15 Aug Morocco Is:
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“Marocco Is:” was written by Ithaka, and published in Water magazine for his column “Fishdaddy Chronicles”.
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Morocco is:
The land of endless
right point breaks
Morocco is:
Blue skies, sunshine,
emerald green water,
cactus, palms, rocks, dust,
sand and wild flowers,
golden dawns and
psychedelic sunsets.
Morocco is:
Mint tea with two cubes
of raw sugar
and fresh bread,
bananas, figs and dates.
Morocco is:
Roadside fairs selling
every—thing from fly-covered
lamb carcasses
to Djalabas (the local attire)
and underwear.
Morocco is:
Vast Farmland being tilled
by camel-drawn plows.
Morocco is:
Hearing the ceremonial
Muslim prayers
five times a day
from a loud speaker
of the village mosque.
Morocco is:
Getting sunburned during the day
and getting the chills at night.
Morocco is:
Anxiously awaiting your first plate
of couscous in three years
and having the rest of
your traveling companions
craving burgers
at the new McDonald’s in Agadir.
Morocco is:
A land without alcohol.
Morocco is:
Bathrooms without toilets.
Morocco is:
Goats that climb trees
and goats that eat garbage
who the get eaten by the people
who feed them the garbage.
Morocco is:
Being religiously careful
to avoid all tap water
and any questionable food;
getting sick anyway,
almost dying and missing
the best waves of the trip.
Morocco is:
Being on the beach of Tagazout
at night while the fishermen
are bringing in a huge haul
of squid
and seeing thousands
of shimmering eyes
still glowing phosphorescently
with life.
Morocco is:
Thinking your clever
for negotiating
the price of a two-pound,
raw turquoise necklace
from eighty dollars down
to fifty dollars
plus three used T-shirts
just to discover your friend
has just purchased
an identical necklace
with only two T-shirts and no money.
Morocco is:
Where old shoes,
T-shirts and towels
are worth more than
you could’ve ever imagined.
Morocco is:
Getting hassled by the cops
so frequently you learn
just the right lies
to tell them to avoid problems.
Morocco is:
Getting rocks thrown at you
by angry Safi locals.
Morocco is:
Arriving at a small village,
on the way to the mountains,
and having forty
eager school children
run up to your van –
all with outstretched hands
saying, One Dirim?.
Instead of money,
you hand a couple
of T-shirts into the crowd
almost causing riot,
as they fight over property rights.
Morocco is:
The land of beautiful women
you will never get
a chance to speak to.
Morocco Is:
The native melancholy expression.
Morocco is:
Making friends with the villagers
and getting invited
to a barbeque cave party.
Morocco is: Waiting two hours to use the village’s only phone.
Morocco is:
The land of irregular angles
and glassless windows.
Morocco is:
The inner city labyrinths of Marrakesh.
Morocco is:
Out of the way rock shops
selling giant prehistoric
sea snail fossils
as big around as truck tires.
Morocco is:
Going inland on a small day
and discovering an oasis valley.
Morocco is:
Being on a snow-capped
Atlas peak and looking
down across the desert
all the way to the Atlantic.
Looking down to our feet
in the snow and seeing
thousands of bring red lady bugs
pepper-spotting the area,
freshly brought in
with the dry smelling Sahara winds.
Morocco is:
the land of
endless right point breaks.
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