fine, but a lot of Americans are more interested in the beach and all-inclusive Club Med-type resorts. We were initially told that our tour would not include such an experience, but it did, and I’m glad for the opportunity since I have never been to such a place!

Cuba has several sites for these all-inclusive resorts, as this map shows. Our group went to Varadero, just east of Havana.

As we descended our bus, we were greeted with a fruity rum “welcome drink.”  We had arrived at a ___hotel, the ___.

We lined up at the reception desk for our wristbands, which identified us as paying customers. We were there in time for dinner and while the hotel took care of our luggage, we went downstairs to a food extravaganza. 

At first the “dining hall” appeared to be a giant college cafeteria in terms of the noise level (this was a family place) and wide array of choices for nourishment—about 1,001 choices like meats, seafood, pizza, vegetables, fruits, pastries, breads, soups, appetizers, cheeses. I looked over the whole thing to devise a plan for my repast. However, just as a few of us began to make our choices, our guides told us we had a special meal just for our group in another room. Ah, a more civilized venue, which of course, began with another drink and then a meal of pork steak, vegetables, red beans and rice (a national signature dish). We also had a birthday cake for one of the fellows. We were accompanied with American music from a disc jockey, who at the end of the meal as we filed out played the sonorous Pachebel’s Canon in D.

The entire experience was surreal because here we were in an impoverished land and we were being treated like kings and queens. But this is the kind of tourism that will help raise much needed money for this country.

My room was an experience, too. We had been staying in five-star hotels throughout our trip, but this one topped them all. Just look at the décor—and the view from my window.

The next morning we had no schedule so I stayed in bed as long as I could and eventually went down for breakfast (this time in the cafeteria extravaganza), met up with a couple fellows and then went down to the beach. I had not intended to swim but just wanted to see the water, dip my hand in it and go back to the hotel. I hate sweating and the sun was hot even at 10 a.m. What was astounding was the view at the shore: hotels up and down for as far as the eye could see. I assumed that most of these were all-inclusive venues like our hotel.  And, there were still more being built!

Such luxurious venues are really not my style. I like warm weather in the winter and would escape the snows of Michigan for the entire season once I retired. However, I would not be inclined to come to places like this. When I travel I like to see history and architecture, talk with the locals and live like a local. However, I’m glad we had this experience. Like Las Vegas, I believe everyone should go to a Fantasy Island at least once. The only thing missing from this one, however, was Tatoo and “the plane.”

As a slight contrast to this experience was our road trip getting here. We had been in ___ and were making our way to Fantasy Island via the rural back roads that provided a more scenic view than the freeway. The only problem with this kind of travel is that there just aren’t a lot of places to stop for a snack or bathroom break. (There were barely enough places on the freeway!) Since we fellows are 30 years older than we were on the fellowship, bathroom breaks have become more vital. We were about 60-90 minutes away from our destination when a few of the women asked our guide for a quick solution.

“Would you be willing to go to the bathroom at someone’s house,” Pavo asked.

“Yes,” a couple women chimed resoundingly.

Pavo and Edgar, our faithful bus driver, talked about where we would stop and who would approach the homeowner with such a request. Edgar found an area on the side of the road that had a number of houses despite our rural surroundings. He saw a woman sitting on her front porch and stopped our huge bus. Then Pavo and Edgar discussed who would approach the woman. Edgar absolutely refused to do it but advised Pavo to “be suave” in his asking.

Pavo left the bus not with his usual confidence, but he was on a mission. He later told us what he said to the woman.

“We are on a tour of Cuba and have some elderly women who need to use the bathroom,” he said. “Would you allow us to use yours?”

From the bus I watched the woman’s face drop with astonishment at Pavo’s request, but she agreed and opened her house to the few people who had to use the bathroom. Many other fellows got out of the bus to stretch their legs and to talk to the woman’s children and neighbors who were gathering around her porch to see who these strange gringos were and what they wanted. There were a few curious goats in the yard who approached a couple fellows and got some petting in return. A dog across the street sat on the roof of one house and checked in amazement out the strange visitors from the big bus.

