Rick Steves Travel as a Political Act Read online

  But because of Tangier’s “international zone” status, Morocco’s previous king (Hassan II, who ruled from the 1960s through the 1990s) effectively disowned the city. He made a point to divert all national investment away from his country’s fourth-largest city, denying it national funds for improvements. Over time, Tangier fell into a steep decline. It was a neglected hellhole for a generation. The place made me nervous; I once called it “the Tijuana of Africa.”

  But the city changed radically in the first decade of the 2000s…and so has my assessment of it. When King Mohammed VI took the throne in 1999, he reinvested funds to help Tangier become a great city again. The difference is breathtaking. While Tangier is still exotic—with its dilapidated French colonial and Art Deco buildings giving it a time-warp charm—it’s much more efficient, people-friendly, safe-feeling, and generally likable.

  Checking into Hotel Continental, I was greeted by flamboyant Jimmy, who runs the shop there. Jimmy knows every telephone area code in the US. A few years ago, I had told him I was from Seattle. He said, “206.” Now I tested him again. He said, “206, 360, 425…new area codes.”

  Hotel Continental had me looking for the English Patient. Gramophones gathered dust on dressers under mangy chandeliers. A serene woman painted a sudsy figure-eight in the loose tiles with her mop, day after day, surrounded by dilapidation that never went away.

  As I updated the information in my guidebook, I found a striking and nonchalant incompetence. My guidebook listed the hotel’s phone and email data more accurately than their own printed material. It’s a 70-room hotel with, it seemed, barely a sheet of paper in its office.

  Roosters and the Muslim call to prayer worked together to wake me and the rest of that world. When the morning sun was high enough to send a rainbow plunging into the harbor amid ferries busily coming and going, I stood on my balcony and surveyed Tangier kicking into gear. Women in colorful, flowing robes walked to sweatshops adjacent to the port. They were happy to earn $8 a day (a decent wage for an unskilled worker here) sewing for big-name European clothing lines—a reminder that a vast and wealthy Continent is just a short cruise to the north. Cabbies jostled at the pier for the chance to rip off arriving tourists.

  Morocco’s new king is more modern, and with his friendly policies, Tangier is enjoying a renaissance.

  It’s an exciting time in Morocco. Walking the streets, I enjoyed observing a modest new affluence, lots of vision and energy, and, at the same time, no compromise with being Arabic and Muslim. The king is modernizing. His queen, a commoner, is the first queen to be seen in public. Moroccans have never seen their king’s mother. The fact that Moroccans couldn’t even recognize their former queen shows how much can change in a relatively short time.

  Women are making gains throughout Moroccan society. Until recently, a woman here couldn’t open a bank account. During my visit, the general director of the stock exchange in Casablanca was a woman, and out of 21 ministers voted into office in a recent election, seven were female.

  The Moroccans I encountered didn’t emulate or even seem to care about the USA. Al-Jazeera blared on teahouse TVs, with a pointed critique of American culture. But people appeared numb to the propaganda, and the TV seemed to be on that channel for lack of an alternative. I felt no animosity directed toward me as an American. There was no political edge to any graffiti or posters.

  When I tried to affirm my observations with my guide, Aziz, he explained to me the fundamental difference between “Islamic” and “Islamist”: Islamists are expansionist and are threatened by the very existence of Israel. He explained how Al-Jazeera appeals to Islamists, but he made it clear that Morocco is Islamic, not Islamist.

  Wandering in Tangier—especially after dark—is entertaining. It’s a rare place where signs are in three languages (Arabic, French, and Spanish)…and English doesn’t make the cut. Sometimes, when I’m frustrated with the impact of American foreign policy on the developing world, I have this feeling that an impotent America is better for the world than an America whose power isn’t always used for good. Seeing a country where the signs are in three languages, but still ignore English, reminds me that there’s a world that’s managing just fine without us.

  The market scene was a wonderland—of everything but pork: Mountains of glistening olives, a full palate of spices, children with knives happy to perform for my camera.

  Aziz explained that each animal is slaughtered in accordance with Islamic law, or Halal. I asked him to explain. He took me to a table with a pile of chickens and hollered “Muhammad!” to catch the attention of a knife-wielding boy. (Aziz explained that when he wants someone’s attention, he says, “Hey, Muhammad!” It’s like our “Hey, you”…but very respectful. For a woman, you’d holler, “Hey, Fatima.”) He asked the boy to demonstrate the proper way to slaughter an animal, and I was given a graphic demonstration: in the name of Allah, with a sharp knife, animal’s head pointing to Mecca, body drained of its blood.

  Before this visit, I had recommended to my guidebook readers that day-trippers from Spain just hold their nose and take the organized tour (with all the big bus groups from Spain’s Costa del Sol). A Tangier guide meets you at the ferry. He takes you on a bus tour of the city and a walk through the old town, where he leads you to a few staged photo ops (camel ride, snake charmer, Atlas Mountains tribal musicians). After visiting a clichéd restaurant where you eat clichéd food while a belly dancer performs, you visit a carpet shop. Guides and their tour companies must make a healthy commission. Why else would they offer the round-trip ferry ride with the tour for the same price as the round-trip ferry ride without the tour?

