An American Abroad

Archives for March 2015

Terror at the Bardo

Today I woke to the news about the terror attacks at the Bardo Museum in Tunis. Having been to the Bardo in late January, I can picture the scene there very clearly. Seeing the photos of frightened tourists sitting on the familiar ancient Roman mosaic floors brought the terror home to me.

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(Photo: Farouk Afi)

I spent the morning and early afternoon compulsively searching news sites for new information and contacting Tunisian friends and coworkers to make sure they were OK. The school I taught at, AMIDEAST Sousse, was closed for the day in light of the attacks as a precautionary measure.

My thoughts and hopes are with Tunisia tonight, the small country on the North African coast that welcomed me as a resident for seven months. When taxi drivers in Sousse would ask me what I thought of Tunisia, I would usually say that the best thing about Tunisia is Tunisians. The people I know there are no doubt horrified by what happened today and doubly disgusted that these acts of murder and savagery were committed by those who purport to carry the flag of Islam. I share their feelings.

One year ago, there was a terror attack in Kunming, China, about 70 miles north of where I was living. Like the attack on the Bardo, the Kunming attack took place in an building I had recently been in and knew well. At that time, I wrote:

I can well imagine the horror that the people at the Kunming train station felt as maniacs with two-foot knives ran through the station and indiscriminately stabbed, sliced and hacked away at innocent travelers. My heart goes out the victims and their families.

I feel the same way today about the people at the Bardo. And I hope I never have to write words like these again.

Marrakech: The Man Who Ate Too Much

Usually when my son and I go cheap when we travel together. We stay at hostels and guesthouses. We look for inexpensive restaurants where the locals eat. We take buses instead of planes. This enables to go further on our dollar and puts us in closer contact with more interesting people. We’ve met fascinating fellow travelers at the places we’ve stayed and learned a lot about local mores by people-watching at popular local restaurants.

But sometimes we splurge. And on our first night in Marrakech, we splurged on dinner at the Restaurant Dar Es Salaam. This place was made famous in Alfred Hitchcock’s 1956 film of The Man Who Knew Too Much.

The entrance was grand, a beautifully tiled stairway leading down toward a fountain.

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We headed down a hallway to the dining rooms.

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We passed by the room where Jimmy Stewart and Doris Day ate in the movie.

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Spencer and I didn’t have our dinner in that room, but the room we ate in was no less elegant.

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I ordered way too much food, a lamb dish and a chicken tagine. After I had eaten way more than I should have, the entertainment began with music.

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Then there was a belly dancer with a flaming candelabra balanced on her head.

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She was followed by another dancer.

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It was a great evening. A little touristy, a little chiché, but fun.

Marrakech at Night

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Arrival in Marrakech

I felt generationally obligated to take the train from Casablanca goin’ south.

I met up with my son, Spencer, in the Casablanca airport. It was early evening. We had planned to head to Marrakech immediately, but found we had missed the last train that night, so we bedded down for a few hours at a hotel by the station, got up at oh dark hundred, and boarded the Marrakech Express.

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The party, as usual, was on the platform between the coaches.

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Once in Marrakech, we threaded our way through the ancient medina to the Riad Layla Rouge, a wonderful hostel with a bright funky decor.

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We were here:

Once settled, we set out to see the city.

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In contrast to Tunisia, where nearly every building is painted white, nearly every building in Marrakech is colored with a hue that one could describe as rose, salmon, reddish-brown, or clay depending on the light at the time. The effect was handsome and soothing.

As we were obviously tourists, touts and shopkeepers addressed us at every turn. The medina is labyrinthine, and so some people earn tips by guiding lost travelers like us to where they want to go (ideally), or to their uncle’s rug shop (not so ideal). In general, we tolerated this environment with a smile, as if it was all just a big game of commerce. I did, to my regret, lose my temper once with a kid who refused to accept my tip of 20 dirhams (about $2) for walking us ten minutes through the medina. He demanded 100 dirhams and wouldn’t let us be. Marrakech is a major tourist destination, but one that could be even more enjoyable if its citizens dialed back their hard-sell hand-out attitudes.