Though it’s more than four months behind me and I’ve made several trips since, I need to backtrack and write about my Easter holiday in Marrakech, Morocco. It was my first time setting foot on the African continent, certainly not insignificant!
In short, Marrakech is a grimy, beautiful, loud, colourful, chaotic place. I went with my friends Margot, Kate and Alyson. None of us had been to Morocco before and had done scant research for the trip, so we were making it up as we went along….which seems to be the only way I travel anymore, but that keeps it interesting and always humorous.
Getting There
I think I’m a culture-shock junkie. Driving into town from the airport in a very rickety car with a questionable driver who spoke no English and a trunk that couldn’t close because of all our luggage, the “I have a feeling we’re not in Kansas anymore” realisation set in pretty quick. I was in the front seat, mesmerised by the onslaught of humanity (and animality, though I don’t think that’s a word) coming straight at us the closer to the centre of town we got. Kids, donkeys, carts, people, food, motorbikes….it was all coming head-on with no end in sight. I felt like I was on the “This is Morocco” ride at EPCOT Center. But these people were not animatronics and I was not going to get off the riverboat ride and find myself in Orlando.
There are several layers of old, crumbling walls you drive through to get into the old city centre – called the Medina – where we stayed….protection was clearly key throughout the city’s history (or, they were just terribly antisocial).
When we arrived in a small, bustling square near the Riad where we were staying, I don’t think any of us were ready to get out of the car. There was a palpable “oh please God do not let this be where we are staying” feeling in the air. It was dirty. There were kids running around yelling in languages we couldn’t identify much less understand. A man was sleeping in a doorway. The square was populated by rickety shacks with thatched roofs. It was hot. There were donkeys. And lots of food and produce carts in the street. Everyone seemed to stop around us, staring at the white girls with their Chanel sunglasses and clueless expressions. They must see it a million times every week. I wanted to laugh out loud….it was funny. I was awake.
Riad Dar Thalge
But we did have to get out of the car. Our driver led us down a series of maze-like stone alleyways (he had my suitcase so I made a solid effort to keep up with him). Finally, we ended up in what appeared to be a dead end with a black iron gate. A man met our driver, thanked him, and then led us through the gate and into the riad (a riad is a typical Moroccan home with a central courtyard…it’s the type of accommodation where most people stay when visiting Morocco).
Our riad was called Dar Thalge. And the man who greeted us was the manager, Mourad. It was very calm and zen once inside the gate. A solid white structure, the riad consisted of three levels all looking down into a central courtyard with a small blue pool crowned by a black cast iron chandelier that hung from the third level. There was a nice roof terrace with views across the city that overlooked all the other rooftops and a sea of hundreds of white satellite dishes (you’d think they were contacting the aliens). You could see out to the edge of the region, barricaded by the majestic snow-capped Atlas Mountains.
The ground level of the riad was lined with a series of cozy living rooms around the pool – they each had sofas, chairs, fireplaces, and coffee tables. Nice little private sanctuaries to sit with your friends, talk and hang out.
Once we got settled into our cozy suite (two bedrooms adorned with nice art and connected by a shared bathroom), the staff brought us traditional Moroccan tea to enjoy on the rooftop. The tea is served from an ornate silver pot into small, colourful glasses. It’s a potent brew of black tea, spices, mint and lots of sugar.
The first morning at the Riad was quite “refreshing.” We didn’t have any hot water so my first shower was a freezing good time. But Mourad called in the troops and the problem was resolved by the second day. They really were so gracious and accommodating at the riad, we couldn’t have asked for nicer people and kinder hospitality.
Each morning we had breakfast on the roof which consisted of coffee, juice, and a selection of flat breads, butter and jams.
Language
The languages spoken in Morrocco are French and Arabic. None of us really speak either, except Kate who knows a dusting of French, so we were pretty clueless. Trying to settle our bill with Mourad (who spoke no English) at the riad before we left was particularly humourous. Well, at least for me, because I made no effort to help.
