I wrote this paper after I had returned from Morocco my Junior Year at Oregon State University--
G.K Chesterson, a famous poet, writer and traveler once said, “the traveler see’s what he sees, the tourist see’s what he has come to see.” Last summer I traveled abroad on Semester at Sea. It was a unique opportunity not only because I got to live on an ocean liner with 700 students and 100 faculty; visit 8 different countries in 3 months and go to school; It gave me the chance to be a world traveler, a global citizen, and immerse myself within new cultures and different languages. I knew that on this trip, I would not be a tourist.
You might assume that traveling is the same no matter whom you are with or where you go. This is not the case. For tourists, it is a chance to take a picture, smell a new smell, eat a new food, grab a postcard to send home and buy a monument or sacred place that has been shrunken down and fitted into a tiny snow globe. Then they jet off to the next place for the next picture and snow globe. While I have to admit, I couldn’t help but purchase The Hassan Mosque II in Morocco in a snow globe and shake the glitter and snow and watch it swirl, as I stood in 100-degree weather to purchase it, there is much more to being a traveler than being able to maneuver around people and look camera ready for the flash. The first step into my adventure was not on a guided tour, did not consist of a travel guidebook, map or dreaded fanny pack, and by no means did I have a camera. All I had was my pair of running shoes.
A small group of us known as the, “Port Side Runners,” woke up to Morocco, the last port of our trip. I had gotten into the habit of setting my alarm for an early morning run. Two other sleepy eyed runners and myself made our way out to the port. From there we had no idea where streets would lead us but we figured that if we stayed close to the ocean we couldn’t get lost. As we made our way through the streets, men, women and children, young and old were waking up to start their day. Women were gathering up their cardboard beds on the sidewalks while children squatted in bushes, picked through garbage or just merely sat on the curb, gathering their tiny thoughts. Vendors were opening stands, moving their valuables out onto the street and hollering at us as we ran by. My long strawberry blonde ponytail was able to attract attention from all directions. We dodged mopeds and cars speeding along the marina, skipped and jumped over pot holes and held our breath as we ran past piles of garbage that had gathered in the gutters. I winced at the sight of a dead dog, rooting beside a tree. Suddenly, the gravel turned to pavement, the pavement turned to white stone, everything, became still and quiet. We were standing in the center of the The Hassan Mosque II.
It is hard to describe The Hassan Mosque II to anyone who hasn’t been there. It is so grand, so beautiful, and incredibly serene. I had never imagined what the Mosque would look like, how tiny I would be compared to its majestic scale. No other place would paint such a long lasting picture in my mind. None of us spoke to one another; we all just stood in awe. What struck me about the Mosque was not only its beauty but what it stands for–both on the inside and the outside. The Hassan Mosque II was built for prayer, deep reflection, beauty and spiritual awakening. One day, it would also be a place that three tired and sweaty American runners would stumble upon. My friend Matt recalls, “The scenery was beautiful. The Atlantic ocean on one side of the road, and large city on the other.” We would stand in amazement gazing at its high arches, endless mosque tiles, the sound of the waves hitting the shore and the sun rising high over the ocean in the distance. We had no idea that our steps would lead us to the largest Mosque in the world.
Wayne Curtis, author of “Wendi, Widi, Wiki” finds his way around the planet on the famous search net Google Earth. His guide book is not a pair of running shoes but rather a laptop and an arrow key. He says, “Once you put yourself in the crosshairs on Google Earth (it always looks as if you’re about to be hit by a guided missile), you can explore what’s nearby simply by toggling various overlays. Click on dining, and the map is suddenly a clutter with knife-and-fork symbols. Click on coffee shops, and little coffee cups bloom like algae. Then dig deeper: click on the symbols, and brief reviews pop up.” Wayne describes his three hours of clicking and planning to reach his final destinations that amount to four and five star landmarks. With my running shoes firmly grounded on the mosaic tiles below my feet, I can tell you that nothing about my experience would even come close one star or one hundred stars on a search engine.
