The rather matriarchal group of six Gertrude Bells and one Lawrence of Arabia, led by Mrs. Duffy, left the ISH on foot heading for Schiphol on the 10th of July, 2009. No research or travel book could have prepared us for the incredible journey that lay ahead, let alone the Lonely Planet guidebook (which we anxiously devoured once we were there). After a long plane and bus ride we finally arrived in Marrakech, one of the main cities in Morocco, where we were instantly overwhelmed by the different aspects of Moroccan culture. After several hours of roaming over the fascinating market square of Marrakech we armed ourselves with anti-bacterial hand soap and sat down at what one could perhaps call an open food stand.Our weaker immune systems made it rather hard to fit in as we were advised as tourists to avoid any water offered and with that any vegetables or salads that might be washed with it. Instead we had the lovely option of iodinated water, which will, for years to come, remain a revolting memory for our taste buds. The passing around of the bottles of anti-bacterial hand soap became more of a ritual than a necessity at times. However, this was only the first day. Our experience was yet to become even more exciting.
After Marrakech we left for the mountains and spent three days painting a school for Berber children in a very remote area, which required us to walk an hour each day to get there. The shock of how appalling the condition of the two-classroom school was only half as shocking as our painting talents. We must’ve appeared so helpless because our daily observers from the local village had, without our knowing of it, called in the help of a painter from another nearby town who excitedly showed ‘those Europeans’ how it was done. We slowly got the hang of the painting, which ended up being a very intensive activity. The end result was amazing and a lot of local school children came to admire the flowers and the red sun we had decorated the freshly painted walls with. It was truly a very rewarding day.
The next two days would be spent climbing in the mountains where we endured one night in a tent. The tracking was indeed a mental challenge for everyone as it was around 35 Degrees Centigrade throughout the day and many fears had to be faced ranging from ants and frogs to wild dogs on leashes and angry-looking Moroccan cows. What made these two days bearable was definitely the warmth and openness of the Moroccan people. We stayed in their villages, in their houses, ate their food, practiced our French with them, and played with their children, which really enabled us to experience their way of living and feel less like the average tourist in an unknown country. We also had an amazingly friendly Moroccan guide, Omar, who treated us like equals and encouraged us to engage and ask more questions about Morocco. Some of us even managed to learn several Arabic words, which evoked surprised and confused faces amongst the locals due to the possibly very bad pronunciations.
Truly remarkable, however, was the realisation how fortunate we are in the Netherlands to have the quality of life that we have and how much is really taken for granted. I have never been so surprised in my life to see a toilet flush automatically at Schiphol airport as the day we returned from Morocco. And that is something that I hope will always stay in the forefronts of our minds.