  In Morocco, package tourists dine with clichés and each other.

  Being here without a big tour group, I met gracious Moroccans eager to talk and share. About the only time I saw other Westerners was when I crossed paths with one of the many day-tripping groups. As they completed their visit, these tourists walked in a tight, single-file formation, holding their purses and day bags nervously to their bellies like paranoid kangaroos as they bundled past one last spanking line of street merchants and made it safely back onto the ferry.

  I pondered this scene, wondering if these tourists—scared, oblivious, clutching the goodies they traveled so far to pick up on the cheap, and then sailing home without learning a thing—were dealing with Morocco this way because it’s the same way their home countries deal with the developing world in general.

  It was poignant for me because, until the lessons I learned from this trip, I was part of the problem—recommending the tour rather than the independent adventure. Some of those needlessly paranoid tourists likely had my guidebook in the bag they were clutching. I wished I could grab their books and update all the information that I now realized was bad advice.

  While I was comfortable and enjoyed a fascinating Moroccan experience on my own, the frightened tour groups reminded me of some kind of self-inflicted hostage crisis. They sailed away still filled with fear, but I was celebrating an Islamic nation that was stable, enjoying a thriving economy, and made me feel perfectly welcome. The tourists were thankful they didn’t get ripped off or diarrhea. I had overcome my fear and was thankful Morocco was doing so well.

  In some cases, visiting a country on a tour ruins any opportunity to really learn about that place. While that may be a lost opportunity and a costly mistake, it can also be a valuable lesson. Any one of those tourists could return and, with a different attitude (and better guidebook advice), be welcomed not as a customer, but as a friend.

  The Human, the Bear, and the Forest

  I am a Christian who wants to believe we can live peacefully with Islam. One thing is clear to me: What I learn about Islam from media in the US can fill me with fear and anger. What I learn about Islam by traveling in Muslim countries fills me with hope.

  Of course there are real dangers. And rare is the religion whose fundamentalist fringe wouldn’t kill in the name of God. But no society should fear another socie
ty simply because their leaders and media say they should. Before anyone hardens their take on Islam, a little travel to a moderate Muslim country can be a good idea. (It’s a sad irony that terrorism causes Americans to travel less.) If you can’t visit in person, travel to Islam vicariously by seeking out connections and friendships with people from cultures and religions that are different from your own.

  The centuries-old tension between Christendom and Islam is like a human sharing a forest with a bear. Both just want to gather berries, do a little fishing, raise their kids, and enjoy the sun. Neither wants to do harm to the other, but—because they can’t readily communicate—either would likely kill the other if they crossed paths. The world is our forest and we’re sharing it with others. As it gets smaller, more and more cultures will cross paths. Our advantage over the human and the bear: we can communicate.

  Chapter 7

  Europe: Not “Hard on Drugs” or “Soft on Drugs”…but Smart on Drugs

  The US and Europe: Two Different Approaches to Drug Abuse

  The Dutch Approach to Marijuana

  The Swiss Approach to Hard Drugs

  The Portuguese Approach to All Drugs

  Paths—and Barriers—to Legalization

  Washington State Legalizes Pot

  Because of my travels, I find myself one of the most high-profile people in America advocating for the reform of our nation’s marijuana laws. In 2003, I hiked the length of Seattle’s Hempfest—America’s largest marijuana rally—for the first time. It became clear to me: these people aren’t criminals. Maybe they’re doing things some people don’t like. But it’s not right to make them criminals. Since then, I’ve joined others in working to legalize marijuana. I’m a board member of NORML (the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws), I produced a TV show called “Marijuana: It’s Time for a Conversation” with the ACLU, and—in 2012—I co-sponsored the historic Initiative 502, which legalized adult recreational marijuana use in Washington State.

  All of this does not mean that I’m “pro-drugs.” I simply appreciate how most of Europe treats its drug problems in a pragmatic way, with success measured by harm reduction rather than incarceration. While in the US, year after year, about 800,000 people are arrested with marijuana charges, in parts of Europe discreetly smoking a joint is just another form of relaxation.

  I speak out on this issue, in part, because most Americans cannot—out of fear of losing their job, or reputation, or both. Of the countless good causes I could get involved in, drug policy reform is a high-risk choice. When I’m interviewed about this on TV or radio, journalists ask me all the predictable, skeptical questions…and then, as soon as the mic is off, they often say, “Thanks for having the courage to speak out.” My first thought is that if it seems courageous to challenge a law that you believe is wrong, that is, in itself, reason to speak out. Since I own my own business, I can’t get fired…and so, when it comes to America’s prohibition on marijuana, I can consider lessons learned from my travels and say what I really believe when I’m back home. While Washington State and Colorado successfully legalized the adult recreational use of marijuana in 2012, much of what I call “the Lower 48” is still very regressive on drug policy reform. Europe offers a strikingly different approach to drug use and abuse.