Later in the week we took a guided bus tour through downtown Casa Blanca. Looking out the window we noticed that we were driving along our running route and eventually we came to a stop in front of The Hassan Mosque II. As we shuffled off the bus we gathered with the hundreds of other tourists who were clambering for a picture for their Christmas card or future scrapbook. Amidst all the people peeking over shoulders and heads, were also the men and women arriving for their daily prayer. Although everything was recognizable, familiar and still as striking as before, the mood was different, the scenery askew and the experience changed. There was a rush to the flow of human traffic. Voices from all over the globe clouded my thoughts and drowned out the sound of the ocean. The Hassan Mosque II felt small and I suddenly missed my running shoes.
Walker Percy tells us that our perceptions of a place are spoiled if we have seen that place before in postcards, posters, commercials and pictures. He states, “The problem is to find an unspoiled place (485).” This may require the exclusion of others, no tour guides and no prearranged plans. Percy declares that, “The highest satisfaction of the sightseer (not merely the tourist but any seer of sights) is that his sight should be certified as genuine (487).” I am so glad that I chose to lace up my running shoes, long before I boarded a bus to The Hassan Mosque II. It was that morning that I got to see the Mosque with fresh eyes, and without prearranged plans and free of meeting any expectations. That morning run would fill in the complete picture, and my senses would complete the puzzle. I can’t help but wonder what my perception of the Mosque would have been if I had not been on that run that morning, slept in and only been part of the bus tour? What if I had made all my plans from Google Earth such as Curtis did? What if I had only picked places to see based on how many stars previous travelers had filled in? Would I have found myself at the Mosque? Would I compare search engine stars to my own stars? Would I have wanted to narrow my observations into a series of 5 stars? I could not and would not be able to do that.
I learned that running makes a traveler and not a tourist. Running gave me a chance to see Morocco from the ground. Curtis says, “For travelers, as for so many other Web users, the Internet is great for finding the needle in the haystack. But it’s not so good at finding the haystack—at culling infinite possibilities into a manageable list of options.” For us, we found the needle and the haystack all on our own. We just used the senses we were born with, that are portable, indispensable and can be taken with us any time and anywhere. Seeing The Hassan Mosque II in early morning without my camera, backpack, sunscreen, water, newspapers, maps, and books was a liberating experience. Without the extra distractions I was able to take pleasure in the moment. Had we not run to The Hassan Mosque II, we never would have discovered it ourselves.
On the way back from our run on that early morning, the sun rose well above our heads, its rays hitting the pavement and reflecting back onto our faces. We were stopped by a Moroccan man on the way back to the port who asked, “Why are you running?” “Who are you running from?” Where are you running to?” Matt recalls asking the man for water and the man asking, “Where are you from?” Matt said, "America." He turned and pointed across the Atlantic and said, "American?" He came down close to my face and looked me over and said to me "You cannot be American, you’re working man's color, and Americans don't sweat, and American's don't ever need to beg for water.” To be a traveler is more than just packing and unpacking, buying and bussing, searching and clicking. To truly see a place is to run into it– Literally and figuratively.
I am back in Portland, Oregon and it has been almost ten months since my run in Morocco. I often look down at my running shoes in amazement that they have run through eight different countries, run up hill and down hill, been wet, dry, clean and dirty and crossed countless finish lines. Although I am happy to be back on my running trails at home, I can’t help but sometimes miss the Port Side Runners and long for a morning runs in Morocco. Lucky for me, I can visit Morocco and The Hassan Mosque II whenever I like, not with Google Earth, but with a firm shake of my snow globe –my miniature sanctuary– my morning run in Morocco.
Work Cited:
Percy, Walker. “The Loss of the Creature.” New York City. 1954: pg. 485 & 487. Print.
The Atlantic
Curtis, Wayne
May 2008
http://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2008/05/weni-widi-wiki/6764/2/