As we pulled away, Edgar declared that he wouldn’t go to the woman’s house but instead would make another stop once he found some high bushes. A few other men waited until then and joined him.

Fellows engaged the woman and her children as a few neighbors (and those of us who remained on the bus) watched the whole scene. They learned that four generations all lived together in three adjacent houses. Her little girl had been sick with pneumonia for the past 20 days and was even in the hospital. She is better now. After half an hour, everyone piled back in the bus and we moved on. I’m sure we were the talk of the town for a few days.

Evelyn Hu-DeHart

But the surprises of this journey were not over. As we headed west, the sunset began to show its fine colors. Evelyn suddenly and reflectively declared that the moon was very bright tonight. Pavo began to look all around the sky for the moon, but he saw none. Then he realized she was talking about the sun. She must have been really tired to confuse the two lights of the sky. Those of us around her who witnessed this incident started laughing uncontrollably for the remainder of our ride. What was so funny to me was Evelyn’s way of swooning over “the moon.” Later, Evelyn mentioned that the Cubans sometimes mix the sun and the moon or see them as the same. It’s just another example of the “land of topsy-turvey.”

CUBA -- Soviet Architecture in Cuba

The Soviets offered Cuba many things, but beauty wasn’t among them. Art historian Lord Kenneth Clark (1903–1983) said that architecture reflects a culture’s feelings and ideas. When you look at Soviet architecture, there’s little mistaking their feelings and ideas about Cuba to the point that you wonder if they regretted their support for her back in 1961. Likewise, when you listen to some people, especially the younger Cubans, you may think their country might have done better by sticking with the Americans. Well, that remains to be seen and I would need to talk with so many more Cubans—both young and old—to make a better judgment about that.

Nevertheless, Soviet architecture is typically big, functional and brutal in its design. We saw two curious Russian structures that are outright ugly and so strikingly Cold War that they made us shiver in disbelief.

The Alamar housing project was built in ___, six miles from Havana. Each building is four or five stories and units have two bedrooms, a living and dining room.

In its day, the Alamar project tried to keep the people there so it offered jobs, stores, housing and transportation. Many of the people who live there today came from the countryside to live in Havana. People at first didn’t like the design of this new housing, but they learned to like it for its function in their lives.

Alamar is the largest public housing project in Cuba (and maybe the world) with 100,000 residents, says a feature story in the Tampa Bay Times (http://www.tbtpics.tampabay.com/news/world/a-socialist-vision-fades-in-cubas-biggest-housing-project/2259638).

“In a country sworn to socialist equality, it is arguably Cuba's most equal place, because everyone pretty much has an identical apartment,” it continues.

Havana is a city divided into zones. In Alamar, this is taken to extremes since there are no street names. Instead, you identify your apartment by the zone and block number.

"It was a model city," said Román Pérez, 76, a retired bus driver who lives in Zone 8, block D52, apartment 21. He helped build D52 and two others with his own hands, as a member of a communist worker "micro-brigade." (http://www.tbtpics.tampabay.com/news/world/a-socialist-vision-fades-in-cubas-biggest-housing-project/2259638).

Although Alamar started as an attempt to bring more equality in terms of housing, it fell short of its promises due to a lack of planning, poor decisions, rushing, and opportunism.

Here’s a revealing commentary (http://www.havanatimes.org/?p=7485) in Havana Times by Regina Cano, a young resident, a graduate of the University of Havana in accounting and finance and an artist, who viewed the recent documentary, Alamar, Ciudad del Futuro (Alamar, city of the future). The film features children who now live in these apartments that were built by their parents as a project that came under that cherished idea formulated by the Cuban Revolution called “El hombre Nuevo” (The new man).

When we moved to Alamar this myth (of the new man) maintained its theoretic vitality. I remember my mother telling me to behave myself and be careful how I acted because only the families of those workers acknowledged for their work ­-“the vanguard workers”- were allowed to live there.

