Chefchaouen and the Tourist Economy and Development and Other Musings

In Chefchaouen, for the first time since my trip to the desert, I am staying in a hostel instead of a riad. Chaouen, as the locals call it, is a mountain town of about 45,000 people nestled in the Rif Range and famous for its blue houses and walkways. It's gorgeous, and the tourist presence is heavy here. Unfortunately, the universe of available hotels rooms isn't huge or particularly comfortable, and my options were limited to a mediocre hostel at $20 per night or a poorly reviewed riad at about four times the price. I figured I'd stay here cheaply and then donate the savings to my gelato fund for Rome. ;)

As a consequence of being in a hostel, though, for the first time in weeks, today I'm surrounded by Europeans, Americans, and Australians instead of Moroccans. Chefchaouen may be a small town, but it's definitely on the tourists' main drag because it's fairly easily accessible to Europe. Seeing all the Europeans and Americans is a little jarring because it's making me realize how few of them have been in any of the other places I've visited over the past few weeks. I hadn't noticed the extent to which I had sequestered myself from other foreigners recently. Most of the riads I've been staying at have been nearly empty, so it's largely been just me and the proprietors. I was the only guest in my places in Fez, Marrakesh, and Meknes, and only two rooms were occupied when I was in Essaouira, El Jadida, and Taroudant. Business has been distressingly slow for the riads, according to their owners, and I worry about them.

It's not just at the riads, either: from what I understand, despite the good turnout in Chefchaouen, tourism has dropped off dramatically in Morocco, and I have seen proof of this at the sites of major tourist attractions as well. A couple of weeks ago at Dades Gorge, a stunning canyon in the Atlas Mountains, I chatted with a guide leading my group of six through the site. Apart from about 10 people rock climbing on the far end of the gorge, hundreds of meters away, and fewer than a half dozen other tourists sprinkled far and wide, we had the place to ourselves. Our guide said that normally at this time of year, the base of the canyon is crowded with hundreds of people.

Yesterday I visited a famous old Koranic school, the Medersa Bou Inania in Fez, after reading the following in my Rough Guide: "If there is just one building you seek out in Fes--or, not to put too fine a point on it, in Morocco--this should be it." All the travel books rave about it, and I went at a peak time of day, so I thought it would be busy. Instead, I had the place entirely to myself, except for a cat snoozing in a shady corner and the guard who sold me my ticket at the front gate. You can see the pictures below--the place is deserted. The walls are covered with zellij tiles, the doors are hand-carved cedarwood, the windows are stained glass--it does live up to the Rough Guide's billing. But nobody else was there to see it.

The medina of El Jadida is on UNESCO's World Heritage Site list and the city has a fantastic beach, so you'd expect it to be crammed with tourists. When I was there I stayed in the medina and took long walks through the city and along the beach as well. I think I saw fewer than five international tourists in the four days I was there.

As I reported earlier in the week, Volubilis, one of the top attractions in the whole country, was nearly empty as well.

The economic downturn had already put quite a dent in tourism here last year, and the late April bombing in the main square in Marrakesh seems to have compounded the problem significantly. Perhaps there was some additional unease related to the "Arab spring," even though Morocco's demonstrations were very small in scale and mostly free of violence, unlike the other countries.

Whatever the cause, it adds a sobering element to traveling here right now. There are way too many merchants competing to sell to too few buyers--in Marrakesh and Fez you walk for miles through souks where Moroccans are buying bread and vegetables but you see hardly any tourists negotiating for Berber carpets or silver or leather goods. In Marrakesh, a line of horse-drawn carriages stretches longer than a city block waiting for customers, but no one is riding in them. Taxi drivers compete fiercely for the privilege of ferrying you a few miles for the equivalent of a dollar or two. Restaurant waiters plead for your business as you walk past their establishments.