The Jemaa El Fna
The Jemaa El Fna is the main square of Marrakech, and a place that after one visit should be avoided at all costs. On our first tour through, I was approached by a woman who grabbed my hand and to my horror took to the back of it with what looked like a 7-8 inch syringe. Despite my failed attempt to regain control of my hand, I was relieved when out of the “syringe” came henna – she was a henna tattoo artist. I tried to tell her I did not have any money (we hadn’t hit the cash machine yet), but it was over in 10 seconds and I already had a design on my hand. I tried to tell her again no money and gave her some British coins. I don’t think she was pleased by this and walked away somewhat in disgust, but what can you do.
I had never had a henna tattoo before and wasn’t sure what to do with it….it looks like mud when it first goes on. But it dries, at which point the “mud” rubs off and you’re left with an amber-brown-coloured tattoo. It went through a few colour changes while fading and lasted almost two-weeks. Good times going to business meetings the next week with the very visible remnants of my fun for all to see.
But henna tattoo artists are only some of the people that will accost you in the square. It’s a freaking crazy circus. There are
snake charmers (and…eeew…snakes!!), people with monkeys and other assorted scary animals, bands of musicians playing recorders and drums, carts full of nuts, dried fruits, oranges, spices, and vegetables. There are kids running free everywhere (they are not homeless or anything, it’s just that Morrocco is apparently very safe for children and they are allowed to run free as they wish with no fear of anyone harming them).
But at night, the vibe of the square totally changes. It gets even more crowded and loud as a full city block’s worth of food stalls are set up, along with cooking units and communal tables. People crowd in, filling the tables to eat and come together….tourists and locals alike. It reminds me of a Moroccan version of an American county fair. Lights are strung up and the air is completely filled with white smoke from all the cooking, illuminated by the lights. And it’s mostly various meat being cooked, so we took to calling it the “meat smoke,” not all-together appealing. But I liked the square at night better than in the day, it’s like a big, giant party.
Street Life
The streets of Marrakech are what I vividly remember the most, because they are nuts and you face them at your own risk. Motorbikes are king and they zoom everywhere, creating mass pandemonium and kicking up dust as you try and get from one place to the next. I liken it to “Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome.” How we didn’t get run over by one or seriously hurt while there is still a complete mystery to me..your senses become acutely focused on where they are and getting out of their way. Noisy too.
Finding your way around is no easy feat either. The Medina is not driver/car friendly, so most of the streets are not made for cars -- they are mostly limited to pedestrians, donkeys and motorbikes. And like that brilliant U2 song, “the streets have no name” in Marrakech, so you never really know where you are or where you’re going. We found it odd how difficult it was to find maps of the city, but once Margot located one, we realised why: When you have no street names, maps are difficult, perhaps even uselsss. So, you inevitably get a sense of the direction you’re going in, and then wander, getting lost many times along the way, until you reach your destination, tired and somewhat frazzled. Or, at least that is the way we did it. In Marrakech, “getting there” truly is half the fun (depending on your twisted definition of fun, of course).
Alyson had the most adventuresome time of all of us on the streets of Marrakech. We think perhaps it’s because she’s a blonde and stood out a little more. In the span of one day, she almost got run over by a motorbike – though it did narrowly miss her, a carpet strapped to the back brushed her on the drive-by leaving a mark on her dress. Soon after, she got sneezed on by a donkey. Then, later that evening while walking through a crowded mass of people on the outskirts of the souks, she had her butt pinched. After it happened, she yelped and looked behind her to see who it was. There was a man standing there, who quickly and defensively pointed to a little girl walking past. Kids. Hmph.
If you are a white girl in Marrakech, it will likely be assumed that you are English, to which some of the men will call out “fish and chips!” when you walk by. We heard that lots. As a woman, I don’t mind occasionally being referred to as foodstuff such as a “peach,” “tomato,” “lamb chop,” or even “cupcake” (my personal favourite). But “fish and chips?” Not so much.
Next to motorbikes, the next thing that permeates street life in Marrakech are the smells….good and bad. Marrakech is known for its spices, vividly displayed in market/street stalls all over the city, so it’s not unusual to walk down the street and through the markets and be greeted with more spice fragrances than you can possibly take it and identify. That is a smell I like. Among the spices most commonly seen everywhere are cinnamon, cardamom, saffron, ginger, cumin, even star of anise (which I don’t think is classified as a spice?).