There was even a regulatory commission to enforce this ideal made up of residents or members of the Communist Party who visited peoples’ homes to confirm the conservation and care of the homes, and the healthy state of family relationships. It was said that a family fight could be grounds to lose the right to live in Alamar. I don’t recall anyone being expelled, but, believe me, the fear alone was enough to ensure that the overwhelming majority of residents made sure that all the rules were followed.

Those were the days when the children believed that “the future belonged to us” and that in Cuba “everything was provided for.”

Thirty years later, Alamar is a dirty city with garbage everywhere and few parks. The buildings suffer from years of neglect, their paint peeling off, with makeshift additions by residents trying to add rooms for their growing families; expansions that stand out more as a solution than as something that follows the building code.

I tell you, it is not easy living in Alamar. What was an attempt to bring more equality in terms of housing -which in reality only succeeded in providing our parents with the necessary conditions to completely dedicate themselves to their jobs.

The majority of Alamar residents go outside of Alamar not only to work but to develop their projects and for recreation. The new people who today are moving to Alamar do so as a result of house exchanges (there is no buying and selling of homes in Cuba), because their homes were demolished, through negotiating with the government, or because they were assigned apartments here for having worked in the micro-brigades and having no where else to go.

For many, living here is a last resort. Odd given that Alamar is a seaside town with beautiful natural surroundings that could be better used and enjoyed.

It was sad for me to watch the documentary and remember how circumstances beyond the control and the civic spirit of many people who still live in Alamar have had such a profound impact on their lives, changing them forever.

film-- http://www.habanaelegante.com/November_2015/Invitation_Rodriguez.html

Far from the iconic Alamar is the Russian embassy, which sits prominently among 106 other embassies of Havana’s Embassy Row on La Quinta Avenida (Fifth Avenue) in the wealthy Miramar district.

Cuban bourgeoisie lived in Miramar before 1959. Today, these houses are occupied by diplomats from around the world. 


According to Business Insider  locals call the embassy "la espada de Rusia" (the stabbing Russian sword) because it resembles the Soviet-Cuban relationship during the Cold War.

Likewise, the Havana Tour Company (http://havanatourcompany.com/havana-architecture/) provides another less than favorable description of the embassy even though it bills it as a must-see site:

“It is a severe rectangular tower that shows the importance of the relationship between Havana and Moscow at the time. The tower looks decidedly out of place when compared to the rest of the city—it would look more at home in a science fiction movie depicting a dystopian future. It’s strange to see such a cold building in such a tropical paradise.”

 The Swiss embassy is an example of what most embassies look like in Havana--a bit more tropical, more Spanish, more warm.

To see the details of the Russian embassy’s layout and to compare it to other embassies, click on Business Insider (http://www.businessinsider.com/russian-embassy-in-havana-cuba-2015-6). 

While I'm on the topic of embassies, here is the six-story American embassy, which President Obama re-opened last March as a sign normalizing relations between the US and Cuba after 50+ years. I must admit that while I saw the flags, I couldn’t see the building, so I’m relying on someone else’s photo.  

Now, check out the amazing contrast of design between Russian-inspired Alamar and the beautiful single-family houses of the Cuban rural lands of ___.

CUBA -- Plaza de la Revolution

I'm doing a poor job of showing solidarity: no one is there to follow me.

We approached a huge space that looked like a Walmart parking lot sited next to an eight-lane highway. Three buildings have big, black, steel outlines of the Cuban heroes of the Revolution: Ernesto “Ché” Guevarra and Camilo Cienfuegos. Under Ché’s image is the quote: “Hasta la victoria siempre” (until the everlasting victory, always). Under Cienfuegos’s image is the quote: Vas bien Fidel” (you’re doing fine, Fidel).

