Last year I trekked into the Moroccan Sahara desert on a very trusty camel named Aszu. In the evening, my guide, Jusef, a sixth grade educated Berber nomad, surprisingly fluent in six languages, fixed me a tantalizing chicken tangine. All that it lacked was a glass of wine, unfortunately verboten for Muslims just days before Ramadan. At night we slept under the incredible desert night skies. Never before had I seen so many stars, stretching from one horizon to the other – the stars so bright and numerous, it was difficult to make out the constellations. That was Morocco, a kaleidoscope of sights, sounds, smells, and experiences. From Morocco I traveled on through much of Europe, Russia, Mongolia, China, and finally concluding my trip in Japan. This year's trip will take me to Romania, Ukraine, Georgia, Central Asia, India, Nepal, Southwest China, and Indochina. At times I hope to report back on my experiences and observations, perhaps posting a few pictures and videos that may be of interest. I've posted below a few pictures and videos from some past trips. For my blog on my travels through East Europe check out my blog at http://tallinntovarna.blogspot.com.

I’ve been asking myself lately, is there a theme to all this? Maybe not, but one thing I can say that piques my interest, is the dangerous nexus between religion and politics that engulfs the world today. In Morocco, where the King is both the head of Mosque and State, a Muslim, during Ramadan, can end up in jail for doing nothing more than drinking a glass of water under the scorching daytime heat – his crime, the thirsty Muslim broke the fast. Imams in Morocco claim that such an abhorrent act defies the teachings of God, infringes on the religious liberties of practicing Muslims, and is deserving of serious sanction. Of course, such a violation of an individual’s personal freedom could never happen in America. Or could it? As I write this, the U.S. Catholic Bishops are ferociously attacking President Obama’s Affordable Care Act for requiring institutions to provide birth control under their insurance policies. Like the Imams, the Bishops consider it not just an affront, but an existential threat, to their religious liberties. A poor woman, without the means to support a family, let alone a brutally raped woman, should not expect any sympathy from these Catholic institutions, as they, like their Muslim brothers, are scripturally bound to impose their beliefs on others. Does it matter that no one is telling Muslims that they cannot fast or Catholics that they cannot abstain from sex?

Now that I think of it, I’d like to dedicate this blog to Americans United, a terrific nonpartisan educational organization dedicated to preserving the principle of church-state separation as the only way to ensure religious freedom. Before I move on though, I’d like to share with you this political satire piece I wrote a few months ago when Senator Rick Santorum had a chance of being the Republican nominee. It pretty much sums up my take on what a large segment of the American population would like to see should their wildest dreams come true. Finally, I begin this blog with three postings from last year’s trip just to give you an idea of who I am and what you may or may not come to expect as I embark on this year's trip. If you have something nice to say, I'd love to hear from you.

Wednesday, February 1, 2012

The Tannery in Marrakech

1 Picture 200 Dirham
It's only one o'clock and I'm glad to be off the streets and back in my riad (a small hotel, something akin to a B&B). Out there, everyone is grabbing at you, the poor and handicapped asking for alms, the street vendors selling their wares, snake charmers saying, "Go ahead, take a picture," and then saying, "You owe me 200 Dirhams ($25) and acting terribly indignant when you give them only ten Dirhams. But maybe the worst of the scoundrels are those offering directions, the one service none of us foreigners, even with maps in hand, in the maze of crooked streets and blind alleys, can do with out. I wanted to see the outdoor tannery, a disgustingly smelly place I heard, where sheep, camel, and goat  hides are prepared, died, and auctioned off to the artisans, who make the leather goods that are sold in the market place. I thought, with the help of a map, I could find it on my own, having already developed a distrust for those hanging around quick to offer directions only to ask for something in return. But even with the map, I became hopelessly lost.

 Tannery Guide?
Seeing me studying my map, a large man, yelled out, "You looking for the tannery? I show you." "No, it's okay." I responded. "Thank you. I'm sure I can find it." "You just go to the next street and turn right," he persisted, in good English. I turned away and headed in the direction he pointed. But at the intersection, there were two alleys that veered off to the right. Confused, I took the one that looked the most promising. From behind the man raced up to me and told me you must take the other alley. I thanked him and told him I could manage now. He continued to follow me from a few feet behind and when another man appeared from a side alley, he quickly jumped ahead and introduced me to the man, as someone who just happened to be going in the right direction. This man too spoke good English and said he worked at the tannery. Skeptical, I told him I could manage alone. The first man, appearing satisfied, that I was now in good hands, disappeared, giving me some degree of assurance. Should I follow this new man? After all, he was going in what I thought was the direction of the tannery.

Tannery
"You just follow me. I have to go to the tannery anyway. It's safe here. Moroccans just like to be helpful. I have family. You have family?" I let him walk ahead. We passed through some empty alleys. "Don't be afraid. Moroccans are not criminals," he shouted over his shoulder. We made several turns, and suddenly we were at the gate of the outdoor tannery. A young man greeted me and the man that led me to the tannery said, "Good bye." For a moment, I actually thought I had been overly paranoid and these guys really just wanted to help me. The young man took about twenty minutes to show me the tannery - indeed, an incredibly smelly and disgusting, but interesting, place - and then took me to an upstairs shop, where one of the artisans, using the newly tanned skins explained their process and tried to sell me a purse, a foot cushion, or whatever. I told him I had no room in my suitcase. He told me, "No problem. I just want to show you how the process works." I turned and walked down the stairs and outside, thinking that I had an unusual, but an okay experience, my paranoia, obviously unwarranted.

I started down the street when suddenly the young man from the tannery caught up with me. "Pay me 200 Dirhams for the tour." I couldn't believe his aggressiveness. He had been so friendly before. "No, I'm not paying you 200 Dirhams," I responded, but he persisted, grabbing my arm. The other man, who brought me to the tannery "miraculously" appeared. He said something to the young man in Arabic. They argued for a little while. Finally, the man turned to me, "Give him 100 Dirhams and he'll go away." Reluctantly, I handed him 100 Dirhams, thinking, after all, he did take me on a personal tour. I then proceeded to walk back the way I had come, while the man, who acted as my mediator, followed after me. We walked through a small alley without any shops or people. Again, I became paranoid and rightly so for from behind, the man came up to me and said, "Pay me for helping you." I said, "No." He persisted, and became increasingly belligerent. Suddenly, out of a dark corner, the first man, the big man, appeared. At first, he too seemed willing to help, but then it became clear his intention was to block my way.

The other man shouted at me, "Give me money." I said, "No." He said, "You Jew?" I said, "What are you?" He said, "Muslim," and grabbed me. I thought I was done. Ahead, there was an intersection with another alley. A man sauntered through the intersection. I shouted as loud as I could, "Let me go! Let me go!" The man in the intersection, stopped and looked. The man holding me let me go and the big man stepped aside. I quickly walked to the intersection. The two followed directly behind me. As I turned the corner, there were two shop owners, standing there talking. I turned to the two men following me and said, "Don't follow me!" The shop owners looked at me and then at the two men. The two men dropped their gazes and pretended to be preoccupied with something else. I returned to my riad without asking for directions from anyone.
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