There are also various stalls that sell what look to be blocks of soap, but they are actually solid perfumes, usually in musky strong scents like amber, sandalwood and lavender. There are also the smells that come from the dried flowers that are also sold on the street – mostly dried roses, lavender and grenadine.
Those are good smells too. Of course, there are also all the food smells, like at night in the Jemaa when all the grilling is taking place.
There is also the smell of oranges, a predominant fruit in the city that you see on carts and stands everywhere. Orange stands are set up all along the Jemaa, where they will fresh-squeeze juice for you. They then load all the empty orange peels into a cart which is hauled away by a donkey. When a cart goes past, you get a nice fresh whiff of citrus.
Then there are the not-so-good smells…primarily emanating from the street stalls filled with raw meats and other animal parts (there was a moment walking through the grimy streets of the old Jewish quarter that I thought I’d definitely be sick), the smell of donkeys, ferial cats and other animals that you’ve come in too close of contact with, and general unidentified bad smells, like walking around at night through dirty, narrow alleyways. But I choose to remember the good smells, because when they are good, they can be heavenly and completely unique.
The streets are a place of commerce in most places in the city, so you are always walking through passageways lined with food, shoes, fabric, clothes, jars of bright colour pigments, everyday sundries like soap, shampoo and socks, and even small animals in cages like birds and lizards. I saw a chameleon…don’t think I had ever seem one before in real life.
At night, the city streets have a different feeling, though it is just as bustling as during the day. Walking out of our riad and through the dark alleys to the city center, everyone is out in their evening wear, usually long robes and hats for men and long robes and headscarves for women. Everyone seems to be out strolling and the kids continue to run free. To where everyone goes exactly, I could not tell, but going out to be out was clearly the thing to do.
The Sights
We toured the Bahia Palace – a gorgeous old structure boasting gardens and ornately tiled rooms; the Saadian Tombs where the Saadian Sultans are buried (this very holy site remained hidden by the locals for many, many years….I think we might all be cursed for seeing them); the GORGEOUS Bab Agnaou gate, built by African slaves (it’s an amazing carved stone gate with detail and weathering so fine it almost looks like wood….a truly gorgeous thing to see); and the Madersa Ben Youssef, an old Koranic School built in the 14th century. It is a beautiful building filled with small study spaces and a central courtyard with splendid tiling and a lovely blue pool in the center – quite zen and relaxing. We also walked around the picture-perfect Koutouba mosque which is an iconic landmark visible from the Jemaa, however we couldn't go inside, not being Muslim and all.
The “Pigeon Doughnut” and Other Culinary Delights
I love Moroccan food. I think it is my favourite behind Turkish. The tagine is one of the most delightful forms of cookery ever, and I ate one every day while there. A combination of meat and/or vegetables baked to perfection in a triangular-shaped clay pot, I had both chicken and vegetable tagines, often with a plate of fluffy cous cous.
But let me tell you about the pigeon (or chicken) doughnut. It’s actually called a “pastilla,” but you know how I like to bastardise the name of all things to reflect my interpretation. The pastilla is like a meat pie…kind of. It’s a pastry stuffed with either pigeon (the traditional way) or chicken, mixed in with almonds and spices. On top it is dusted with cinnamon and sugar – so it’s got that sweet/savoury thing going…though mostly sweet. Sounds gross maybe, but it is delectable – mmmmm….I still think about it sometimes. Puts those English pasties to shame.
We ate very good dinners every night. The first evening we treated ourselves to Marrakchi, a posh place overlooking the Jemaa El Fna with elaborately tiled walls, ornate ceilings, and very traditional Moroccan fare. We also had a lovely dinner at Café Arabe, a modern spot in a trendy neighborhood with an outdoor courtyard, a romantic ambiance, food that tended toward the Mediterranean style, and the best darn caiprinhia I have ever had. The last night we found ourselves at the ritzy 5-star Les Jardines de la Koutoubia hotel where we started off in the courtyard by the pool having cocktails, then moved to a quaint outdoor grill situated by a lit blue pool with waterfall where we enjoyed fish and wine for dinner. You could see the illuminated tower of the Katouba looming over the wall of the hotel courtyard in the distance -- it was a quiet and tranquil respite from the city outside.
