Around Morocco with Our Baby Girl, The How to Guide for Families

After traveling almost 2 years around the world visiting over 30 countries, Cara and I  considered ourselves proficient backpackers. So when our daughter, Abigail, came along there was no question that we would share our wanderlust with her. The first questions, when and where, came soon after her birth. We decided to wait until she was  a year old and to visit Morocco, a country we hadn’t explored but has a reputation of being “child-friendly”. More questions followed. Does she need special immunizations, how will she tolerate the flight, travel days, and heat, what equipment do we need, how are we going to carry everything (bottles, diapers, ...Abi), can we really pull this off?

Morocco has something for everyone from water sports to camel safaris, ancient roman ruins to medieval islamic cities, long beaches to long mountain trails.  With Abi, however we had cut back our normal adventurous inclinations and simplify things.  So our main goal was to enjoy the many ancient medinas across the country, soak up the culture, enjoy the beaches and find whatever adventure came our way.

Accommodation 

Riads are traditional Moroccan houses with a central court yard.  They are life savers for families.  Spacious, comfortable, and quiet, riads are a retreat of relaxation from the hectic street just outside their walls.  Most are immensely accommodating to travelers with toddlers and provide cribs.  Breakfast is the best meal for children.  In the riads breakfast is complimentary and healthy with fruit, cereal, homemade yogurt, juice and pancakes.  We tried to maintain her routine as much as possible.  The chores also became routine, washing dishes and clothes.

Food

As for food, Abi was still using formula which is available in pharmacies and larger supermarkets in the new parts of town.  Jars of baby food are also sold here but the selection is limited to Moroccan flavored beef or chicken with vegetables.  Much of Moroccan food is rather soft.  Tajines are basically stews of slowly cooked meat and vegetables easily chewed by those with little to no teeth.  Couscous is a common staple which is easily eaten by toddlers as well.  And the fruit shakes were marvelous for all.  

Equipment

We really were not sure what to bring.  There is only a limited amount that we could carry.  We brought a two week supply of baby food and several sets of utensils.   We brought only three books and a few toys for Abi, including cups and some balls, these seemed sufficient.  All across Morocco diapers were in plentiful supply, wipes less so, bring your own and use sparingly.  Stick with the name brands.  Large strollers will not negotiate busy narrow streets or fit on trains and buses.  Use a small and light umbrella stroller.  Sometimes the streets are too bumpy or hilly and a small carrier, like a baby bjorn is useful and doesn’t take too much room in the pack.  The big backpack carrier wasn’t as useful to us although it was amazing how cool our carrier kept Abi in really hot conditions.  Bring a good hat and sunscreen for everyone. Binkies, snacks, and a small toy or book are indispensable for travel days. Diapers and wipes-available, recommend using name brands as the cheaper ones are of poor quality. Always use bottled water.

Heat

The temperature in the cities was not as hot as we had expected.  The compact medinas with their thick and tall mud-brick walls are incredible air-conditioners and trap the cool night air throughout the day.  Many streets are also covered.  We even had several thunderstorms to cool things off.  The coastal towns were actually cool, especially Essaouira which had a fierce wind for several days.  So bring layers.

Traveling around

Getting from point to point was the hardest part.  The Supratour buses are good and the trains are efficient and comfortable, except sometimes the air-conditioning doesn’t work.  If you are taking a small jaunt a grand taxi is better than a bus and is  a good deal.  Taxis are good in cities, just make sure you know the right price before agreeing.  We were traveling in Morocco for 7 weeks, but if you are traveling for only 3 weeks or less we would recommend renting a car.  Use a company that can provide child seats.

Interests for Children

There were plenty of interests for Abi in Mororcco.  The beach was a big hit, it gave her confidence to walk.  She was endlessly fascinated by the multicolored lanterns and lights; and the call to prayer.  Horse rides received lots of clapping.  She loved watching the cats, which out number dogs considerably;  birds intrigued her, and well she didn’t know what to think about the poisonous snakes.  Neither did we.

