The trip to Morocco's imperial cities and beyond was organized through a British tour agency (Explore!), lasted two weeks, comprised 20 travelers (Welsh, Scots, Irish, English plus 2 from British Columbia and a lone American--me!), and was led by a charming Berber fellow named Aziz. In addition, we had a coach driver Driss and a security aide Hassan. Aziz coped admirably with questions both serious and silly, and gradually became accustomed to an onslaught of teasing. He had bird and plant reference books aboard as well as providing us with relevant maps and guide sheets as we went to various places. He also got used to our desultory attention to his announcement of times--we moved rather rapidly to a Moroccan interpretation of his 30-minute stops! Driss proved a jovial fellow and one of the most competent drivers I've ever encountered, with fortunate attribute of fast reflexes. Hassan, always smiling, helped us aboard, cleaned the coach, struggled with our luggage, and even slept in our coach to protect the belongings we haphazardly stowed or dropped. In addition to these three, we had local guides at each of our major stops--ranging from ones who gave rote memorizations of information to some who were exceptionally articulate and erudite. Having access to this variety of personalities and viewpoints was a big plus on the trip.

The participants ranged in ages from about 30 to 75 and were a mix of vocations and avocations, including pharmacists, chemists, retired school teachers, amateur-but-knowledgable botanists and geologists, auto mechanics, preschool teachers, art gallery/museum curators, fundraisers, urbanites, country folk, archaeologists, social workers, health care professionals, amateur theater actors, writers, and so on ... with not a sour apple in the bunch. (Whew!) After the initial what do you do and where are you from chatter (most of which was promptly forgotten and had to be revisited again and again to make it stick in our brain cells), things were quite convivial. Certainly we shared and were democratic ... right down to the virulent gastric upset bug that mysteriously struck us down, one by one, in no apparent logical order nor from any identifiable common cause throughout the 2 weeks. My travel mate and roommate was Mary Snowman, a long-time friend known from Colby and Edinburgh days--she and I went to Edinburgh the same year, but she stayed and became a British citizen. We'd not seen each other since 1979, though we've corresponded, so there was lots to catch up on.

In broad brush terms, some elements about Morocco really stood out:

The weather was not nearly as warm and balmy as I expected; in some places the lightweights among us were nearly blown off mountains and cliffs (I, of course, was safe from that fate!).

The diversity of landscapes/scenery is incredible -- from vividly green agricultural pockets to red-gold desert sands to snow-capped high mountains. Olive trees proliferate, as do date palms; the males of the latter sporting their tall plumes of pollen this time of year.

Construction is going on nearly everywhere, particularly in cities, as Morocco has recognized its tourism potential and set a target of 10 million tourists annually by 2010.

The roadsides and fields are cleaner than many places I have traveled -- including outback Australia (where verges are often thick with discarded beer cans) or Queens, New York's expressways (where litter is rampant). No rusted out vehicles pushed into brush and gullies, little but wisps of plastic caught in some of fences ... really cleaned up. And the roadways themselves are in excellent condition--well-engineered and banked, smoothly paved. Much of the country is laden with limestone and volcanic rock, which has led to some very beautiful stonework in walls bordering the cleared fields.

It is easy to succumb to sensory overload--scents, colors, noise--especially in places like Fez or Marrakech markets.

Traffic is far more orderly than initially anticipated, even with roadway space under heavy competition from trucks, cars, tour buses, donkey carts, bicycles, and hordes of 2-cycle motorbikes and scooters...not to mention the pedestrians!

Stairs! Steps! And more stairs! Hotels (which varied in standard but were all quite acceptable and some were quite posh compared to where I often stay when traveling) often had no elevators, but rooms were three or four flights up. We always had an 'ensuite' bathroom which was great. Restaurants were also often UP. And towns built on hillsides meant lots of steps in the narrow pathways to get to sights. I think we walked between 2 and 5 miles each and every day but one; I wore my pedometer some of time, but forgot it on other days.

The cuisine is less exotic and varied than I expected ... although tajines, couscous, kebabs, etc. are staples. A big surprise was the lack of goat and sheep cheeses; in fact, most of the cheese we encountered was imported -- of the edam and gouda types. The olives are delicious ... plates of several varieties, green and black, are served before nearly every dinner; enticingly spiced and oiled, they beat out any olives I've ever eaten elsewhere. The dates are also fantastic; the country grows 45 different varieties. And we reveled in the freshly squeezed orange juice every morning. The French influence on bread is obvious, with most being white loaves, often baguettes; occasionally we had a chewier flat bread on offer.

Whether on walks or riding on the coach, stops in seemingly remote and vacant areas were never lonely long--someone would almost immediately materialize--right out of the rocks and streams it seemed!!--with scarves or fossils or rugs or beaded jewelry for sale.

A real plus were the visits to actual working places: tannery, marble workshop, pottery, olive oil press, argan oil extraction women's cooperative, Berber pharmacy, silk-dying workshop, rug makers' and weavers' workshops, woodworkers' and metal workers' shops, and the like. We also visited a center where handicapped young people are being given instruction as artisans and crafters.

The decorative arts--in brass, on doors, in tilework, in wood, in stucco and plaster, in stained glass, on fabrics and rugs--were intricate and the designs amazing ... and appeared not just on tombs and in palaces, but at residences and workplaces.

Because the French administered Morocco a long time, French is as widely known and spoken as Arabic with signs and menus in both--a real boon for those of us who have wrestled with, but never really learned, Arabic script. In large regions of the country, at least one of the three main Berber languages is also prevalent.

Overall, it really took me back to the years we lived in Yemen ... huge differences in many details, but many resemblances: minarets galore and the muezzin's call to prayers, people's garb, adobe buildings of soft earthy sandstone colors, cultivated terraces down hillsides, ingenious irrigation systems, pungent spice market smells, ever present shepherds and flocks, heaven's stars unblighted by urban light polution, massive wooden doors, the constant recyling to new uses of every bit of metal or empty bottle, silver filigree, children's huge dark eyes, fountains and ablution blocks, tasty ground lamb concoctions, flat breads, tea served in little glasses, rows and rows of small shops, the intense interest in and competition of soccer, the many international organizations involved in issues from agriculture to historic preservation, and the ever-surrounding sense of ancient history, ancient spirits, tribal customs and tensions ... centuries and centuries of traditions and life's songs.