A quixotic journey

This last weekend Josh, Graham, my friend Matt from Khenifra and myself went to Cap des Trois Fourches, located on the tip of a peninsula 30 kilometers past the Spanish province of Mellila. It was one of my best experiences in Morocco so far. It was a quixotic journey.

We headed north last Saturday. The road to the coastal city of Nador was uneventful, which is perhaps an indicator of sorts of our cultural assimilation. In the city streets or on the highway here, taxi drivers speed with reckless abandon, making wild passes and dangerous turns that would normally make one crawl up their seat, but is now yawned upon. They are professionals. In fact, we often complain about the opposite, when our carrier drives two slow or when he fails to make a pass.

From Nador, we traveled 30 km on a windy road that hugs the coast and cuts through numerous small fishing towns, where small blue row boats carry men past the coves out into sea. Upon reaching our destination, a military lighthouse that resembled a monastery, we handed over our passports, identified ourselves and chatted up a half dozen soldiers. The lighthouse exists there to thwart contraband from coming and leaving Morocco.

We found our camping spot in a cove near the lighthouse. Anxious to swim, we jumped in the clear, cool green water with schools of fish swimming amongst the numerous reefs. Without goggles and swimming like a bear (they perform the backstroke in water, right), I didn’t see the jellyfish or kindilou lbahr (candle of the sea). I was stung once on the shoulder and still have the scar (hope its permanent). After that, we got out of the water, saw that the tide had brought in many jellies, and decided to snorkel elsewhere.

After lunch, we hiked to the other side of the lighthouse, where locals were swimming at a small beach. Of greater interest, we saw several boys jumping off a cliff probably 35 feet high. As is typical with males in a group, once together you start thinking with one brain. We all climbed up the cliff and jumped off. It wasn’t until right after I made the leap that I began to think, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” Too late for that; we yelled “Yallah” (Oh my god!) and enjoyed the free fall. Like the whole trip, this deserves seconds.

We swam and laid around the rest of the afternoon, taking turns snorkeling with our new purchase, a spear-gun. It’s amazing that just when I think I’m gaining a grasp on the world, that its strangeness and size are diminishing, an underwater ecosystem reveals itself. I say that with some naivety because I’m from centerville, but also with an appreciation for a place where humanity’s thick, crude hands have left less of a mark.

“Nature’s beauty still outshines the treasures of human invention.”

With respect for nature, we still hunted like Captain Ahab. The fish were too small and quick, with suitable fish being too deep- we need fins and a weight belt to dive down quickly for them. Graham and Josh, however, did manage to catch a couple. After I fired one time, the spear slipped off the string and I had to dive 20 feet to retrieve it where I also found a conch, but we tossed this back after the first night because of its foul smell. Catching little the first day, we were left with food rations of rice, bananas, some bread, and hot sauce. I’d like to say we could have starved, but we had a lot of rice. However, the octupi caught the following day did diversify our spread and sweetened the trip.

On the way back, we stopped at a friends house in Berkane. After showering and while the others were doing the same, I went down to the corner store to get some powder milk, hot sauce, and soy sauce; the necessities. . As I walking back, I met a man on the street that spoke some English. He said: “Hey my friend, how are you?” Good. “Why don’t you go back to Europe.” I was taken back a little because I was unprepared andthis is uncommon. After I passed him I thought I should have rebutted, “but I’m not European, I’m from America.” Now is probably not the best time for that though.

The worlds a mixed bag, not as simple as good versus evil, but its often the paradox of humanity that just when ugliness occurs, something nice, sometimes beautiful happens to lift you up and restore your faith.

Later, as we were saying goodbye to Matt at the train station in Oujda, we started ‘spinning the yarn’ (I hear some people are nostalgic for that phrase) with a porter that Graham and I have befriended. He’s a friendly, elderly gentleman that has worked at the station for over 20 years. As the train pulled in and our conversation curbed, he turned to us and said “I like Americans. You are nice and all of you speak arabic.” We believe he’s only spoke with the 5 PCV’s that have been through Oujda.

“To avoid cynicism, one must learn to recognize human error and accept it as a constant variable.”