It is 1993, when the American political scientist Samuel Huntington for in an article in the Foreign Affairs his thesis about formulates the Clash of Civilizations, the clash of civilizations: After the Cold War the world would dominated by the clash of the great civilizations of mankind: the West, the Eastern Orthodox, Islam, Latin America, India, China and Japan. In the years that followed Huntington's controversial position that his prophecy come true appear in many parts of depressing way: in the Yugoslav and Kosovo wars were the three civilizations compared to many other hotspots of the world were and are up to the last marked by the violent confrontation between the West and Islam. For me it was my first trip to an Arab country, not by fighting, but it crossed some cramps.
Marrakesh
My journey begins in mid-May when I had three weeks alone in Morocco prefer to warm up, as a test run for the "real" world tour that will take me after that to South Africa and then lead to Latin America. Have I knew not about Morocco: Arab, Muslim, under not too long before English, modified under French colonial rule, a kingdom, poor, not dirt poor, and full of adventure and danger.
The first week is spent in Marrakesh, in a hostel right in the old town. Hot, loud, hectic, dusty. During the day I stroll through the narrow streets, walk past their stores, the Grillstaenden, the snake charmers and beggars. At first, I am still amazed at how I can move unmolested as a tourist in this city, in which a man from the west at least as conspicuous as a white cracker in the Housing Projects of Harlem, New York City. But my skin is thick, and I defend the seemingly few attempts by the locals, me all kinds of things for money to palm, yet relaxed and friendly to me. Then the first spasm of Civilizations: A few days later I'll feel like a walking euro symbol that every minute, every second is sometimes harassed follows from its environment that it is very often already bordering on coercion. Children selling chewing gum or just want to make money Teppichverkaeufer, Saftverkaeufer, Bauchtaenzer, restaurant and hotel tractors, drug dealers, "helper", the homeless, street musicians, young and old, poor and not poor me to whistle, yell at me, "Mon ami, ca va, my friend, where are you from, where are you going ", in my way, take me by the arm, chains hang me, even live snakes around their necks to follow me, follow me, ask for payment for something I did not ask, do not want. I realize there are a lot of poverty, but neither am I responsible for them, nor can very much against them.
start but a love story and do not necessarily love at first sight. My trip took me to fabulous and memorable highlights such as the evenings at Jamaa El Fna, the main square of Marrakesh. Here people spend their evenings in Morocco, eat, enjoy themselves at the stands of jugglers and dancers. Then again, a spasm, the women are missing, as far as the eye, just begging to pull over at this time of the court, mostly on the shoulders a small child. Even during the day, they rarely get to face, in every workshop, in any business, in barely a cafe a woman works. If some of them still reside in the city streets, it was usually hidden behind veils. Although: there are also many young women who do not follow the strict Islamic dress code, and they go unchallenged its responsibilities under, as well as young couples that are adjacent to the park furtively hold hands.
The Toubkal
After a few days I'll be on my way south, toward the Atlasgebirgens. My vision: the Toubkal, Morocco's highest mountain on his sign board. I arrive in the mountain town of Imlil, to around 1,700 meters altitude location, and wants me and my backpack in tow, the host closest village to spend the night there. Unfortunately, the information is correct in my guide books not quite, I marched past the village and realize an hour late that I missed my goal already and am now forced to ask in a small Berber village of only 20 men after disembarking. The people there scare a family of cats and a lodge and offer me to sleep in their place there. It is very cold, smells Tierfaekalien, and is overpriced, but I have no other choice.
After a few hours of sleep I break Early morning on the summit. My goal is the Toubkal Refuge, Located at 3,200 m base camp of Mt. After two and a half hours I'm in there, still all my luggage on the back. I do not feel tired and therefore decide to forgo a further overnight and the peak immediately to attack. I take only the essentials: Make a small backpack ski school in 1994, a liter of water, a rain jacket, chocolate bars. It is already around 10.00 clock, when I meet on the steep trail hikers who have climbed the summit: English, Americans with high-tech equipment, Gore Tex, hiking boots, mountain guides and Hikingstoecken. I think nothing of it, but is balanced with my alleged deficiencies lead to stoasteirischer Gelaendeerfahrung to be able to. According to my guide books should be mighty Toubkal conquered the island for two and a half hours. Three and a half hours later
sees my position like this: I am completely exhausted, had no water, no food, I am alone, lost their way and do not know how I up, nor how to back down. Some calls to other hikers remain unheard. I remember how many times I have laughed about German tourists who have come to Austria in Bergnot. Only were the ever so intelligent, get in a country in Bergnot in which the touch of a Handyruf, summon within ten minutes the helicopter to rescue the mountain for a panoramic flight. Here in North Africa but it does the not, and I'm already a bit desperate. I also take a few pictures of my surroundings, to convey to posterity a sense of where I spent my last hours ...
Some kick prayers to God and all verstorbenenen relatives but then later I bring to the force, at least to rise again. I find the way back and come after two more hours of sun burnt, thirsty and back with numerous abrasions on the arms and legs to the base camp. I swear, that damn mountain can now ten years too long in silence and as quickly as possible to leave, and friendlier climes.
I'm Not 16 hours later at the highest peak in North Africa, at 4176 meters above sea level.