 















The Plaza de la Revolution is the place where Cubans hold political marches and demonstrations. Fidel gave many a long speech here and I do mean long, once up to seven hours and 10 minutes! The last three popes also used this place to celebrate Mass. I must say it is a rather unremarkable place despite its importance. The attention to making it a special place hardly compares to Red Square in Moscow or Tiananmen Square in Beijing. Hey, Cuba is a poor, little country.

the plaza during a special event

Across the square is a gray marble sculpture of José Julián Martí Pérez (1853-1895), a Cuban national hero and an important Latin American literary figure. Martí was a poet, an essayist, a journalist, a revolutionary philosopher, a translator, a professor, a publisher, a Freemason, a political theorist. Through his writings and political activity, he became a symbol for Cuba's bid for independence against Spain in the 19th century. Consequently, he is referred to as the "Apostle of Cuban Independence." He is seen everywhere in Cuba, especially Havana. 

overview of the Martí monument

close-up of Martí

Ironically, this particular monument to him was commissioned by Batista after his successful military coup in 1952. The Castro regime kept the monument, however, regardless of its origins. Behind the monument is the National Assembly of the Cuban government. The National Library, many government ministries, and other buildings are located in and around the Plaza. Located behind the memorial is the Palace of the Revolution, the seat of the Cuban government and Communist Party. The memorial statue and lookout is 357 feet high and one of the tallest points in the city. 

Near the plaza was a political billboard. These government propaganda pieces are scattered around Havana and the other cities we visited. This one extols the benefits of the the Castro regime, which made possible a free Cuba. Hmmm, not many women in this one.

CUBA -- Communing with "Papa" Hemingway

One of the things I love to do when I travel is to visit the homes, haunts and graves of famous historical figures. On this trip I got my chance to see Ernest Hemingway's home, bar and fishing village located near Havana and it was truly inspiring.

the useless tower

Ernest Hemingway spent many years in Cuba and had a beautiful tropical home at the 15-acre Finca Vigía (Lookout Farm) where he lived with his third wife, Martha Gelhorn, a journalist he met during the Spanish Civil War. He rented the finca in 1939 and then bought it in December 1940. When Hemingway and Gellhorn were divorced in 1945, he kept Finca Vigia and lived there during the winters with his fourth and last wife, Mary Welsh. She added the tower next to the house, which was supposed to be his writer’s nest. However, he didn’t like it and preferred his bedroom, which had a double bed and desk in it and lots of other interesting stuff to play with. In fact, he didn’t like this home at all because it was too far from the sea.

Hemingway had diabetes and needed to watch his weight carefully. In his bathroom, he faithfully recorded his poundage.

Hemingway decided to breed cats, just as he had bred peacocks on Key West. At one time the couple lived with 57 cats. There’s even a small pet cemetery for his favorite ones: Black, Negrita, Linda and Neron. 







The pet cemetery is near the old tennis court, which after his death became the dry dock for his yacht, El Pilar, which he co-owned with Gregorio Fuentes. The two men had an agreement that when one couldn’t sail, the other would quit sailing, too.

I tried to feel the “spirit” of Hemingway at the finca, and I did, but it wasn’t in the tower or in the house; it was near his yacht. I felt a joy and happiness there, which made me believe that this boat was probably where he was his happiest self. (As a writer, I can easily understand how any distraction from writing gives joy and happiness!)

Gregorio, model for Santiago in The Old Man and the Sea

Hemingway wrote For Whom the Bell Tolls at the finca as well as The Old Man and the Sea. I haven’t been much of a fan of Hemingway, but I read the latter on the plane from Miami to Detroit and loved it for its style and story. I’m inspired to read more of “Papa’s” work and learn more about him. For example, Mrs. Hemingway, a novel by Naomi Woods (2014) tells the story of “how it was to love, and be loved by, the most famous and dashing writer of his generation.” The Amazon.com review further sold me as my kind of novel:

Told in four parts and based on real love letters and telegrams, Mrs. Hemingway reveals the explosive love triangles that wrecked each of Hemingway's marriages. Spanning 1920s bohemian Paris through 1960s Cold War America, populated with members of the fabled “Lost Generation,” Mrs. Hemingway is a riveting tale of passion, love, and heartbreak.

