After arriving in the airport, which was no different to any other, sans the Arabic signs around the place, we headed outside to catch a taxi. They have two types of taxi's in Marrakesh, 'Grand Taxi's', which are essentially 20 year old Mercedes, and 'Petit' Taxis which are at least 25 years old, and resemble something that would have been a first car... for my parents. The kind of car that you get $50 for in parts, if you're lucky.
Anyway, we opt for the latter of the two taxi's as there is only two of us, and as soon as we glance in the direction of said taxi's the drivers one by one approach, and act like our new best friends. They are all the most incredibly untrustworthy looking men you can imagine. We are told how they will give us a special price of 150 Dirhams ($22 AUD), but, after reading up a bit about Morocco on the internet, we knew that we should not pay more than 60 ($9 AUD). We stick to our price, as we know it is the standard, reasonable price. The taxi drivers walk away, as if they are disgusted by our offer. In reply, we also walk away. It turns into a bit of a game.
The taxi drivers look at us and speak Arabic to each other, as if they are working together to try and milk as much money out of us as they can. Offers of 120 Dirhams and 80 Dirhams are thrown at us, but we hold steady, getting a sense of enjoyment out of the constant battle.
Two taxi drivers look at us, and converse once more in Arabic. I hear 'sixty', and see a shake of the head from one of the men. We are told that because it is night time (7pm), there is an extra tarriff. The taxi driver walks us to a sign, to point this out. It clearly states, there is a 50% night tarriff. He's right.
It also clearly states, however, that the night time tarriff doesn't start until 8pm, which we point out to him. His resolve is weakening. It's halfway through round 2 and the ref is asking for a ten count. Aaaaaannd he's done. He gives in to our price, and we are on our way.
The interior of the car is as shabby as the outside. First of all, there are no seatbelts. The dashboard is pure darkness, and there is an Arabic charm of some sort hanging from the rear vision mirror. He departs from the airport in a seemingly dishevelled manner – probably with somewhat of a bitter taste in his mouth. I get the sense that he will be ribbed by his fellow taxi drivers for not being able to get a higher fare out of us. I watch him, and it almost looks as if he is hiding from the views of other taxi drivers, not wanting to be known as the guy that cheapened himself enough to take the Australian pair, who were unwillinging to budge on the price.
Within 200 metres of the airport exit, we are cut off by a bus. Unphased, the taxi driver brakes calmly, and pulls in behind it. The roads have no real lines, but there are two distinct lanes. The main lane, with buses, and cars, and the smaller lane adjacent, reminiscent of a break-down lane. This lane is full of everything that can fit there, mainly motorbikes that seem to always have no less than two people on them - helmetless, of course. Due to the 'petite' size of our taxi, we are also able fit in this exclusive lane. It speeds up our journey a little.
We head down seemingly countless alleyways, full of motorbikes swerving in out of the 'lanes', passing the odd horse and cart along the way. The whole place is buzzing, and there are people, stalls and music everywhere. The taxi driver comes to a stop. He speaks to some men with carts, one of whom ambles over to the taxi, and goes to take our bags out of the back. A bit of research goes a long way, and I'm well aware that seemingly nice gestures come at a price, an overinflated one for tourists. So, much to the mans surprise it seems, we decline his offer of help and make our way down this road, nay, dirt lane that the taxi driver directs us down. He assures us with a smile that it's the right direction, and speaks some more Arabic as he leaves. We start to think that being so stubborn earlier might now be to our detriment, as we fear he has taken us to the middle of nowhere as some sort of evil revenge.
The trip down the alleyway is crazy. With the knowledge that anyone that offers you help or directions expects payment in return, we battle on alone, walking past beggars, old men pushing carts, older women in traditional outfits, shoeless children kicking soccer balls around on the dirt, and young men peddling their wares. The lane is alive with music and chatter, and well lit yet full of shadows and dark corners. We spot an older couple who look like tourists, and lucky for us, they're English. Unfortunately, they have no idea where our hotel is, but advise us we're in the right direction to the town square, Djemaa el Fna, that our hostel is near. I should mention at this point that the directions to all the hotels in Marrakesh are very limited. All the maps available on the internet are very, very limited, and only cover some of the major roads - not dirt alleyways. Google Maps, the best of the best online map sites failed me completely. Essentially, we had a street, to which the taxi driver assured us he had taken us to, and a Hotel name and the selling point that it was only two minutes from Djemaa el Fna, That taxi driver, though... thinking about his smile made me more uneasy than comfortable.
With the newfound knowledge that we were at least heading in the right direction, we had a newfound confidence and were determined to get to the hotel. I'd read that if you ask for directions, to try and ask older people, or women, as they are the least likely to try and scam you.
