The Moroccan Dance: A Traveller’s Journey

Anita Adams: 00:00:04

Welcome to the joyful journey podcast. If you're looking for more clarity in your life, clarity of purpose or how to activate that purpose, and you are someone who wants to operate from your highest self to be a force for good, you know this world craves, then this is the show for you. I'm Anita Adams, your host and guide to finding clarity and creating a life you love. Let's tap into our inner wisdom, access our highest self and unleash joy. As we do this, we raise our vibration and heightened the collective consciousness. And that, my friend, is the joyful journey. Let's dive in. Hey, joyful journeyer Anita Adams here your host and today I want to share a little story with you about an adventure to Morocco with my husband, Tom and my son Brennan. That taught me a few beautiful life lessons about living joyfully. So get comfortable and enjoy this ride to a foreign country. It's almost midnight when we walk out of the airport in Marrakech, the night air is warm, and Tom Brennan and I are excited about this new adventure. This trip will be completely different than anything we've experienced in a Western country. We are met by a driver who's waiting to take us to our Moroccan residence. He's friendly, welcoming and chatty as he weaves his way through the busy city with all the motorbikes zipping around some with three or four people on the bike. Oh, that's insane, I think, and apparently very common here as I see a few more heavily loaded bikes zipped by Wow. We are staying in the medina that's the old walled city where cars are not allowed. So our driver turns down a quiet street parks and gets out as to large men approach. He says something to these men and Arabic and without looking at us, these men pick up our bags and start walking towards the archway that leads into the wall the city follow, our driver instructs, they will take you to your place. We listen. putting our trust in these strangers in this strange land where we know nothing. These two big men saunter on making no attempt to communicate with us. I tried to create a connection. What a warm night I say lamely, no response. They don't speak English. And the only word I know in Arabic, which I just learned from our driver is Salam. A greeting of peace. Salam, I say one guard, that's what he feels like, looks at me over his shoulder nod slightly and continues down the narrowing road. As we are guided through the pink wall labyrinth with hardly another soul in sight. I can't help feeling a growing discomfort. Who are these men? And how do we know they are actually taking us to where we're supposed to go? But we continue to follow. And now I'm making uncomfortable idle chatter with my family as a form of distraction. Ooh, look at all the cats. They're everywhere. I bet the street really comes alive during the day. I wonder what those hooks are for. Eventually, our guards stopped in front of a heavy wooden door with a cast iron knocker. They wrap on it and we all wait in silence. When the door finally swings open, we are greeted by a young man with kind eyes and a big welcoming smile. Come in come in he Bekins relief floods my body as our bags are unceremoniously deposited by the door and our guards slip away into the night. Quickly forgetting these men I turn and take in the splendor of what will be our new home for the next few days. Is place beautiful. So Riyadh which which is a traditional Moroccan home or palace that has an indoor garden or courtyard. There were four guestrooms in this Riyadh with a communal rooftop dining and lounge area. It's absolutely delightful. And so is our private room with three single beds. I'm in love with this charming place. The next morning we are excited to head out into the walled city we are certain it will have transformed from the night before gtid Has our host tells us we may Just walk single file down the streets, and we soon discover why there is an equal number of motorbikes to pedestrians and the motorists aren't holding back they quickly weave between and around people coming so close one misstep could easily get you run over or bounced out of the way. mixed into the throng are donkeys carrying carts with stacks of who knows what shopkeepers are standing in front of their tiny stores vying for your your attention and beckoning you to buy their wares? The smells in the air are rich, I pick up hints of cumin Tumeric saffron, and something floral I can't put my finger on. It reminds me of my grandma and a peaceful time playing in her garden. There are other smells too unpleasant smells something pungent and unfamiliar. All of these scents mixing together some rising above others as we wind our way through the Medina. We turned down one street and a man stops us Oh no, not that way. He says you don't want to go down there. You want to go to the tannery? That is where you will experience something really unique. I tell you which way to go. I do this as a gift to you free of charge. That should have been our first warning to go the other direction. He then sees a young boy walking by and calls out to him saying something in Arabic. This is Abdul he tells us as the boy approaches. He's heading towards the tannery and will kindly show show you the way. Oh, all right. We think why not. And we follow Abdul. As a duel leads us further and further away from the busy center of the medina I find myself again, wondering about the safety of this choice of following a complete stranger. It feels alright though, even if it is a bit uncomfortable. I realize there is always a certain degree of risk one takes when traveling. This is a calculated risk. I tell myself, one that will likely only involve having to pay someone something for a tour. That's to be expected. And I'm alright with that. As we approach the tannery door another man steps forward and thrusts a bunch of mince leaves in my hand face mask. He says at first I'm not sure what he means until I stepped through the door and I'm hit by the smell ah, facemask. I pull the fresh mint leaves to my nose and take in a breath. It doesn't completely cover the smell of rotting carcasses. But it helps. I realized that smell of decay is what I picked up earlier mixed in with the sweet fragrance of spice and floral. The young boy who led us here looks up at me expectantly, and I hand him 200 Derome, which is roughly three Canadian dollars and dual quickly slips away, no doubt to find his next target. As we are taking in this strange environment, we are standing inside a building with no roof and large holes in the floor. Another man approaches and beckons us to follow. He leads us along the pitted floor where the hides are being dyed grays, blues, purples and mustard yellow. Each pit is another coloring bath for the goat and camo hides. There are also small rooms off to the side where more men are working, stripping the hides and preparing them for the colored baths. I bring the Maple Leafs to my nose again and take another filtered breath. When we finish the tannery tour our guide leads us out the door and back into the labyrinth of the medina to one of the shops.