Hemingway was on good terms with the Cuban revolutionary government. He had his picture taken with Castro and even officially presented him with a trophy in the summer of 1960 for winning a sport fishing contest named for Hemingway. However, when Hemingway went to Idaho to treat his severe depression in early 1961, he and his wife could not return to Cuba because their house had been expropriated, as all abandoned houses were under the new Castro regime.

Hemingway committed suicide in Idaho on July 2, 1961. The official Cuban government account regarding Finca Vigía is that after Hemingway's death, Mary Hemingway deeded the home, complete with furnishings and library, to the Cuban people. It was made into a museum devoted to the author. Mary Hemingway negotiated with the Castro government for certain easily movable personal property (some paintings and a few books), plus manuscripts deposited in a vault in Havana. Most of their personal property, however, had to be abandoned because there was no way it could be moved out of the country at the time. We were told that the furnishings and look of the house were kept as Hemingway left them.

Cojimar

Cojimar today

the fishing village as it looked during Hemingway's time

We continued our Hemingway journey by also going to Cojimar, the fishing village, the setting for his novella, The Old Man and the Sea.

Hemingway won the Pulitzer Prize in 1953 for the book, and when he took the Nobel Prize in 1954, Cojimar became a bona fide tourist attraction. Hemingway docked his yacht, El Pilar, in Cojimar and fished here with his friend, Gregorio Fuentes, who became the model for the character of the old man in the book.

Hemingway used to frequent La Terazza, a restaurant/bar that faces an estuary that empties into the ocean. A corner table is enshrined and roped off in his honor along with numerous photographs of Hemingway—and a picture of Gregorio, who lived to be 101. For a 1.50 cuc, visitors can walk through the place and get a daiquiri, a favorite drink of Hemingway.

 I'm not much of a drinker but I couldn't resist drinking a daiquiris in Hemingway's honor, especially since it was free. It was very delicious and very refreshing on this hot and humid summer day. 

The daiquiri is the quintessential rum cocktail with rum, lime, and a sweetener.

 
The town remembers Hemingway with a small gazebo that encircles a commemorative bust, sculpted from the melted down propellers donated by local fishermen. It was the first statue of him after his death It's about 40 yards down the street from La Terazza. The Cubans must have really liked this guy!!

Across from the gazebo is the amazingly photogenic Torreon de Cojimar, a Spanish fort built in 1649 and now used by the Cuban Coast Guard. It was the first fortification taken by the British in 1762 when they attacked Havana from the rear. I was fascinated by its compactness and its lines against the sea and sky.


BTW, Rotten Tomatoes announced the new movie soon to be out: Papa Hemingway in Cuba. It's the first Hollywood film made there in 50 years and it shows many of the places discussed in this blog. Here's the trailer.
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2749282/

Day 15 -- Marrakech

a visit to one of the snake charmers in the square

Today is our last full day in Marrakech—and Morocco. I fly home tomorrow at 535 a.m. and stop off in Paris to board my flight home to Detroit. I had thought about staying Paris for four or five days, but could not make my connections. That's OK. I'm pretty tired of traveling and a two-night trip to Chicago and a one-nighter in Detroit await me during Christmas week.

Jardin de Majorelle

Place of the ashes of Yves Saint Laurent

We began the day with a tour of the Jardin de Majorelle and the Islamic Art Museum. The gardens were designed by French painter, Jacques Majorelle, in the 1920s. He had contracted asthma and chose Marrakech as a suitable place to live with it. He set up his workshop there and conceived of this beautiful garden. Friends in the French army gave him exotic plants, flowers, and cactus from all over the world. After he died, the garden deteriorated. In 1980, Yves Saint Laurent assumed ownership of the villa with his partner, Pierre Berge. Yves died in 2008 and his ashes are buried at the villa.