  The US and Europe: Two Different Approaches to Drug Abuse

  There’s no doubt that the abuse of drugs—whether “soft drugs” (such as marijuana, alcohol, and tobacco) or “hard drugs” (including heroin, cocaine, and methamphetamines)—is horrible and destroys lives. Since the 1970s, the US approach has been to declare a “war on drugs” (with the exception of alcohol and tobacco). In contrast, Europe has attempted a wide range of solutions to the same problem. And, while Europe certainly doesn’t have all the answers, their results have been compelling. I’ve traveled with an appetite for learning why Europe has fewer drug-related deaths, less drug-related violence, less drug-related incarceration, and less drug consumption per capita than we do here in America. (I have to admit, though, that as I reviewed the numbers to back up my claims for this chapter, I discovered one irrefutable fact: Statistics on drug use and abuse are all over the map. While most of the empirical studies reinforce my conclusions, conflicting data always seem to emerge. I assume this is because most sources have an agenda—pro or con—which skews their findings.)

  In an Amsterdam “coffeeshop,” you won’t find coffee.

  To be clear, there is no Europe-wide agreement on drug policy. Some countries—including the Netherlands, Spain, Portugal, and Switzerland—categorize marijuana as a soft drug (similar to alcohol and tobacco). Others—including Iceland and Greece—strictly enforce laws against both marijuana and hard drugs (in fact, drug-related arrests are on the rise in some countries). But what most European countries have in common is an emphasis on education and prevention rather than incarceration. They believe that by handling drug abuse more as a public health problem than as a criminal one, they are better able to reduce the harm it causes—both to the individual (health problems and antisocial behavior) and to society (healthcare costs, policing costs, and drug-related crime).

  Generally, Europeans employ a three-pronged strategy for dealing with hard drugs: law enforcement, education, and healthcare. Police zero in on dealers—not users—to limit the supply of drugs. Users generally get off with a warning and are directed to get treatment; any legal action respects the principle of proportionality. Anti-drug education programs work hard to warn people (particularly teenagers) of the dangers of drugs. And finally, the medical community steps in to battle health problems associated with drug use (especially HIV/AIDS and hepatitis C) and to help addicts reclaim their lives.

  When it comes to soft drugs, policies in much of Europe are also more creative and pragmatic than America’s. We’ll get into an illuminating case study (the Netherlands) later in this chapter.

  Meanwhile, much of the US seems afraid to grapple with this problem openly and innovatively. Rather than acting as a deterrent, the US criminalization of marijuana drains precious resources, clogs our legal system, and distracts law enforcement attention from more pressing safety concerns. Of the many billions of tax dollars we invest annually fighting our war on drugs, more than half is spent on police, courts, and prisons. On the other hand, European nations—seeking a cure that isn’t more costly than the problem itself—spend a much larger portion of their drug policy funds on doctors, counselors, and clinics. According to the EU website, European policymakers estimate that they save 15 euros in police and healthcare costs for each euro invested in drug education, addiction prevention, and counseling.

  Like Europe, the US should be open to new solutions. It’s out of character for a nation so famous for its ingenuity to simply label the drug problem a “war” and bring in the artillery. Europeans make a strong case that approaching drug abuse from the perspective of harm reduction can be very effective.

  And so, to find inspiration, let’s take a closer look at how three European countries deal with drug use: the famously tolerant Dutch stance on the soft drug of marijuana; the pragmatic Swiss approach to the hard drug of heroin; and—most surprising—the Portuguese approach, which has simply legalized the consumption of all drugs, hard and soft alike.

  The Dutch Approach to Marijuana

  Amsterdam, Europe’s counterculture mecca, thinks the concept of a “victimless crime” is a contradiction in terms. The city—and all of the Netherlands—is well-known for its progressive attitude about marijuana. Regardless of your views, it’s fascinating to try to understand the Dutch system that, in 1976, decriminalized the personal recreational use of pot. I travel to Amsterdam frequently, and on each visit, as a part of my guidebook research chores, I talk to various locals about marijuana—from the guys who run shops that sell pot, to pot smokers and non-smokers, and to police officers who deal with drug problems face-to-face. Here’s what I’ve learned.

  First off, marijuana is not actually “legal” in th
e Netherlands—Dutch law still technically defines marijuana use as a crime. But for nearly 40 years, the nation’s prosecutors have made it a policy not to enforce that law under their guiding principle of expediency: It makes no sense to enforce a law that is more trouble than it’s worth.

  The Dutch are justly famous for their practice of gedogen—toleration. They believe that as soon as you criminalize something, you lose any ability to regulate it. So, just as we tolerate and regulate alcohol and tobacco, they tolerate and regulate recreational pot smoking.

  But Dutch tolerance has its limits. The moment you hurt or threaten someone else, the crime is no longer victimless—and no longer tolerated. Dutch laws against driving under the influence—whether alcohol or marijuana—are extremely tough. The Dutch are well aware of the problems associated with drugs, especially addictive ones. (The Dutch word for addiction is “enslavement.”) Because of the wide-reaching social costs of having citizens “enslaved” by hard drugs, heroin, and cocaine are strictly illegal in the Netherlands. And, while the police generally ignore marijuana use, they stringently enforce laws prohibiting the sale and use of hard drugs.