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Morocco: Marriage of Old and New
Anyone desiring an adventure in a foreign land should consider
Morocco in northwest Africa. The marriage of old and new gives
depth and interest to a visit.
The vista from the water appears as if from the Arabian Nights
with sand dunes casting shadows in the moonlight as the ocean
laps on the white beaches. Ancient towns drowse in the African
sun as robed men and women travel by foot, by donkey, or by car.
Europeans and Americans pass by in late model vehicles.
Morocco's combination of the most modern life with the most
ancient of entities fascinates, interests, and excites me as I
travel.
The sun causes the city to shine like a pearl nestled by the
Atlantic. Casablanca (which means white house), the gateway to
Morocco, meets the eyes first in this place of adventure and
beauty. From the contemporary, busy harbor to the center of the
city, swarm multicolored, diversely dressed people. A flock of
bright-hued, short-skirted girls with long hair flying clack by
in their chunky heels. Behind glides a somber group of burnoosed
Fatima faces veiled and mysterious. A young Frenchman, in the
latest style, saunters by a beggar in robe and dirt. A
half-naked toddler, all dark eyes and watery sores, stares at
another child dressed in clean clothes riding in a stroller. In
the midst of the metropolis, I visit moderately tall high-rise
buildings and many of the latest stores. Then after a short walk
or ride in any direction, I discover lovely old villas arrayed
in yellows, reds, blues, greens -- all flowers and plants.
Tucked in here and pushed in there, dirty and cramped stores
attract my attention. A little farther away stand shacks of
straw, cardboard, mud, or tin, where misery, filth, and poverty
of unbelievable depth live. The contrast between the rich being
so rich and the poor being so poor shocks me.
When I leave the city, a modern ribbon of asphalt runs into
fog-wrapped foothills. Along the roadside, a native man upon his
donkey
rides before the less-than-animal woman trudging behind.
A dark-faced man with a smile-flash of white tries to take all
the road with one small bicycle. A European whizzes by in a
bug-like car; a limousine, chauffeur driven, majestically rolls
past bearing a powerful sheik.
In towns or cities, such as Marrakech, easily accessed
commercial areas provide for business needs. Behind low walls,
villas or modest homes line wide boulevards. Along narrow
winding streets that cars cannot maneuver, doors from windowless
houses open directly onto the roadway. The dwellings abut each
other, closely packed side by side. Children run chasing and
kicking a ball, as veiled women return from market carrying the
day's needs in net bags or in bundles upon their heads.
Beyond the town boundaries, a donkey and a camel yoked together
plow a field. The camel will not cooperate; the donkey has to
turn him. In the field next door, an American-made tractor does
the work in much less time.
Here and there small settlements break the skyline with most of
the huts made of wood, mud, or tin; the out-buildings, of straw.
Occasionally a more affluent home of stone, built around an open
courtyard, appears. Little beauty such as flowers or trees
brighten the outside of the drab humble "home." In Morocco exist
the wealthy and the indigent; but even more evident are the
modern and the ancient ways. The rich, the poor, the old, and
the new bring a flavor of enchantment to a country of Arabian
Night mystery.
About the author:
Vivian Gilbert Zabel taught English, composition, and creative
writing for twenty-five years, honing her skills as she studied
and taught. She is an author on http://www.Writing.Com/, a site
for Writers, and her
portfolio is http://www.Writing.Com/authors/vzabel. Her books,
Hidden Lies and Other Storied and Walking the
Earth, can be found through Barnes and Noble or Amazon.com.