Whilst walking, I would continuously scan people up and down, and consider that if, worst case scenario, they would be willing and able to give us directions. No real candidates. Motorbikes continuously zoom past us, and we can hear the noise bellowing from the main square in the near distance.
We eventually find a pharmacy, and this proves to be our savior. I assume someone who trains in pharmacy is one of the more likely people to speak English. Wrong. She speaks French, however, though this is of little help to us. We mention our hostel name, and she points in a direction, and raises her finger in a 'you're out', cricket manner. I guess that means it's only one minute away. Or she's a bit of a sports fan.
So, it turns out the helpful pharmacist is unlikely to know any non sea dwelling variety of Flipper, as I luckily catch a glance of a sign that points to our hostel, only a minute or so down this alley. It points further around a darkened alley, and after the directions from someone entering their home a couple of buildings down, we are told it's the first one around the corner. And it is.
We finally enter, and a friendly, English speaking Moroccan greets us. The hotel, which is more of a town house, is an amazing Moroccan home, and features a rooftop terrace. The centre of the three storey house is somewhat of a courtyard, with no roof, completely open to the skies above. Somewhat of an atrium type design, I guess you could say. The rooms are also really nice, large rooms with an ensuite, and is costing us about the same as a bed in a dormitory in London. Relaxed and comfortable, we headed to bed, with a huge day of exploring ahead of us.
Part of the alleyway we had to walk down, the previous night.
Moroccan Alley
We awoke at a reasonable time, which was helped by the two hour time difference between Spain and Morocco, and were greeted with a breakfast downstairs. A selection of bread, jams and cream, along with freshly squeezed orange juice, and coffee was out our disposal.
It was in daylight that we could finally grasp an understanding of our surroundings, as we looked out from the rooftop, being able to see the state in which many people here live in. The house we're in is amazing. It's nothing to look at from the outside, but the inside is incredibly nice.
Inside the hotel
View from the roof of our hotel
After breakfast we headed out into the sensory overload that is Morocco. Photographing people here comes with great risk. Many entertainers make their living from pestering and badgering people watching them until they hand over money, and they're incredibly forceful and blunt about it, and harrass and follow people who do not pay up. Muslim women also don't like to be photographed. And then, of course, there is the people going about their day to day lives who are probably also sick and tired of people taking photos of them. So, with that in mind, my camera stayed in my pocket more than I would have liked.
As we left the small alleyway in which our hotel is located, we walked into what is best described as the opening scenes of the movie Aladdin. In fact, Morocco in general is very reminiscent of that environment. Men and children zoom past on scooters, and everything that can be hung from the roof is. The locals play this little game in which they try and guess where you're from, and work their way through all the possible greetings. 'Hola' – most likely because of Sarah's dark hair and skin has generally been followed by 'Bonjour' and finally 'Hello! How are you!'... by which point we have walked well past them.
We make our way out onto Djemaa el Fna, the main square, and start to walk through the crowds. A women approaches us, and thrusts a book in our faces, full of pictures of henna tattoos. We decline the offer, and keep walking. We pass a group of men snake charming. One motions me over, inviting me to get closer to his reptilian friends, but I decide not to take him up on the offer. If you take a photo of these men, and choose not to pay up (generally in the vicinity of 10 Dirham - $2 AUD – but they sometimes demand ten times that), they will put a snake around your neck, and threaten to not remove it until you pay.
Snake charmers in the square
We then head through the square, and get on a bus to take us around the city. In the light of day, the chaos that is Morroccan roads is in full view. The only rule seems to be that you give way to anything that is bigger than you. Men with donkeys and carts, mopeds, bicycles, cars, taxis, buses and pedestrians alike all cross in every direction, seemlessly without any sense of organisation, yet meticulously precise and well executed. In the several following hours, we didn't see anything that came close to a crash.
Streets of Marrakesh
We see a fair few mosques and temples, some nice hotels and a park or two. We also go past (and later go back to), a Moroccan McDonalds. We go through a Palm forest, and plenty of camels. We go past the location of the previous night's taxi drop off, amongst many other places throughout the new and old town. We end up back at the square, which has picked up in activity since earlier on in the day.
The side streets of the square are hundreds of tiny alleyways of markets – with an array of smells, colours and sounds. Food – spices, hot food, vegetables, nuts, everything is available. Fabrics, including the most extravagant and elaborate collection of rugs one could ever imagine, are spread out throughout the place.
Souqs (Markets)
A couple of men sit in a corner, playing a game reminiscent of checkers. I watch them for a while, then turn to find a man thrusting a turkey in my face. I decide it's my time to move on, and walk further throughout the maze of alleyways and lanes, occassionally moving aside for the motorbikes who yell and beep, instructing people to get out of their way. Outside are piles and piles of dates, dried apricots and other sorts of fruit and vegetables, all covered in flies, which is of no concern to the people selling them.