Interactions

The best part about the journey were the people.  Moroccans are very family oriented and love children.  People of all ages and genders were eager to meet Abi and wiggle her feet or kiss her.  In any one day in Morocco, Abi had been kissed by more people than her first year of life in the States.  It was very sweet and genuine.

Conclusion

Our time in Morocco was exhausting with little Abi, however, our experience was overwhelmingly positive and our first of many memorable family trips.

What's to come
We will post our journey which can already be viewed on YouTube but we will also include writing and photos of the trip in the blog.

Around the World in 700 Days Teaser, Debut in Summer 2010

John and Cara spent 35 bucks on their wedding and 700 days traveling the world on their honeymoon. This is a teaser of the movie about their journey to East Africa, India, South East Asia, China, South America, Central America, and Mexico. On their channel, Cvillemac, check out over 100 videos of the honeymoon adventures as well their trip with their little baby girl Abi to Morocco and Spain. “Around the World in 700 Days” debuts in late August.

The Rich Mountain that Devours Men and Gringos Locos

My father questioned our going to Potosi, Bolovia after seeing the satellite image using Google Earth. He said it’s in the middle of nowhere, without a shred of green, and has an altitude of 4100 m. Well, Dad’s right as always. This city is in the middle of nowhere and wasn’t built because of its lovely arboreal population. But I not only wanted to see the city that grew from nothing, I wanted to see its benefactor. In 1545, the city of Potosi was built virtually overnight. Over the next twenty years, its population exploded to 100,000 making it by far the largest city in the Americas. By the 17th century it was the largest city in the world at 160,000. It imported everything from basic food supplies and construction material to Persian rugs and Chinese porcelain. All roads led to Potosi. Opulence and decadence best described Potosi at this time with gambling houses, theaters, brothels, dancehalls, richly constructed civil works buildings, magnificent mansions, and dozens of splendid churches (to absolve all sins of course). But surely it didn’t grow from nothing, Potosi grew from Cerro Rico (Rich Mountain) the richest single source of silver in the world and from it Spain and Europe were propped up nearly singled handedly . . . but at a price. Over the three centuries of colonial mining it is estimated that 9 million indigenous and African slaves were consumed in the mine or died from related diseases. Many were forced to spend up to 4 months in the mine without pay as a mita (required service to the state started by the Incas and then abused by the Spanish). The boom bubble busted after 1650 and the city and the country declined dramatically. Potosi’s population fell to 30,000 by the time of independence in 1825. The town has recovered since then and enjoys an acceptable level of prosperity at 120,000 with a youthful vibe, but is still poor by most standards. After 500 years, minerals are still extracted from the mountains, but very little in the way of mining technology and safety standards have evolved. Little has changed with one exception … it’s open for tourism. This is why we’ve come. I’m here to play miner for a day and see just how back braking life is for these Bolivians. Our tour began at the miner’s market in town where each day the miners pick up their daily supplies including coca leaves, shovels, black-tobacco cigarettes, lamps (Chinese and American) and dynamite. The Cooperatives do not provide anything for the workers and keeping dynamite in ones home is a dangerous practice as miners are often drunk and a bit crazy. Speaking of crazy, for just $2 USD you can legally buy a fuse, a stick of dynamite, and sodium nitrate. There are three types to choose from, Bolivian (the best quality, por supuesto), Argentine, and Peru (the lowest). Our group bought cigarettes, coca leaves, soda (for the miners), and five kits of explosives. We suited up in miners gear including boots, pants, over coat, hard hat and lamp (the Chinese variety). Locals yelled, “Gringos Locos”, from a speeding van as we walked onto the street in our gear. We drove up the mountain and turned off about half way up onto a dirt road. The mountain is pitted with numerous holes and has small adobe villages at their entrances (the ‘natural’ bathrooms are everywhere, watch where you step). It is completely painted in tear streaks of red and yellows from the ferrous oxide and sulfur waste. Apparently, Cerro Rico had an elevation of 5165m in the 17th century but now has an elevation of 4830m due to centuries of mining. Before we entered the mine we were shown how to make a bomb. The dynamite was taken out of the package and rolled into a green ball like Playdough. They shoved in the fuse, put it into a plastic bag with a kilo of little white beads of sodium nitrate, tied the bag into a ball, lit the fuse, and handed it to us with an enormous grin. It’s just like in the cartoons, the fuse hisses, sputters, and smokes. As we passed the bomb around to have our photo taken the enormous grins changed to worry. The miners grabbed the bombs and ran to burry them. When the fuse finally triggered the dynamite and its tiny little white beads the explosion thundered. I could feel it my chest 200m away. Our guide, Pedro, spoke incredible English laced with dark humor with a keen knowledge of Western pop culture, all learned inside the mine. His father started bringing him into the mine when he was 10, he’s currently 25 (with teeth of a 70 year old), and his grandfather continues to work in the mine at age 68 (not sure of the state of his teeth). Pedro’s first language is Quechua (the language of the Inca). With a cheek full of coca leaves we followed him, nervously, inside the mine at an elevation of 4325m (that’s about 14,300 feet for you hard headed British Units people). Work is done by hand using basic tools since the Cooperatives took over from the government in the 1980s. Men work in groups of 15 to 20, 8 hours days, 6 days a week. There are a myriad of tunnels that bore down into the depths of the mountain looking for the precious minerals that run north to south along the Cordillera.



