Marakkesh

Buses almost never arrive on schedule, generally being a half to one hour late. Such was the case with our bus at Skoura, and when it finally did arrive, we were happily greeted by our two Canadian chums, who decided against the hike, due to slippery and muddy trail conditions. They were heading all the way from Todra Gorge to Essaouira on the Atlantic coast, some 10 or so hours further down the road from Skoura, via Marakkesh.

The route is a very beautiful one, continuing east through the very lovely looking tourist destination of Ouarzazate, and then veering north to begin the arduous climb through the

High Atlas Mountains to a pass called Tizi-n-Tichka (2260 metres). The road is very twisting with dozens and dozens of switch-backs along the way. It is known for its ability to cause car sickness, which befell one tiny passenger almost immediately we entered the crooked stretch. It is barren and wild country through there, with few inhabitants, and there was still some recent snow on the ground. At the pass we stopped for about 40 minutes or so, for the driver to rest and for everyone to have a break and a bite to eat. The little girl who was suffering so much on the way up was completely cured after the short stop, but it wasn’t to last, since the descent down the other side is even more twisted, with many more switch backs and bends in the road. It’s pretty exciting stuff, but our bus was not really up to the task of so much braking, and we were forced to stop while the driver, with the help of some

passengers, tried their best to quench the thirst of the brake shoes, with applications of the muddy water running down the ditch. After a 30 minute delay, it was decided that we were safe to continue the remainder of the decent, much to the chagrin of the wee lass and her mom. But soon enough we were reaching the bottom and the landscape continued to evolve from the barrens of the high altitude to the lush greenery of the valleys below. Absolutely stunning scenery, both sides of the pass.

Cath flew into Marakkesh and already spent of couple of nights there at the beginning of her trip to Morocco, so she pretty much knew the lay of the land. It was with some relief that I just followed her directly to the riad where she had spent those two nights, and where she had a reservation for the night before her flight back to London, two days hence. Our arrival at the riad was met with a bit of dismay, due to the fact that they were fully booked, but would be able to put us both in a small dorm room for one night. Cath was okay for the next night as she had a reservation already, but I would have to go elsewhere.

As is very often the case, we were invited to sit down and have tea, and chat for a while, until they decided to show us the room and take our information and money. Our conversation was overheard by another guest who immediately swooped down from upstairs to introduce herself to her Aussie compatriot. Before too much longer we were all three heading towards the main square, Djemma al-Fna, to acquaint me with the Marakkesh medina in all its splendour.

And what a place it is! Every evening, food stalls set up in the square with amazing speed, in a pre-ordained order. The food is super fresh, and so are the goons who go to bat for each stall, luring customers to partake of their fine offerings. The competition for customers is furious, and often gets quite nasty. This is the worst of the worst in terms of being harassed by vendors in Morocco. The mud slinging begins and innocent travellers get caught in the line of fire, wondering “What the Hell?” I ate there that first night with Cath and the other Aussie gal (whose name escapes me), but not again. It was just not a pleasant experience and ends up being more expensive than eating in a modest but good restaurant right next to the square.

Aside from the food stalls, after dark it becomes quite a show complete with acrobats, and

snake charmers, who have their henchmen on the lookout for anyone stupid enough to be caught taking a photo, for they will be chased down and demanded to pay for the privilege. It really becomes a place to practice never making eye contact, lest you be charged for it, or accosted and provoked into purchasing something or other. There are hundreds of tiny young children, alone or with a pal, selling pocket size tissues, or just begging. This is the worst of Marakkesh. One of the BEST things about Marakkesh is the fresh orange juice, squeezed before your very eyes - 250ml for less that 50 cents!

The medina itself, although vast, is actually a much calmer place, and the vendors tend not to hassle the strolling public, local or tourist. This is a huge relief, especially after Fez, and it makes Marakkesh a much more agreeable place to be.

In addition to the medina, there are many interesting places to visit, including Jardine Majorelle, which was owned recently by Yves St. Laurent. He purchased the property with his partner with the purpose of restoring and preserving the villa and its garden to the same specifications of the original owner, landscape artist Jacques Majorelle, and keeping it open to the public. It is a beautiful refuge from the wearing and tearing of Marakkesh, and you are quite welcome to come in (after paying your entrance fee) to wander, or sit and ponder or read or paint, as long as you wish. I got there not too long after opening, and it was already busy with other visitors, but still an island of calm. When I left, I thought that I was very clever indeed, because there was a line up all the way down the block of other eager visitors, standing, waiting in the hot noon-day sun.

The day after my first night in Marakkesh, I was taken to a different Riad that had room for me. I was given the choice between a shared 4 bed dorm, or a private single room with en-suite toilet and shower. For the difference of the equivalent of C$8, I opted for the private room, and felt like I was really spoiling myself. Only trouble was, I had to move to the 4 bed dorm the next night, because that room was already reserved. Meantime, I met 4 other travellers to hike around Marakkesh with, and make it all the more interesting. They included an American girl and a Canadian girl who were both teaching English in France (travelling together, both about 23yrs old), a Canadian young man living in London, and an American fellow who was a bit of a refugee from the US on account of the state of affairs in his country regarding jobs, and health-care, and the war against Iraq and in Afghanistan.

I had one more move to make in Marakkesh before leaving after 4 nights. The two gals teaching English in France had to make a similar move the night before, and I was glad to have them show me the way from one Riad to the other, because this one was particularily hidden away, with absolutely NO signage, not even over the door. Once I was pointed out the trick to finding the way, it was simple enough, but it was a very wiggley route, deep into the medina, that at first felt quite scary.

Medinas truly are like mazes, and for sure you will get lost in them. But somehow you always manage to find your way out to somewhere familiar, when you breath a huge sigh of relief and dive back in again! The hardest part is when you are specifically trying to find something like a palace or ancient medersa (a theological college) as suggested by the guide book. From the outside, almost none of these place have any outstanding identifying features, looking very much like everything else along the way, drab and dirty. It is once you get inside the walls that the splendors of the architecture and detailed facades become revealed. Again, islands of calm and order in the midst of the bustle and hustle of the everyday workings of Morocco.

Cath and I got together for one last meal and meander together before her flight back to UK. We had had a really swell time travelling together, and of course I was sad to say farewell, after about 10 days of camaraderie.

The plans I had made for the next stage of my Morocco explorations took me back into the mountains, to a small town, not far from Marakkesh, called Imlil.