Through good luck more than good management, we end up back at the centre of the square, and pick up a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice, which is only 3 Dirham ($0.50 AUD), for a huge glass. So refreshing and satisfying. A look at a heap of the nearby shops offerring an assortment of counterfeit clothes, dvds etc, and we go back to the hotel for a bit before heading back out in the evening.
Awesome orange juice.
At dusk, Djemaa el Fna really comes alive, and as we enter this time, noise is bellowing from all corners, and the centre of the square is full of an assortment of stalls cooking traditional Moroccan dishes. The smell of sausages, kebabs, stews and spices covers the whole square. It's like the world's best barbeque.
We head up to the top of a nearby cafe that overlooks the whole square. As expected, you need to pay/buy something to get in. A can of coke on the balcony costs me 20 Dirham ($3.50 AUD). The beverage is good, but the views are better, as we get a nice view of the square at dusk, and plenty of hassle-free photo opportunities. The snake charmers are drawing quite a crowd, as are groups of dancing men, and men with monkeys on their shoulders. The monkeys are kept locked up in cages, and lead around on metal chain leashes. We get the best view of all the unaware tourists caught taking photos of all the performers, as they refuse to pay, get harrassed, and for most of the part, give in.
Djemaa el Fna
After watching over the square and being surrounded by such enticing smells, we head back downstairs, and search for dinner for ourselves. At the first place we come to, we are greeted by a charming young Moroccan man, probably about the same age as us. He strikes up a conversation, and assures us that we should eat their food as their will be no cheaper furtherthroughout the square. On finding out we're Australian he bellows out 'Aussie Aussie Aussie! Oi Oi Oi!'. We tell him we want to have a look around, and he makes us promise that we'll come back to them to eat. We assure him we will, and unlike many other times in dealing with similar situations, feel as if we really should.
After doing a lap of the square and all the food places, we end up at the entrance, and our new Moroccan charmer's place of food. He motions us over with a cheeky smiles and 'Come, come, this place... it has air conditoning!'.
Dinner, and our waiter in the square
All of the restaurants, stalls – I'm not sure what to call them, are essentially barbeques on trailers, piled high with meats. The trailers are covered with tent like structures, and benches that resemble those that you find in parks are set up around the trailer. Tablecloths are a sheet of plastic, and placemats, a piece of paper. Not the most elegant dining experience, but it need not be, as we are brought out plates of grilled eggplant, large rolls that are commonplace here, a vegetable rissole of sorts and a salsa like dip. This is 'demolished' rather quickly, as we order Moroccan sausages, and a mix of kebabs for our mains. The main course is as good as the starter, and after a few photos, we make our way back to the hotel satisfied with the days exploits.
We awake the following day a bit later, and not so rested due to the 5am wake up call that we, and the rest of Marrakesh, recieved. Every day, at 5am, and four other times during the day, prayers are read out in Arabic and broadcast throughout the city through a variety of loud speakers. This lasts for ten or so minutes, and is enough to wake a person up, and keep them up until it ceases.
Breakfast is once again enjoyable, and we leave the hotel and back into the madness. We head back to some of the shops and souqs (markets) we eyed out yesterday, only this time with an idea of what we wanted to buy. First on the list, is one of the traditional Moroccan hats called a Fez. We whittle him down from over 100 Dirham a Fez, to two for 50.
As I try on my Fez, a man in a store nearby tells me I look like Ali Babar. I tell him I'm after some curly toed shoes and, of course, he tells me he knows a place where I can find them. Keen on the shoes, I follow, and he directs us into the smallest shop known to man – probably no more than one metre across, and about 3 metres deep. I find a style and colour I like, but alas, there are none in my size. No problem, he tells me, and invites me to follow him to another store with a larger selection. And with this begins another walk through an assortment of laneways – left, right, up stairs, past children playing with stray cats, through small archways and so on, until we get into another shoe store a little bit bigger than the previous one.
I am introduced to the owner of this store, and he sits me down, giving me a run down on all the types of footwear he has on offer. Satisfied with the pair I'm after, he puts the shoe on my foot in some sort of action that is reminiscent of Cinderella and yes, it fits. I ask how much he wants for the shoes, and he tells me that for me, the price is 500 Dirham. I'm a bit taken aback – as this is only 100 Dirham less than I paid for 3 nights accomodation. And, I only have 100 Dirham on me. I advise him that my best offer is 100 Dirham – and he acts insulted. They look angered, and I feel somewhat guilty for the man who walked me all this way, only for me to offer them less than a fifth than what they wanted. They reduce their offer to 200. I tell them the truth, that I really, only do have 100 Dirham on me. We get up and leave, and they reduce it to 120 in a 'pay 100 now, 20 later'. Not going to happen, either. As we get out the door, the man calls us back, and the shoes are mine for 100 Dirham. He asks, 'Are you happy? I like people being happy.' Happy to have got my shoes for one fifth of the starting price, I guess.