What happens in between: I get a German doctor know that recovers within a few minutes my broken morale and tells me: "Jack, at six stand you already, I'll get a mountain guide, I'll get you Nordic walking poles to with Rauf marching, and I'll give you a few HOMEOPATHIC tablets that you take when you are exhausted, which give you a boost, and then you'll make it anyway. "I wonder just what the good woman for seven years at the University of studied, and then still believe in magic, follow their advice but finally won a night and a half hours later, consistent walk my miracle is accomplished. I stand at the summit, look at Africa, the Sahara down. So far I had not managed even a 3000 - it's an incredible feeling, especially after I had resigned myself to the failure already.
Essauira
After this huge adventure for me, am I tired, and look forward to a few days in the Atlantic Ocean beach and Essaouira. Without stopping once I climb from base camp at 3,200 meters up to Imlil from 1700 meters and take a taxi back to the node to Marrakesh. The taxis in Morocco depart only when they are full. Fully does not mean that in the old Mercedes-folds five people sit down, far from it. Including me and the driver are eleven people in this old companions that with excessive speed races down the poorly paved mountain road. First four in the series, four in the second, three in the trunk. Even the left of the driver is someone! The next spasm is noticeable in the stomach against. I imagine, betting candidate in "Wetten, dass ..?" To be: "I can manage to heat up with ten other lunatics full business from the Atlas mountains to Marrakesh, in an unroadworthy car without seat belts and with bad brakes, with a possibly under the influence of drugs available driver, without looking at me shit all the way to rotten. "
I expect from an excellent opportunity! I'm about to run and lay the next few days more oder weniger unbewegt im heissen Sand von Essaouria und lasse es mir gut gehen. Der Betreiber meiner Herberge ist ein recht unterhaltsamer Kerl. Er begruesst mich mit den Worten, „Come in, have a whisky, we are all alcoholics here, why aren't you drinking yet?" Der gute Mann bietet der Runde auch exotischere Rauschmittel an: „Come here, have some opium, and you will fly for two days!" Ein Moslem aus England nimmt das Angebot an und braut sich einen Opiumtee. Er meint, er tue das, weil Alkoholgenuss seinem Glauben nach ja verboten sei – so zieht er sich halt ein bissl Opium rein. Da sage noch jemand, der Islam werde zu streng interpretiert!
Fes und Ouzud
Meine naechste Station: Die Stadt Fes, einige hundert Kilometer noerdlich von Marrakesh gelegen. Ich treffe ein amerikanisches Paerchen, mit dem ich ein paar Tage an diesem geheimnisvollen Ort verbringe, und besuche mit dem Mann spaetabends ein Hammam, in dem mich ein riesiger arabischer Bademeister im Stockdunkeln ueber den feuchtheissen Fliesenboden schleift, mich einseift und waescht wie ein Kind, und mich am Ende zusammenfaltet wie einen Klappsessel. Ich schreie vor Schmerzen wie ein kleines Maedchen, er meint, dass sei eine ganz normale Massage.
Wir lernen im Hammam einen jungen Burschen kennen, der sich als Drogendealer vorstellt. Er sei selber nicht stolz darauf, aber so muesse er weniger Arbeiten als seine Freunde, und auch nicht in der Gerberei schuften, in dem alle seine Related work. He offers us, to lead the next day a few hours through the city, which he does indeed, without demanding something in return or are committed to a kind of consumption. After the guided tour through the stinking tannery I understand why he prefers to stand vercheckt Marhihuana and opium to tourists than in the whole day in a disgusting soup and wash Schafshaeute.
My last stop in Morocco will be the falls of Ouzud. brings a night bus from Fes me unfortunately in the wrong town, and I have no other choice but to take a taxi spaetnachts alone. I have the last dinner in Fez probably caught something, and makes a further seizure of Civilizations sich in meiner Darmgegend bemerkbar. Wie froh bin ich, dass ich die Tabletten meines Apothekers Dr. Holanik bei mir habe. Es hatte sie mir einige Wochen zuvor in seiner Spielberger Apotheke mit einem Augenzwinkern verkauft: „Die werden Sie in Marokko ganz bestimmt brauchen!" Der Taxifahrer meint, er koenne mich um umgerechnet 30 Euro an mein Ziel bringen. Das laesst mein Budget einfach nicht zu, weshalb ich mich zaehneknirschend und mit einem boesen Grummeln und Verdauungstrakt auf die Suche nach einem billigen Hotel in der Gegend mache. Der Taxifahrer laesst sich schliesslich aber doch erweichen, und bietet mir eine Fahrt fuer 15 Euro an – es wuerden ohnehin noch andere Gaeste am Weg einsteigen. Die Fahrt dauert lange, fuer diesen Preis viel zu lange, und there is simply no one at the track, which will go into our taxi. I get worst fears and expect from me that either the man drive off with my backpack, or in any other way to help me all my belongings will. It's been one and a half hours drive and covered over 100 kilometers, as I send SMS to a few friends, they should please look for me if I'm not re-sign a couple of hours. Ultimately, the good man brings me to the distant target and only asks me to give him but 20 instead of 15 €. He probably can not even pay for the gasoline, but he seems happy and friendly goodbye. My fear dissolved almost simultaneously with meinem Krampf im Bauch und die letzten Tage in Marokko verlaufen konfliktfrei. In Gedanken bin ich bereits am Weg in den sueden Afrikas, ins echte Afrika, wo mich in Kapstadt die naechste Station meiner Reise und weitere Abenteuer erwarten.
Essaouira - so schreibt man es.
Der Jamaa El Fnaa, der rote Platz nach Einbruch der Dunkelheit.
Ein gluecklicher Hannes ueber den Wolken, auf 4.176 m.
Bei den Cascades D'Ouzud.
