View from the roof:
Intricate door painting at the hotel:
After taking a few photos, I packed my things and left, conscious that I needed to get back to Marrakesh and drop the car off. I drove away wishing I had more time.
Quite streets in the early morning:
On my way out of town I'd been planning to find the next town along the coast and see where Jimi Hendrix had visited - but it wasn't to be. With no map and no sign posts, there was little chance of finding it, and so I decided to head for Marrakesh instead.
Not something you see everyday:
Traditional Moroccan house on the road out of town:
The road to Marrakesh is well marked, and leads through barren countryside. The temperature soars, and I was glad of the breeze from the window. Having driven for about an hour and a half, I decided to stop for some supplies, and pulled up at a small shack on the side of the road that had a coke sign outside.
I bought a bottle of coke and some water, and the owner insisted that I sit in the shade on one of the chairs outside. The owner was genuinely pleased to see me, and we shook hands and began one of the strange conversations in which language seems to be no obstacle.
And then it was back on the road. As the miles passed, I noticed the increasing number of roadblocks, and kept an eye out for the speed traps everyone had been telling me were common on this stretch of road.
As I rounded a blind bend coming into one of the towns, I saw what looked like a camera on a tripod and two police men standing by the side of the road. As luck would have it, for me anyway, one of the police men was busy with another car, and I slowed down as quickly as I could, losing the extra 10kph I was doing, and checking the rear view mirror until I left town.
After what feels like forever, I finally make it to the airport and started looking for the rental company. Just as I pulled up to get out and ask for directions, a white van pulled up next to me.
“National Rental?” the man asked, and shook my hand.
We got chatting while went through the formalities, and I handed back the registration papers. He offered to drop me in town, which I was grateful for – not knowing that this would be the start of the worst part of my trip. I opened the guide book, pointed out the mosque in the center of town, and we set off.
He dropped me off at what I thought was the central mosque, and set off to find accommodation.
My advice to anyone planning to stay in the Medina in Marrakesh is book in advance, and ask the owner how to get there. In common with all the Medinas I've seen, the Medina at Marrakesh has city walls – except these are sixteen kilometers in diameter. Contained within this walls, is a maze of tiny streets with dead ends and confusing forks and bends – the type of place even the best navigator is going to get lost.
I'm typing this now with a smile on my face – at the time – it wasn't funny.
The problem, it turns out, was that the mosque I thought I was at, was not the mosque I was actually at, and of course, within a short space of time, I didn't have a clue where I was.
A small boy got chatting to me, and after asking me where I wanted to go, told me he knew the place. We set off together, him leading, me following, all the while continuing our conversation.
It looked right, felt right and he seemed to know where he was going. But after fifteen minutes, I realized we weren't going the right way, and several minutes later he told me it was “just down the road”, and asked for money. I gave him the equivalent of 6p, which I hoped would get rid of him, but he started complaining, and then disappeared into the tiny streets.
I tried to retrace my steps, and ended up getting a taxi to take me to the street where the hotel was. But, as I would learn later, there's a restaurant of the same name, and this is where the taxi driver took me instead.
After an hour of wandering around I finally found someone who genuinely knew where I wanted to go, and kindly took me. But both places I tried were full. Totally frustrated I thanked him for his time and went off to find the main square.
It was getting dark by now, and I think I must have been in the bad part of town, because as I walked down a tiny alley and passed a small group of children, the next thing I know they are throwing pieces of glass and rocks at me.
I keep walking - fast - and thankfully they decided not to follow. This is the only time I felt unsafe in Morocco - and the tiny alleys made me realize that this would be an easy place to get mugged, or worse.
It was already dark, and more by luck than judgement, i finally found my way to the main square. Rather than wander around in the dark, I decided to phone a few places, and finally found a place with a room. They give me instructions on where to go and promised they'd come and get me.
It felt so much better to actually have a place to stay, and to have someone who could help navigate the maze that is the Medina at Marrakesh. After a 10 minute taxi drive I arrived at the square they'd told me to meet me at and I stood waiting. After five minutes, a lad in traditional Moroccan clothing walks up to me and shakes my hand.
He offers to carry one of my bags, but I gently decline, feeling slightly unsettled by the afternoon's episode – after all – the guy offering to help me is a complete stranger. But my fears are unproven, as after five minutes walking through narrow alleys, we arrive at a tiny door.
The Riad is built in the traditional Moroccan style: a small courtyard with orange trees, surrounded by rooms. Mine is just off the courtyard, and reveals a large pleasant room with bathroom. It's a relief to finally get a shower and some food. The place feels like a sanctuary amongst the madness of the medina.
Despite the frustrations of the afternoon, I was itching to get out and see the “big square” as everyone calls it. The Riad owner gave me what seemed like fairly simple instructions – but in the maze outside, it turned out to be anything but. The instructions are: back out to the main streets (which requires several twists and turns), turn left, and straight on. Simple.
I managed to get to the main street okay and turned left, surprised at how easy it all seemed. And then, after about ten minutes I reached a fork in the road. The left fork was the better lit, while the right fork was dark, but busier. I stopped to look at the map, and decided to go right – after all, this seemed to be the way that everyone else was going.
“Wrong way for big square” a voice shouts out behind me.
I smile and walk on.
“You not go – entrance to mosque only.”
Not wanting to offend anyone, I turned around and walked back ready to take the left fork.
Of course - the man is more than willing to show me the way - for a small tip.
A small tip here is never enough – but I refused to pay any more - and with good reason. I'll learn on the way back that the right fork was the right way to go.
Just as an aside – Marrakesh is full on. There's always someone looking to get money out of you. Offers of directions, I'll take you there, Hashish – you want smoke, being overcharged – even though the price is often displayed.
But I also found very genuine people here. People who want to stop and talk – and want nothing in return. People are, I guess, the same all over the world.
My destination is Djeemaa el Fna. The big square - the center and focal point of the medina and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
It is an incredible place, and tonight will be the busiest I will see it. Stalls sell local food, from fried fish to sheep brain. Orange juice, fruit and nuts, and traditional healing stalls, jostle for position with the traditional performers: snake charmers, men with monkey's, storytellers, and musicians. It is a throng of humanity – the very social side of Moroccan life.
Sure – there are tourists – but the home crowd outnumber the visitors by at least 10 to 1.
Stalls setting up for the evening:
I decided to eat, and walked through the stalls checking out what was on offer. There's one stall that was particularly busy - selling the Moroccan equivalent of an egg butty : a round loaf of bread, cut open on one side, and then filled with happy cow cheese, a boiled egg, boiled potato, salt and pepper, and lots and lots of olive oil. A vegetarians treat. And the chili hot sauce just made it even better.
I had to wait ten minutes until I could sit down, but for 60 pence it was worth it.
Mmmhhh - brains - my favorite:
Feeling rather full, I decided to wander around the square, and sample the ginseng and ginger tea with cake. While I'm enjoying this rather unusual desert, I get chatting to Nicole and her friend Alan.
Alan is Canadian – which can mean only one thing – a conversation about Rush. We get chatting for a while, covering a lot of musical ground, while Nicole looks through my Lonely Planet for places to stay in Essouria where she is going the next day. Having finished the tea and cake, Alan decides to find an Internet café and do e-mail.
So Nicole and I walk around the square for an hour. We both work in a similar field: securitisations...so we compare notes on the financial outlook...and it's not good.
Conscious that it's getting late - and I still have to find my way back, I say goodbye and set off back to the place. It takes me fifty minutes of wandering around until I finally find the square and my way back to the Riad.
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