Shopping the Souks
If you’re not prone to claustrophobia, social anxiety or panic attacks, the Souks are an essential part of the Marrakech experience. Upon entering the covered marketplace which begins off the corner of the Jemaa El Fna, you find yourself in a labyrinth of stalls and shops filled to the brim with spices, pottery, food, sequined slippers and shoes, jewellery, baskets, glass, tea sets, rugs, tapestries, clothing, small animals (mostly reptiles and birds), and all sorts of other bric-a-brac. Haggling is the expected norm, and I found it much easier and less intimidating than in Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar, which was no where near the easy experience as the Souks. On average, you could get prices down to about half of the original offer. And the salesman were not stubborn, most seemed more than happy to bargain.
There’s no hope once in the Souks of knowing where you are going. It is inevitable that you will only be able to wander aimlessly and become completely lost and disoriented, eventually relying on one of the many kids who will run ahead of you yelling “The square! The square!” to help point you in the right direction out.
I think we spent about 3 hours in the Souks. Once we emerged back into daylight, I had a few bags filled with a set of clear glass and silver tea glasses (I had already bought an elaborate tea set with a silver pot and tray and a set of coloured glasses at another shop the day before), two beautiful silk table runners (one for me, one for mom), a woven silk bag for Elizabeth, 3 colourful ceramic mini tagine sets (good for salt, pepper, butter and jams for the table), 2 glass rose water bottles for Mom (blue and red) and a green one for myself. The day before, at the same shop from which I purchased my tea set, I had also bought a pair of earrings and a necklace charm (for me).
I would have liked to have also bought some spices (there was gorgeous saffron), but that would have required that I eventually cook, which can never be guaranteed. However, I would love to return to Marrakech at some point just for the sole purpose of taking a cooking course and shopping the markets with someone who knows what they are doing.
I think the Souks are overwhelming for many, but I really enjoyed them. Compared to Istanbul, they actually seemed quite relaxing and calm to me. Which some of my friends who have also been there say is crazy, but I was very uncomfortable in the Grand Bazaar -- everyone was at me all the time and they were NOT easy to bargain with. I was completely overwhelmed, which rarely happens to me. But then again, I was alone and tired when wandering Istanbul, so that may have made all the difference. Regardless, the Souks get a big thumbs up in my book.
Tedious Departure
Leaving Marrakech was not easy. We arrived at the airport the obligatory two hours early, only to find that none of the check-in desks had even opened. After taking about 15 minutes to determine which line we needed to be in, and getting some bread from a food stand for breakfast, we proceeded to wait almost two hours for the check in desks to open. And that was for ALL flights, not just ours. After those two hours of standing (there was nowhere to sit), the airport (a large, almost perfectly square building with one great room for check in) had completely filled with a mob of people, crowded into the space with no rhyme or reason. It looked like a high school gymnasium. Once the check-in desks did open, it was mass chaos, but luckily we did find ourselves in the correct line. After checking in, we spent about another hour in line for immigration and security, although security was very quick…I questioned that screening process given everyone filed through seamlessly with no real checks -- but at that point, I wasn’t going to complain. Our flight was (obviously) delayed, and once we got on the plane we sat on the runway for about another 45 minutes before taking off.
What I find funny about all this is that we flew EasyJet airlines, a discount European airline. But given our almost 4-hour debacle to leave, I’d hardly say it was “easy,” or a bargain, given we paid about $800 per ticket.
In Conclusion
I loved Marrakech. It’s a crazy place, but so enjoyable. I would love to go back to Morocco at some point, to take a cooking course, and to also spend time outside the city in one of the many small towns and retreats in the Atlas Mountains. Also, I’d like to visit Tangier and Casablanca.
The more I travel, the more places I realise I haven’t been, and instead of getting shorter, my “to go” list is only getting longer. One must keep an open mind to not get frustrated and overwhelmed by this…life simply is not long enough.
More Pictures!
Check out more photos from the trip on my Flickr site:
www.flickr.com/photos/catsview/sets/72157601657264890/
