Crammed into the flying shitshow that is EasyJet, we talked to a group of rowdy British holidaymakers heading to Marrakech. “Oh, don’t worry. It’s very relaxing there,” they assured us. Fortunately, it was anything but. After arguing with the airport taxi driver over the fare, we finally negotiated a price – only 150 dirhams (should’ve been 60). He dropped us off near the heart of the city, which might as well have been another planet.
We headed towards the music, smells and crowds of Djamaa El-Fna square, one of the biggest spectacles I’ve ever seen. A UNESCO heritage site, the square is not only a meeting place for local people but also for storytellers, acrobats, musicians, dancers, snake charmers, traditional healers and fortune tellers. If I closed my eyes, I could almost imagine myself at Burning Man. Fully laden with our backpacks and just off a 4 hour flight, the trip to our hotel was totally overwhelming. We weaved our way through tiny alleys, lined on both sides with vendors shoving goods in our face or offering to guide us anywhere we wanted to go. This would be a scene replayed throughout our entire stay. This is definitely an Islamic country – if you forget, the call to prayer at 4:30am from the mosque next door will remind you. Women’s dress is varied; some in western garb, others donning headscarves and some fully covered so that only the eyes are visible. Many men wear traditional berber outfits with hoods.
The next day, we ventured into to the souqs – ancient markets with miles of labyrinthian paths, where you can buy anything from beautiful handcrafted lanterns to roasted sheep heads. You gotta have your wits about you. Every 10 feet there is a different stall and with competition fierce so are the vendors. These guys are experts who don’t fuck around, greeting us in different languages until they get a response – first bonjour, then hola, and if those don’t work, guten tag or hello. The food stall hawkers are the most persistent, actively blocking your path until you push past saying, “I’ve already eaten,” and promising to come back tomorrow. Additionally, you’re constantly dodging teenagers on mopeds going full speed, donkey carts and throngs of gawking French tourists.
Morocco is both gritty and amazing…exactly the otherworldly experience we were looking for. Our trip has truly begun.
“I don’t think we’re in London anymore, Toto.” And, awww, you got to see throngs of gawking French tourists? Jealous. 🙂
awesome. I love it. Can’t wait for the next 14 months