 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
19th October – 30th October 2004
was more noticeable were the throngs of touts offering to act as personal guides to Tangier. After
a tiring couple of days, it didn’t take long before Mark and Matt where worn down enough to
accept the services of one “Rashid-please-call-me-Richard”. We didn’t think we had much time
before we had to catch our night train to Marrakech, but a 4 hour error in time difference meant
that we had more than enough time to have dinner with Rashid; the first of many couscous
meals. The highlight, or at least the most amusing part of our visit was Rashid’s non-stop
jabbering which ended in the unforgettable words “I sing and play jazz you know”. In the empty
restaurant, he then proceeded to play hand trumpet and adopt his own myopic interpretation of
many of the old jazz standards “strangers in the night, exchanging glasses?” Truly a classic, if
unorthodox welcome to Northern Africa.
Preparing ourselves for what could have been a harrowing 10 hour overnight journey to
Marrakech, we in fact had one of the easiest and most pleasant train rides we’d ever
experienced. After the best night’s sleep in months (how does that happen on a train?) we
arrived in Marrakech at 8am. After some surfing in an internet café, we found a few suggestions
of places to stay and proceeded to wind our way through the labyrinthine maze of the Medina
(old city) to see if any of them had a room spare. Marrakech is famous for its riads, old houses
in the Medina with central courtyards and roof terraces overlooking the city. Many of these
single family dwellings had been turned into guest houses and hotels over the years. We finally
settled on one called Riad Maria. It was tucked away in the back streets, and came complete
with a wonderful roof terrace that looked like it had been decorated by Lawrence of Arabia. The
only drawback to the place, as we would find out later, was that it was opposite one of the city’s
many mosques. This would normally not be a huge problem, however it was the holy month of
Ramadan, which meant that the mosques went into overtime with the first call to prayer
happening sometime around 4am so that people could eat before sunrise!
Mark and Matt took it as a challenge to navigate the various souks (market bazaars) of the
Medina without a map. Any description of the liveliness and colour of the market will never do it
justice. There are different bazaars devoted to sweets, olives, leather, shoes, lamps, clothes,
textiles, metalwork, you name it. Each blends indistinctly from to the other as the alleyways twist
and turn through the town centre. Maps became superfluous and you quickly learned to
navigate using a strange set of codes: “turn left at the caged crickets, walk until you see the bags
of coloured spices, then sneak through the archway on your right until you see the man selling
parts of old cameras and then take the first left until you see the leather workers.”
Ramadan also meant that the everyday timing of events was somewhat different from normal.
Everyone would fast during the day (no food or water) from sun-up to sun-down. This meant
that their first meal of the day was at around 5pm but was appropriately still called “break fast”. It
almost always started with Harrirah (a thick and hearty lentil soup), followed by either the
ubiquitous couscous or tagine (meat stew), and possibly followed up by ryab, a delicious yoghurt
dessert apparently made using artichoke hearts.
You can imagine that if you had not eaten since 4am, you would be counting down the minutes to
sundown, and you certainly wouldn’t be alone. Almost like clockwork, scuffles and arguments
would breakout daily between 5 and 6pm as tempers escalated with people’s level of hunger and
thirst. However, as soon as sun set – everyone knew that time down to the minute – all was
forgotten and there was a brief flurry of activity as shops closed, and people ran to the mosques
or to grab food for dinner, and then the city was absolutely dead for the next two hours. It was as
if someone had just turned all the people off, one minute the streets were teeming with humanity,
the next you could hear a fez drop. We took advantage of the quiet to check out the main town
square (Djemaa el-Fna) which was famous for all its food vendors and street performers.
Djemaa el-Fna makes Speakers Corner or Time’s Square look amateur. It was straight out of
a scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark: snake charmers sat next to caged monkeys, men in
traditional dress played the mandolin as chickens danced on their heads, local folk groups
played their hypnotic, beguiling form of Moroccan world music called Gnaoua, while next to them
amateur boxers were looking for volunteers with whom to spar. If you wanted to buy false teeth
or sheep’s heads, or just listen to madmen in loincloths string together a shaggy dog story, then
this was your place.
Unfortunately Matt had to leave first thing the next morning, so after a quick bite to eat, a game or
three of pool, and some last minute shopping in which we attempted to loose ourselves in the
Medina once again, we decided to call it a night.
The following morning, as the Mullah across the street started to chant his call to prayer at 4am,
Matt quietly slipped out to rejoin his life back in Chicago, and a far cry from the souks of
Morocco. Mark on the other hand, learning from Quintin that engine works back in Spain were
delayed for another 3 days, spent the next few days getting to know the sights of Marrakech well
enough to give Q and Tristan a full tour when they arrived. Fortunately during their rounds
through the Medina, Matt and Mark had met a young storekeeper called Simo who was keen to
practice his English, and he served as Mark’s unofficial guide for the intervening few days.