Anita Adams: 00:09:12

Now we are expected to buy something I see how this works. Once in the store. I try to give our guides some Derome but he declines. That's interesting. I think perhaps the shop owner gives him a commission. It happens Brennan was planning on buying a shoulder bag so we feel all right about spending some money in the shop to find the right item. The shopkeeper is is honest fairly quickly, all smiles and eager to assist. He brings us to a private back room and says Sit Sit. I will now bring the rugs for you to see. Oh dear. We better nip this one in the bud pretty quick. We don't want to buy a rug. I tell the shopkeeper my son would like to buy a bag though. Ah yes as a shopkeeper turning to I Brennan Let me show show you our beautiful leather jackets. I have the perfect one for you young man try this one on. He says no, that's That's all right, says Ben. It's too hot tie on a jacket and I really just want to look at the bags. Very well this way. While Brennan is looking at bags, I find something I like to a pair of wraparound Moroccan pants. They look super comfy and sexy. I want to pair How much for the pants. I ask wait. The shopkeeper tells me we will discuss after refine the bag for your son. It will be a negotiation then I realize I suck at negotiating. That is way out of my comfort zone. But I want these pants. Brennan settles on the bag he wants and we are led back into that private side room. The shopkeeper pulls out a calculator and types in some numbers. This is the deal I can give you for the bag and the pants. It's a very good price. He assures me Yeah, sure it is I think I tried to do the calculations in my head to figure out what it would would cost in euros or Canadian dollars. I'm flustered trying to do the math while this shopkeeper rattles on behind me about this being such a good deal. I can't seem to grasp what the price is in a currency I'm familiar with. But I am certain he is asking well above when I'm willing to pay. So I say the most I want to spend is 60 euros Oh no, no, I can't do that. That's that's too low. You're asking a lot more than I want to pay. I say well, what will you pay mme? 60 euros. I repeat. No, no, I can't do that. Looks like this is it then I think negotiations over probably a good thing. I get up to go. I'll give you both the pants and the bag for 100 euros. The shopkeeper says as we are making our way out the door. No, that's still too much for us. Tell me what you will pay. Madam. I already told you. I don't want to go over 60 euros. All right. I'll give them to you both for 70 euros. I agree. Tom gives me an irritated look. By this point he just wants to get out of that store. I really want those pants. 70 euros is just over 100 Canadian. That feels about right for a beautiful leather bag and pants. I suspect the shopkeeper still gets a good price, but it's a fair price for us to I'm feeling relatively pleased with myself as we're heading out the door as I finally realized the shopkeeper came down more than half what he initially asked. Maybe I'm not too bad at this negotiating thing after all. Then our tannery tour guide and two other guys stepped in front of us stopping us in our path. Clearly, they have been waiting for us. The hair on the back of my neck rises. This doesn't feel right. One man says something aggressively. You need to pay my friend for the tour. I tried to pay when we were in the shop, I reply. Our tour guide shrugs. And his big friend says with a more intimidating tone. You pay him now. I pull out the Derome from my pocket that I had tried to give the guide earlier. He takes it and the friend growls that's not enough. You pay him more. What? No, that's all I'm giving you I say as firmly as possible as my insides are turning into anxious knots. Is this gonna turn ugly? The three men start speaking Arabic and I say with as much confidence as possible. That's all we can give you. Thank you for the tour. Have a great day. And with that we turn and walk away. My heart is pounding. I'm worried they might be following us or harass us. But they leave us alone as we move further into the crowded street. As we turn another corner in the labyrinth we all breathe with a bit more ease. That was hugely uncomfortable. And we are all rattled. And now we are feeling angry. Like we have just been played that we've been taken for fools did we get ripped off? The further we move away from the tannery district, our nerves and those accompanying negative feelings begin to fade as uncomfortable and unnerving as that whole experience was. We are pleased with our purchases and feel the price we paid was fair. We didn't get a great deal but we didn't get ripped off either. We paid our tour guys what we felt was fair to. Although we feel fine about the outcome, we tell each other we will not be fooled into taking any more unsolicited tours. We'll be wiser the next time we head out into the fray. A mere few hours later after our midday nap. We're out in the medina exploring again. We are barely 10 minutes into this evening stroll when a pregnant woman grabs my arm, firmly holds it and begins painting an elaborate design in brown ink. Oh, no, no, no, that's all right. No, no, thanks. Thanks. I stammer. This is a gift to you, madam. Tell me where are you from? Canada. I sigh ah, must be cold there. She says as she continues to paint up my arm are full firmly holding my wrist. Come Come have a seat. Know that that's okay. But she pulls me along and practically pushes me on a stool all while cooling softly about the pretty design she's making and how it will bring me happy sex into my life. Is this your husband? She asked. Yes. And my son. Another woman comes and grabs Brennan and starts her elaborate paint workup his arm and mesmerized by the Hannah design my pregnant gal is making and how quickly she works. It's actually quite beautiful. Okay, we are done. She suddenly announces this is how much this design cost. And she shows me a book with the price 1000 Derome. What? That's 100 euros, almost 150 Canadian dollars. I'm commute computing conversions much faster now. But you pay what you want. She tells me oh my god, I can't believe this has happening again. So soon after our experience this afternoon. Do we have fools written across our foreheads. We give her 300 Dirham and she shakes her head as she takes the money from my head. That's not enough. She says you must pay 800 Dirham even though she had just said I can pay what I want. And she previously said this was a gift. I didn't ask you to paint my arm. You grabbed me and just started painting. I tell her we will give you 300 durum and that's it. I am pregnant you must give me 800 No, this is all we will give you. Then she smiles, kindly smiles and we walk away. That smile was something that catches me off guard.