Marrakesh - Danger! Sensory Overload!
Written: Jun 13 '00 (Updated Jun 17 '00)
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Pros: A true treat for the senses - the smell of the freshly carved thuya wood, the incredible tastes of the baked goods and tea, the overwhelming beauty of Berber rugs, the sounds of prayers from surrounding minarets.
Cons: Poverty abounds, and can be difficult to ignore.
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| kifwebe's Full Review: Marrakesh |
Before we could stop him, an eager man grabbed two of our backpacks and rushed onto the first class car of the overnight train from Tangier to Marrakesh. He was clearly not a railroad employee so I was quick to follow, although in actual fact all of my valuables were on my person. Maybe he would do me a favor and steal my dirty socks and t-shirts. But no such luck. He showed us to our car, and then returned for the remaining bags, which he grabbed away from Sarah to ensure that he did all of the work.
He communicated mostly in grunts and rather harsh gestures, and threw our bags onto the rack above my upper bunk with the delicate nature of a grizzly bear rooting through a dumpster. And for this service he expected a few dirham, and believe me he expected it. We were all convinced that it wouldn't be a great deal of fun to spend all night wrestling with a bear, so we gave him a bit of change and off he went.
The train wasn't very different from those we had been traveling on over the past couple of months throughout Europe, although it was clearly very old. The conductor came by and explained how to operate the useless door lock, and handed us the sheets we would need to cover the four gritty beds where we'd sleep for the night. Sarah and I had met our two companions, Dan and Scott, hours earlier, and they assured us that this was by far the way to go.
As it turned out, they were right. While the accommodations weren't exactly deluxe, we woke up in Marrakesh, Moroccan city of legend, after a sound night's sleep. I can only assume that the ride was smooth.
Upon arrival in the train station, we hired a petit taxi and immediately headed to the town medina, the oldest and most traditional section of town. We had been reading about the legendary Djemaa-El-Fna for weeks, and we were as excited to see it as two weary travelers could be.
We were dropped off at the Hotel Ali, a very famous hotel amongst backpackers, and found the accommodations to be a bit sketchier than we had expected. We would later discover that we were the unfortunate recipients of the last room in the house, which just so happened to be a sort of converted balcony above the main bathroom. We also had a bathroom of our own, which came complete with a hot water hose and a drain in the corner. Not exactly a five star hotel, but we felt fortunate to have something resembling a shower in our room.
Our windows had views of the restaurant below, which did nothing to hold in the noises of the raucous diners below. Nevertheless, we were in Marrakesh, and we weren't about to let unsavory accommodation ruin our stay. We threw down our backpacks and like giddy children at FAO Schwarz headed out to see the city.
The Hotel Ali happens to be located just off of the Djemaa-El-Fna, which is the medina's central square and the heart of the city. Surprisingly we felt quite comfortable in Morocco, even though we clearly stood out from the crowd. We discovered that most Moroccans still dress very traditionally. Men wear long robes in all types of weather along with leather slippers, and most wear traditional wool caps. French influence was a little more evident in the fashions worn by women. Most Moroccan women still adhere to rules dictated by Islam, and cover their heads and faces. But 1 of every 10 women under the age of 30 could be seen in slacks, pant suits, or conservative skirts, along with very fashionable shoes and hints of makeup.
It was about 11:00 in the morning, and already we were pulled in 50 directions by any of our various senses. Prayers were sung from nearby minarets in a hauntingly monotone droll, and often people would stop in their tracks, kneel, and pray. Donkeys pulled carts alongside taxis and motor scooters, generally adhering to no rules of lanes or right of way.
Once we reached the square, we found troupes of acrobats performing for the crowds of people who had come to be amazed and entertained. Snake charmers sat on woven rugs with baskets covering the cobras that weren't performing, and many of the snakes looked sedated. It seems there was more to charming snakes than movement and music. Every 30 seconds another young girl approached Sarah, begging to be allowed to paint her hands with a henna tattoo. Sarah kindly said "No thank you, maybe later," in each case. Probably less than half knew what that meant, but her body language signaled them to run to the nearest woman for another possible sale.
Small groups of drummers gathered at the edge of the square establishing the rhythm for the day - exciting, hectic, and intensely beautiful. Vendors called us into their stalls, trying to sell fruit, nuts, spices, and local crafts. Huge groups of people gathered around single figures who told stories in indiscernible Moroccan Arabic. They listened intently, and silently - if only I could have understood the stories along with the crowds.
Almost nothing could have prepared us for the souk, or bazaar, and Sarah and I quickly understood why it was famous and very nearly unrivalled in the Arab world. It was a bit hard to find considering its proximity to the Djemaa and its immense size. But once we had we were overwhelmed with colorful ceramics, metal work of varying quality, and intricately carved thuya wood, whose aroma would become one of my most enduring memories. Huge carpets of Berber and other local craftsmanship hung draped over balconies and handcarts, exploding with oranges, reds, yellows, and blues.
Vendors did their best to grab our attention with whatever gimmick and phrase they could. One sold live chameleons, which he assured us would not only make great pets, but could be dried and mixed into tea for medicinal purposes when they died. Another handed me a "secret box," which as a mechanical engineer was the perfect hook. It took me a while to figure out how to access the chamber inside, but to his surprise and mine, I found two concealed compartments, one with a key and another with a lock.
We walked for hours, winding in and out of the souk. We tried to take it all in, but around every corner we discovered yet another passageway filled with new and interesting things. Bulk foods could be purchased for mere pennies, so we tasted and tried as many things as we could. Many times our inquisitive gazes resulted in vendors giving us samples free of charge, only after a hearty laugh and a bit of encouragement. How could we refuse after such a friendly exchange? The baked goods were out of this world and the Berber tea was spicy beyond comparison.
After hours in the souks, we were ready to head back to the hotel to rest up for the evening. It had been a long day, but Morocco was turning out to be all that we had expected. And much, much more.
Recommended:
Yes
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kifwebe
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