We walked around the Medina, played pool in the evenings, had the surreal experience of first
watching a Jackie Chan film dubbed in French in a Moroccan cinema, and then being
collectively propositioned on the street by hookers in traditional arab dress (was it really
Ramadan?). We also took a short day trip to Ourika Valley in the foothills of the Atlas mountains
to climb 5 of the 7 waterfalls to be found there. However, the highlight must have been being
invited to dinner on the terrace of Simo’s aunt’s house in the heart of the Medina. He lives with
his aunt, in a room on the top floor with a single bed, no light, and with one wall filled to the ceiling
with stores. As we sat on stools on the terrace Simo’s aunt brought up piping hot bowls of
harrirah, dates, olives, honeyed bread and we washed it down with mint tea. Their hospitality
and warmth was overwhelming.
The following morning, Quintin and Tristan finally arrived in Marrakech, also via Tangier and the
night train. They found Mark lying in state on the divans of the roof terrace of Riad Maria being
served breakfast. The day that followed was a whistle-stop tour of all of Marrakech’s highlights:
medersas, museums, ruins, the Medina, lunch overlooking Djemaa el-Fna, wandering through
the souqs and haggling to our hearts content. Dinner brought us back to the market stalls on the
main square, and having eyed them up all week, it was decided that we should all try sheep’s
heads for dinner. Although there was some trepidation at eating the eyes (see photo!), they
really were not that bad - in fact we'd even claim them rather tasty...
Exploring the Atlas Mountains
We then arranged a rental car, and for the next 4 days drove 1000 miles over the High Atlas
Mountains to the verdant Draa valley, then onwards to the edge of the Sahara desert and back.
This region is inhabited by the Berber tribes, and their hospitality is legendary. We stopped to
give a young man a lift, and before you knew it we were invited into his house for tea. His uncle
was a Saharan trader who was preparing to spend the next 9 months of the year trading
between Saharan countries with his train of 80 camels. On another occasion we stopped to help
a broken down car. We simply passed on a message to his cousin in Ouarzazate about an
hour down the road, only to be invited in once again for mint tea and dates. He too was a
Saharan trader, but being more our age, conversation soon turned to how many wives a Berber
could have. The answer, of course, was all too simple; it depended on two things: how many
you could afford, and how many you could pleasure. Fortunately for the Berbers, we also
learned that their ubiquitous (and delicious!) dates are considered a form of Viagra in Morocco.
With The Clash’s famous hit "Rock the Kasbah" swimming around our heads, the next couple of
days we found ourselves driving down the valley of the 1000 Kasbahs,. Traditionally old fortress
strongholds, Kasbahs were scattered down the length of the road every few miles, the most
impressive of which was Ait Benhaddou. It has been used as the backdrop for many films
including Gladiator, Jesus of Nazareth and Lawrence of Arabia, and its impressive façade has
done a good job of spurring the burgeoning Moroccan film industry.
After a brief visit to the steep walled Todra Gorge, we headed East towards the Sahara.
Unfortunately Quintin was not feeling well, having come down with a bad fever, but he soldiered
on bravely. We were on the verge of leaving a town called Agdz when a particularly insistent
man asked if Mark could help translate a letter to his friend. On completing the assignment he
was then offered in for tea (see a pattern here?). Trying to refuse politely a few times, Mark was
finally told that “It is an insult to Allah to refuse Berber hospitality.” Enough said. We piled into his
shop, and on learning that Quintin was ill, his uncle, a herbal doctor, starting concocting some
sort of tea to help sooth the pain. While we waited for the “medicine” to kick in, we were dressed
up in Tuareg desert clothes and taught more about the traditions of the Berber and Tuareg tribes.
That afternoon we had a whistle-stop tour of central Morocco: we drove close enough to the
Sahara to get the obligatory photos of sand dunes, stopped at a camel watering hole to clean our
veggies for lunch, and then embarked at dusk for the long ride back to Marrakech on a new and
totally unmarked road. The rain and sand storm we had to drive through further impressed on
us that we were entering a scene from the Twilight Zone.
Finally back to Marrakech. With only a few days experience, Tristan was already driving like a
possessed Moroccan, and it was a good thing too. The last thing on our list before we headed
back to Spain was to experience one of the traditional hammam’s (hot baths) that are common
in Morocco. Unfortunately, despite Tristan’s best Formula1 techniques, we realized that we
didn’t have enough time for a massage, but would have to settle for a wash instead. We were
initially a bit disappointed, but when we found out what a massage entailed - being sat on by a guy
as he rubbed you down with old wet towels in an underlit chamber - we considered ourselves
lucky. This was not like your typical highbrow Turkish Bath. It consisted of a very simple and
small barrel vaulted chamber, two taps (steaming and cold), two buckets, and that’s about it.
Rub down, pour over… repeat. They also sold greasy soap which is supposed to be smeared
on and then scraped off, but sadly we didn’t have the time to try it out. All in all, it was a very
interesting and relaxing experience, and the best way to cap off a magical week in Morocco and
to prepare us for our long trip back to Spain.