This is an incredible garden envisioned and then built by someone who made the best of his awful health situation. It still amazes me how people can conceive and execute a project. Majorelle's art studio is now a museum for Berber life, which includes their dress, tools (including writing), and artifacts of their lifestyle. The color scheme is a rich blue and green that contrasts the carefully manicured and maintained gray ground and light green cacti.

Cactus are everywhere in different shapes and sizes. It's like a dream land and walking through it, I found myself in a very quiet and pensive mood where I could just enjoy wandering among the plants. I was moved to take photos of the most unusual and most complex cacti.

We hopped back on the bus and headed toward the northern part of the Medina. Yesterday, we were in the southern part. Half a million people live in the Medina and 1 million others live in the new town and suburbs of Marrakech. Yamni also told us that the road through the mountains that we had taken two days ago was snowed out yesterday. We would have had to go on another road that was about 60 km longer had we not escaped the snow. Lucky us! Maybe we were living under the Hand of Fatima already?

Ali Ben Youssef Medersa

center courtyard of Ali Ben Youssef Medersa

We visited the Ali Ben Youssef Medersa, once the largest and now, one of the best preserved Koranic schools in North Africa. It was established in the 14^th century. As many as 900 students studied here, and they lived in 132 bedrooms. It is a masterpiece of art and design with cedar from Lebanon, carved stucco, and Italian marble floors. While it was still operating, the mosque was open to public five times a day for prayer.  During the rest of the time it was used for classroom space where two or three teachers would sit in small groups with their students. The students used this area for study time as well.

detailed view of one of the bedroom windows from the courtyard

one of the student's bedrooms that overlooked the courtyard

Dar Menebhi Palace

courtyard of the palace

The Marrackech Museum is in the Dar Menebhi Palace, which was built at the end of the 19th century by Mehdi Menebhi. The palace was carefully restored by the Omar Benjelloun Foundation and converted into a museum in 1997. The building and its fountains were hooked up to the irrigation system built by the Almohad dynasty in the 12^th century and used until recently when the dam projects provided adequate water. The old irrigation system now feeds the gardens around here. A vizier lived here (but not the same one who lived in the Bhai Palace that we visited yesterday.) The beautiful courtyard has been visited by royalty from around the world and various art exhibitions are housed here.

According to Wikipedia (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marrakech_Museum), the house itself represents an example of classical Andalusian architecture, with fountains in the central courtyard, traditional seating areas, a hammam and intricate tile work and carvings. The museum's large atrium (originally a courtyard, now covered in glass and fabric) contains a very large centrally hung chandelier-esque ceiling piece consisting of metal plates decorated with fine geometric and epigraphic cuttings. Several features of the original courtyard, including the floor-set basins and mosaics have been retained. The museum holds exhibits of both modern and traditional Moroccan art together with fine examples of historical books, coins and pottery of Moroccan Jewish, Berber and Arab cultures.

close-up if the chandelier 

Northside of the Medina

We then visited the north side of the Medina (the older side) and walked through 11^th century streets where the "Skin Men" (they make leather from animal skins) and metal artisans work. This part of the Medina is as it was and so it is now a designated UNESCO World Heritage Site. The streets were far more narrow in this section than in the south medina and moving around people who made goods deliveries or who were passing through on their motorcycles was an experience in itself. However, there was incredibly beautiful work going on in this section.

One word about Morocco. The goods the people sell come in many varieties, but they ARE definitely quality goods and not junk.  Wholesalers come here to buy and then sell these goods all over Morocco and the world.  I'm not a shopper or a collector but there were many different things I would have liked to buy.  If I ever return to Morocco, I will spend more time and money in the souks. There are some very nice things there!!

