Berber whisky and its culture (Moroccan hospitality)

When traveling in Morocco, there is one thing every tourist should accept and expect: Moroccan Hospitality.  While this notion applies to the attitude of its good-natured locals, warm and inviting riads, and the unending array of guides for those attempting to navigate the winding streets of the medina, it specifically refers to the moroccan tradition of mint tea.  This tradition is a custom, probably excercised as often as the five daily prayers of the local religion, Islam. It is not that the tea is a part of the religion, nor is as important, but more so that it is simply a cultural norm.

They call it Berber whisky, a term we heard at least once a day on our 2 week tour of the country, and with good reason: it is delicious to the point of being addictive.  Perhaps it is the fact that you are offered (and expected to accept--though not forced) said tea at practically every house, riad, and business establishment that you happen to have the pleasure of entering, which helps the addiction take hold.  Or maybe it is simply the sugar content.  It is a combination of green tea (de Chine), fresh mint leaves, and copious amounts of sugar (approximately 1 tablespoon per 5 oz glass).  Or perhaps it is because it warms you thoroughly passing from the physical realm to the emotional, and then even into the spiritual.  This may sound drastic, and even a bit frightening, but the truth is that it creates a break in a stressful day, a sactuary in a difficult situation, and an oasis in a desert of exhaustion.  

Like the unending greetings of "salaam 'llekum" (arabic meaning "peace be upon you"), and the countless cries of "bienvenue" (french meaning "welcome"), the moroccan tradition of mint tea is meant to help you feel at home and comfortable, be you even from another side of the globe.  We often heard the phrase, "This is your [second] home" spoken to tourists in any number of languages.  While some might say (and it may be true in certain instances) that this warmth and hospitality is present for the simple sale of a carpet or necklace, we found it to be the standard even among those with nothing for sale but their friendship.

In Fez, we wandered into one of the hundreds of local shops, drawn in by the beauty of the craftsmanship, and were shocked to find that all the merchandise was crafted two doors down by friends of the vendor.  He invited us to have a look for ourselves, and when we had finished poking around, we sat down for some good ol' mint tea.   We ended up spending at least 2 hours of each of our 3 days in Fez at this niche of a workshop, and enjoyed ourselves immensely.  We took in tastes of local customs, played music, viewed bits of a regional film,  and at one point, we even met the vendor's mother.  Our new friend educated us in the local artisanal crafts and the meanings of the different colors used (green for Islam, blue for Fez), and gave us advice about our intricately-planned itinerary for our travels in his homeland.  Guided in part by his recommendations, we decided to break from our plans and head south to the desert instead of continuing on a tour of the imperial cities.  It is for this that we were able to explore most deeply the true meaning of Moroccan hospitality.  

We learned that our new drink of choice was the single strongest common factor tying together all the places we visited.  It is the common thread weaving together the cultural differences across Morocco, from the post-colonial european cities to the nomadic Berber tribes of the mountains and deserts.  We shared in this custom with our guides in the Sahara, our Senegalize immigrant riad-owner in the Toudra Gorge, and our culture-sponge food-tent friends in the Jamal fna Square in Marrakech, and we left feeling as though the tea had brought us together (with a little help from fate).  

It became a great equalizer between us and our newly made friends in a land where our native tongue was spoken, but only as a third or fourth option, and where the religion was not only different, but also at odds politically and culturally with that of Christianity and our cultural norms in secular France.  99% of the time, the tea was "offert" meaning "free of charge," and thus served as an economic equalizer as well.  It was to be shared with all, regardless of whether or not he/she could afford it.  This, to me, is a true sign of hospitality.  It did not matter that the tea was rather inexpensive to make; it mattered that it was free of charge regardless of where we traveled in the country.  Of course, in a few cases, there was the pressure then to purchase something in appreciation for the hospitality shown, but we found that it sufficed to be openly grateful and graciously take our leave if we did not feel inclined to buy. Such an exit was usually followed by, "Bienvenue en Maroc! Vous êtes chez vous." ("Welcome to Morocco! May you feel at home.") uttered without the slightest twinge of sarcasm, even if the disappointment was evident.  

We were served tea when we descended from the bus after our 10 hour overnight ride to Merzouga in the desert, and again when we reached the desert hostel 1 hour later.  We were offered tea by a family of Berbers when we happened to stumble upon their humble abode in the midst of our hike in the mountains. Instead of sending us away in hostility for violating their privacy, then welcomed us into their home to share with us their own personal moroccan hospitality.  Despite language barriers (they spoke neither french nor english), we formed a bond lasting for that brief moment in time that will never fade from my memory.  We shared tea with our riad owner in the Toudra Gorge who subsequently took us on a free tour of the neighboring villages and upon our return at the end of the day, he taught us how to make couscous the traditional way, mixing it with your hands.

We shared tea on several occasions with our friends at Food Tent #12 in the Jamal fna square, at which we became regulars in our short stay in Marrakech.  We became common acquaintances with the boss's wife who came around at the same time every night, and even gave us her plate of food when the communal tagine dinner was served to the employees.  Our two girlfriends later when on an evening excursion with two of our new friends at #12, and the boys surprised them with a traditional dish called Pastilla knowing how eager the girls were to taste it.

 

By the end of our trip, we were on our way to being able to make the tea, pour it, and serve it like real Moroccans.  I feel like the sense of hospitality that came with the education is one we will continue to honor and share with others... perhaps with a glass of mint tea. 

Photo credits: Photos 4 & 5 by Lucy Hodge; Photo 8 by Julie VanHorne