Sometimes it's hard to be here because I feel so bad continually telling people, as politely as I know how, "thanks but no thanks." Unfortunately, I'm not in a position to buy much, but I do feel for the shopkeepers. Since the stalls are so small and crammed immediately adjacent to one another, a stretch of the medina 100 meters long probably has 60-80 stores, counting both sides of the street. Excepting the stalls that sell food, which are often in a separate part of the market area, the stores tend to fall into four categories: leather goods, Berber handmade carpets, silver and gold and beaded jewelry, decorative metalwork like light fixtures, and djellabas and other traditional clothing. That means that almost every business is within sight of at least a dozen competitors. The range of goods isn't terribly wide, either, so they aren't normally differentiated by quality. As I walk the equivalent of a city block in pretty much any souk, I'd estimate that I get personally addressed by 30 shopkeepers, who say very politely, "Excuse me, would you like to have a look? Just a look--no pressure. I'll give you a very good/happy/Moroccan price." And you can hear a tinge of desperation.

With so many empty stores/taxis/carriages/restaurants/internet cafes and other establishments, and with so few customers, I worry about how the workers' families are getting by. I hear and read that the mosques do a lot to help people in need, and it's also plain to see that there is an ethic of locals helping each other out. I've lost count of the number of times I've seen somebody who looks down on their luck approach a food merchant diffidently, and the merchant will hand the person a free piece of bread or a sweet or a slice of meat or whatever they happen to be selling. And it doesn't seem to be given grudgingly. A lot of people here ask for money, and often it's obvious that the person cannot work because of age or a disability. Moroccans seem to give a few dirhams at least as frequently as tourists--maybe more. Sharing with the poor and hungry is obligatory for Muslims. There is a lot of misfortune in this society, but it seems to be balanced with a great deal of empathy for people who are in difficult circumstances.

One thing about traveling alone is that it has enabled me to meet people from all walks of life: nomads to retired Moroccan oil executives to grandmothers to graduate students. I've learned so much from them. Some of them are flourishing professionally and personally. Many of them aren't. And it's the ones who aren't that have given me the most to think over.

Over the past month, I've gotten to know and befriend articulate, ambitious, intelligent, warm people here who are struggling just to get by due to circumstances well beyond their control, like drought or the decline in tourism. It's hard to reconcile the differences in my circumstances with theirs. I look at what I have and what they have, and I know the difference isn't because I'm smarter than they are or because I'm willing to work harder than they are. I was the lottery winner. I was born in a place where I had access to a great education that ended up making my hard work valuable to people who could pay me very well for it. Their access to education and employment opportunities has been much different from mine, but their ability and their work ethic are as good as mine.

Two of my Moroccan friends both grew up in the desert not far from Algeria. Both described being educated by their fathers by candlelight for three or four hours each night in their tents the desert, learning to read from the Koran. One speaks 5 languages fluently and the other speaks 4. Both have excellent, if not perfect, English, though neither of them had ever taken a class in it--they learned it from tourists, one giving tours in the desert and one working in a shop on the coast. I've been working with a teacher and stacks of books and other resources for two and a half years to learn Arabic, their language, and I am just beginning to make sense of it. Their abilities, what they have accomplished, absolutely baffles me.

When I think about how much they are capable of in comparison to what their jobs ask of them, it makes me wonder what would become of Morocco if it were possible to harness more of its human capacity. Of course, it'd be impossible to go far down that road without doing serious damage to traditional Moroccan culture. Think about how expanding professional opportunities for women would change their families, for instance; or how people would cope with sacrifices considered commonplace in other countries, such as relocating cities for professional reasons, leaving extended families behind. I do think there are plenty of young people who would gladly chuck many of the social strictures that play a role in holding back Morocco's development. However, I sense that these progressives are in the small minority, and that most people highly value Morocco's traditional Islamic, Berber/Arab identity and would oppose change that would upset the traditional organization of the family and community. Development comes at a high cost, sometimes too high. But as young people are growing up increasingly exposed to outside influences, I wonder whether development and change will start to accelerate from within Morocco. If it does, it will be interesting to see whether they can make it work in a way that's copacetic with their culture.

Anyway, when I reflect on the past month, I haven't just learned about Morocco--Morocco has taught me about myself. In particular, it has given me a completely fresh perspective on my own good fortune as an American and as a woman, and I expect to keep that renewed sense of gratitude for a very long time.

Sorry this was such a meandering and disjointed post, but I'm trying to come to grips with all the things that I've done and seen and contemplated while in Morocco. There is so much to consider and reflect on, and it's still messy and confusing, just like Morocco itself. I'm not sure I'll ever really feel like I've gotten to the bottom of it, to be honest.