It was lunch time and Yamni treated us to a Moroccan style lunch in the upper dining room of a restaurant. The narrow stairway (straight up and winding around what seemed to be about a yard in width) led to a dining area with tables so close together, you could smell the meal on the next table. Actually, it was here that I knew it was time for me to return home; I was feeling a little claustrophobic from all the jostling and jagging in the medina streets.  We just don't live that close together in the USA. On the other hand, our streets are not as exciting as Morocco's streets.  There are always trade-offs in life.  

I asked Yemni if he tired of the pace of life in the Medina with all the bargaining and jostling in the streets.  He said he was used to it.  After all, he (and 1.5 million other people) chose to  live in Marrakech.  While he doesn't usually partake of the Night Market for himself, he does drive his older son here so that he can meet with his friends.  Young people love the square because this is where the action is.  They also have more interest in mixing and mingling in all the excitement.  And, one other important point.  It is safe here.  While there are police around for crowd control, it is totally safe, another feature we have largely lost in our American cities--at least the feeling of safety.  Whether that is reality or not is another matter.    

Julie. Nancy and Sylvia with Gary in the background

We had a meal of a slow roasted leg of lamb on a platter with french fries (that came a little afterward) and bread. We received no plate or silverware, so we ate Moroccan style, too. (Fortunately, no one was looking to make sure we didn't eat with our left hand, and I could tear the meat apart with my fingers instead of the bread provided. So much simpler!) We were given a half sheet of newsprint paper that served as both a place mat and a napkin. Julie and I placed the bones of the meat and the pits of the olives we ate under the platter, Nancy and Sylvia placed them on the platter. By this time we have all been sick at least once and we have been traveling together for two weeks (most of them for three weeks) that we no longer cared about getting anyone else's germs.

The meat was excellent and it was spiced beautifully. Yemni suggested we put a little cumin/salt mix that was on the table, but I found the meat to be cooked perfectly, and it was delicious. Then the crowning touch, a mint tea that used sage in the green tea (with sugar) rather than the usual spearmint. This was probably the best tea of the trip.

After our delicious meal we had the afternoon off to either go shopping once again or go back to the hotel. We were to meet in the hotel lobby at 6:30 for a little meeting with dinner following.  Our bus would be there to pick us up in a half hour in the western part of the square if we chose to return to the hotel, which everyone did.  The walk back is about 2 km and taxis cost 20 dh (50 dh at night). 

I broke away from the group and just wandered in the square for the next half hour looking at the sights.  The last game of the soccer match is tonight and the Moroccan fans were pumped for the home team, which had surprisingly won against the powerful Brazilian team the other night.  They were to play Germany tonight for the championship. The fans were everywhere in the square chanting, singing, wearing green for the home team.  Their expressions of support included making body pyramids as these young men are doing.  This was an interesting aspect of the vibrant street life that exists in Marrakech--and the physical expression it takes on for the people who live here. 










At one point I heard a high-pitched sound of a flute that sounded like snake charmer music, so I followed it. The snake charmers are in the square only during the day so this was my last chance to see them. I took a few photos and then one of the men told me to give him my camera and he would take a picture of the cobra snake.  I don't like snakes and didn't want to get too close.  He suggested I move behind the snake (a safe distance) and he took a picture of me (see the photo at the top of this entry).


Suddenly, it was pay back time.  He held out his hat and asked for paper money, which was at least 20 dh. I fingered the coins in my pocket and gave him 4 dh, which was all I had left. He was not at all happy with my tip.  So I turned boldly on my heel and walked straight away with him calling “Madame, Madame” after me. Luckily for me, he didn't chase me.

This fan was not shy and he didn't charge me a tip to take his photo

I moved on toward the place where we were to meet the bus and took a few pictures of the people and the traffic that was especially jammed up today because of all the soccer fans. A few of them (these were young people) posed for me—and didn't ask for a tip. They were having too much fun getting revved up for tonight's game.

a traffic jam -- medina-style in Marrakech

I began looking for the bus—our big green and white vehicle—and finally saw it. Actually, Shafik spotted me and signaled me to get on. Then we looked for the others, who came along shortly afterward.

