Our first morning in Morocco was decidedly chilly. We woke up to a calm Atlantic, and the kids and I decided to check out the water. It turned out that our hotel was perched up much higher in the sand than it appeared–we had to run down 3 or 4 stories worth of cold dune before we got to the even colder water. There was a good bit of construction debris on the deserted beach, so we had to pick our way carefully.
Breakfast was Isaac’s favorite–Moroccans have adapted many French breads to their own customs, and we ate large, crispy, fried crepes with marmalade and soft cheese, accompanied by the typical sweet, hot mint tea that everyone drinks here. We clambered back into our van for a day of strawberry sight-seeing.
I was amazed and proud of the kids: nothing about our two days of strawberry touring was remotely kid-friendly (except for the fact that we were mostly outside, so there was room to run). Most of the conversation was in Spanish–most strawberry growers are expats from Spain, just to add to the cultural and linguistic mix–and there was a lot of standing in the sunny high tunnels, holding various berry varieties and analyzing micronutrients and growing strategies. But these kids feel invested: this is the family business, and they’ve asked a lot of questions over this trip, trying to understand more about Vance’s work overseas. Then they’re off, playing tag in the tunnels and finding wildflowers in the hedges.
I was amazed to watch the laborers at work. The women in the processing warehouse were slicing the tops of the strawberries for IQF freezing. I fumbled through my atrophied French and 2 words of Arabic to watch their “champion” process berries at an incredible rate. Of course, all the women in the shed softened and smiled when they saw Eve and Claire edge their way in. We went through a lot of trouble to get visas and tickets for this trip, but children are the real passport to the world.
The pickers in the field wear incredible, hot-looking, tufted hats. Many bend over to put the flat on their back, and then toss the berries up behind them. I can’t imagine picking like that for hours. The foreman said that the women were the best workers, and it was certainly true from what I saw. As we drove through the city of Kenitra, we passed cafe after cafe filled with men sitting silently, watching the street, smoking a cigarette or drinking a cup of tea. Not a woman in sight, and no work in sight. It was bewildering and consistent.
After 2 days of strawberry fields, we were all ready for a change of pace…it was time to drive though the Atlas Mountains to Fes.
Wonder and Wander 