The mine we visited has 5 levels all connected by rails and ladders. As the clearance of the shaft diminished we could feel the temperature and humidity slowly rising with each step. As we dropped from the first level to the second we had to crawl on our hands and knees passing vertical shafts that fell into the darkest depths of level 5 that even our bright head lamps couldn’t illuminate. If our Chinese lanterns failed us we would be in total darkness (should have brought the American lamps). The dust that suspended from sliding down the next level was almost intolerable as it filled and burned my lungs and sinuses. I felt the panic inside begin to rise. I could see why the miners chewed coca leaves in the mine as it helped keep my throat from being parched. By the time we made it to the third level the clearance of the shaft had increased marginally but the temperature had reached 45 deg C (113 deg F). The oppressive temperature was compounded by the unventilated stale and humid air. We were completely soaked at this time from our own sweat. Water dripped on our heads from tiny stalactite crystals and pooled between the tracks making walking a precariously slippery and mucky affair. A new and unusually bad odor wafted into my nostrils and I was told by Pedro it was arsenic gas. I pondered this news of gas frowning while following directly behind Pedro, who was walking without his lamp as his battery was nearly dead. He then abruptly stopped. Into the pitch black nothingness he stared and listened. While gasping I looked down. In the illumination of my lamp I notice small ripples in the muddy water between the rails just before Pedro came running screaming at us to turn around. I could here it now. It sounded like an old style wooden roller coaster on its first descent or even an enormous wave of water. I turned and yelled running as I encouraged my new miner friends with a hand in the back. Just as we found a small space cut slightly back from the rail to press our selves against a two ton trolley roared by us with one man hanging on the front and one hanging on the back. We would have certainly been crushed if we had not found that miniscule space. The rest of our time in the mine, which ended up being 4 plus hours total, was filled with chatting with the miners while they guzzled the soda we brought. Many looked less than 18 years old. They seemed to have an easy going attitude and were very positive about their jobs and their lot in life even though most will be dead by 45 from a mining accident, silicosis, or alcohol. As we retreated from the mine I pondered over how much easier we have it at home and how much more we tend to complain about our jobs. Nearly out of the mine, I was further reminded when I had to climb up into the roof of the tunnel with my hands bracing one side and my feet on the other arching as train of trolleys thundered a couple of feet bellow me. With blackened faces beaded with sweat the miners wished me a final “buenas” as they beamed green contorted smiles up at me, one cheek bursting with coca leaves.