Morocco, Morocco, Morocco.. what can I say about Morocco? Don't drink the water. Seriously. When someone of international authority instructs you not to drink foreign water, do not take this command lightly. Do not test your digestive system. If you disobey, you will pay.. for up to 2 weeks.. on an airplane, at work, watching Roseanne, and in every other once comfortable or uncomfortable place you can imagine. I would not will the illness I contracted upon my worst enemy [see Jerry*, even you're safe]. Apparently Depends do serve a legit purpose in the adult world.
Given that we were on a guided tour with a native of Marrakech back in late April, we were fairly well-informed as to foods we should probably not ingest, or at least in excess (for me this meant: meat, rice, salad, um - essentially everything.). Now, back to the water. And maybe I'm alone here, but I thought that "don't drink the water" meant not to drink pure tap water. What a silly piece of advice - I did not see anything that would have qualified as tap water. Every time we sat down for a meal, we asked for BOTTLED water. And every time we took a sip of this BOTTLED water, it was lukewarm. The brain-bell should have rung right there, but when you're in 95+ degree weather, what is the first liquid that any human naturally craves slash NEEDS? Do you see the dilemma here? I rest my case.
To this day, I still don't know what the alternative to H2O would have been, so unfortunately I cannot direct you down a different path.. I couldn't ask because of the severe dry mouth I had the pleasure of experiencing, and Coca Lights just weren't going to satisfy my hydrational demands. Although my body never fully adjusted to the African version of our aquatic necessity, my eyes were certainly able to alter to the Moroccan landscape. It was unlike anywhere I'd ever seen, and certainly had a strong influence on opening up my mind to new philosophies as well as a very different way of life.
Perhaps, my most touching personal experience in Morocco occurred during our drive down the High Atlas Mountains and back into Marrakech. As we descended into a small town, there were young children gathered in groups running alongside the road, and enticing each passing car to purchase homemade rose necklaces. When in Rome, right? Driss, our guide, pulled over and bargained with the youth of Morocco so as to successfully get each of us a lovely smelling rose necklace. I'm so short.
*I'm sorry, Seinfeld.