We returned to the hotel about 2 p.m., and most of us went to our rooms for a rest. We were to meet at 6:30 for a short meeting in the hotel lobby and then have our farewell dinner at 7 p.m. at a restaurant outside the hotel. We are trying to get there before the “hooligans” do. We will also pick up our packages with our ceramic purchases that were boxed and stored for us in the bus to take with us today. Just another OAT service that made traveling from town to town a little easier.

I am trying to finish my blogs before I leave Marrakech. I also need to pack tonight and figure out how to carry all the stuff I bought.  Fortunately, I was able to fit everything into my suitcase and my backpack.

The Last Supper

We gathered in the hotel lobby for our little meeting, which consisted of a sharing of our e-mails and some last photos.  Yemni also took this time to thank us for choosing OAT.  He  hoped we enjoyed the trip and found him a good representative of the country.  In this sense, he is truly an ambassador not of political affairs, but of helping to bring people from different countries together so that they can understand each other.  In this way, tourism and this tour specifically, did its job.  That is also the mission of this blog, too.  

I learned this lesson about tourism long ago when I first started traveling in 1984 through my fellowship with the W.K. Kellogg Foundation.  It became especially clear to me when I visited the "Soviet Union" to meet our rivals.  I had connected with our guide, Larissa, as a person.  We shared stories about our family and our own aspirations and discovered our similarities.  Our differences (language, culture, even politics) seemed minor and unimportant compared to our  humanity--especially since we were in the midst of the Chernobyl situation.  

Of course, nations strive to be strong, influential, rich, and dominant.  With such an agenda, rivalries are bound to develop and they can grow into fierce hostilities and even result in war.  I saw that clearly with the war against Iraq in 2003, which didn't have to happen.  It was a choice--and it ended in death, destruction, maimed bodies, psychological trauma, and billions and billions of dollars wasted that could have been spent on the people's needs for education, health, and development.  That's what governments do, unfortunately, as they think they are protecting the country.    

After we thanked Yemni for being such a wonderful guide and host to his country, he led us outside the hotel to board our bus. He had arranged for our farewell dinner at a fancy French restaurant in the new section of the city, Gueliz.  However, traffic was so jammed as sports fans headed toward the soccer stadium, that the bus could get no where near the hotel.  To further complicate matters, the King was scheduled to attend the match, and extra security was exercised.  Lines of soldiers covered the streets every 30 yards or so, and they would stand there before, during, and after the match as long as the King was there.  Suddenly, we saw a motorcade with flashing blue lights.  It was the King!!  So, in this way, Yamni had also provided a special chance for us to see the King.

When it became clear that the bus could not drive in front of the hotel we walked about half a mile to get to it.  (Here was another case of "thank God for cell phones."  Yamni and the drivers were in constant contact through cell phones.  It's the only way to travel.)    

When we finally arrived at the restaurant, we learned that some of the wait staff was caught in soccer traffic, too.  So service was slow and handled largely by one man.  That didn't matter, however, because we had a chance to talk with each other for the last time--and to savor our wine (on the house), our food (vegetable soup with an entree of chicken in wine sauce with a side of thin spaghetti and vegetables), and each other.  It turned out to be a perfect evening.


As we were passing through the hotel lobby, there was considerable noise coming from the bar.  I went to see what was going on.  People were watching the concluding half hour of the soccer match.  The home team was behind by 2 points--and they missed a couple of good shots to even the score.  The King was featured in his box with his attendants.  He was scheduled to give a trophy to whichever team won.  It would have been pandemonium in the stadium had the home team won.  Nevertheless, he was dignified as one would expect a king to be.  

We collected our ceramic gifts that had been stored on the bus a week ago.  Yemni had arranged this for us so that we didn't have to carry them for a week.  The packages all seemed so much bigger than we thought.  Of course, we were concerned about packing them in our suitcases and carrying them on the plane.  

Then we all retired to our rooms for the night.  It was 9:30 p.m. in Marrakech.