Back at our hotel, we set about listening to music on the roof terrace. We talk to the hotel manager about food restaurants nearby, and he tells us about a friends restaurant nearby. Another friend of his, Najim, gives us the low down on the restaurant, and advises us if we want to go there, he can take us. At this point in time, we think it's his restaurant. After getting changed, we decide we'll head to this restaurant, and the hotel manager takes us out onto the street, and calls out to his friend – who jumps up off a small seat outside a shoe store, and comes over to us. He introduces himself again, and we set off down the alleyway, towards this restaurant he assures us is very nice. When we mention we're from Australia he excitedly says, 'Oh Kangaroo!'.
We talk about football (soccer), and he talks about how he follows English and Spanish football as well. Barca are his team in the Spanish league, and we converse about Henry, Messi and Ronaldhino. When you get out of Australia you really get an idea about how big soccer really is. We've gone from country to country, continent to continent, and everywhere, football always appears to be a common ground.
As he ushes us to the sides of laneways, to avoid oncoming motorcycles, he pats on the back and acknowledges many of the people working nearby. We pass through a section of live markets, full of live chickens in cages. We eventually get out onto another darkened alleyway, and to a dimly lit restaurant. From the outside, it is a rather bland, building, no more noticeable or grand than any of the surrounding ones. Inside, however, it is amazing and palace like. Our guide departs us, and we thank him as he leaves.
There are people performing live traditional music as we are ushered to our table. We choose to get a set meal that includes cous cous, Moroccan Salad, Chicken with lemon, as well as Moroccan pastries, fresh fruit, and mint tea. All dishes are amazing, and by the end we are so incredibly full, we get a couple of photos and make our way back to the hotel, but decide we'll head back to the square to have a look around.
Live musicians at the rest. I'm removing crumbs from my teeth haha
Just after we pass the turn off for our hotel, I hear my name called out, and turn to see Najim from before, sitting outside the same store he was before. He tells us that the shoe shop behind him is his, and invites us inside. As we enter, he brings in a couple of stools, and tells us to sit down and drink tea with him, to which we're happy to oblige. He sits down with us, and he asks us about our travels, where we're from, and how long we've been in Morrocco.
Najim, Moroccan shoe salesman.
He works from 9am to 11am, but this doesn't bother him. He has a bit of a positive energy about him, and is incredibly friendly and exudes a warmth. His parents live in the desert, 'far away' in Morocco, and he and his brother, as well as another man, work in the shoe store. The walls are covered in shoes, and slippers, many similar to ones I bought earlier in the day. He talks about how he and his brother share different mothers, as their father has several wives – something which is quite normal over here, he tells me.
His brother enters with a kettle of mint tea, and we are introduced. He pours into it a large shot of whisky. After he is sure that the tea is ready, he pours us all a glass, carefully wiping it to make sure none has spilled over. 'Saha!' he says, as he raises his glass. This is the Arabic form of 'Cheers' he explains. 'Saha!' we all say in unison, with an accompanying clinkage of glasses.
The brother also loves football, so we also have something to talk about. He supports Chelsea, and his favourite player is Drogba. Ballack, he is not so keen on. He tells Sarah that her team, Aston Villa, have a Moroccan player for them. We talk about Hecham El Gouraj, the Morroccan runner, and his gold medal runs in Sydney in 2000. As he refills our drinks, he is also inquisitve about our travels, and Australia having Kangaroos.
He tells Sarah she looks Spanish, and looks 'very nice', with a cheeky smile and laugh. He followed this with a 'how much?'. He laughs. I laugh and tell him she's not for sale, and he rebukes with an offer of 'One thousand camels!'. My counter offer of one million camels is accepted, and with a handshake, the deal is done.
After finsihing a couple more glasses of tea, we thank both men for their kindness and hed back to the hotel via the square.. They tell us that if we're ever back in Morrocco than we can go out, in the desert, to see their family, and ride camels with them. Maybe one day we'll take them up on that offer, who knows.
The next morning we awake, to have a great breakfast once more, and get all our stuff out of the room, before heading out for a last look around and shop before we fly back to London. We see Najim, and he is happy for us to get a photo with him. After sampling a cheap orange juice once more - we are on our way to the aiport. For 50 Dirham.
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