Day 1

Day 1 Monday 23/06/03

Sometimes a song just comes into your head and you can’t get it out, no matter how hard you try. Still at least I liked this song and quite happy in my own little world.

I was away with the fairies and able to put up with this singing to myself. And while I’m talking about singing to yourself, have you ever noticed you are never out of key when you just sing something in your head? Go on try it, I was right wasn’t I?

Do you ever find that you are talking to yourself, or singing a little louder than you thought you were? You suddenly realise what you are doing and look around nervously to make sure no one is looking at you? A quick look around confirmed that no one was looking at me, or even singing along with me, which was a shame as this was a nice little tune that was running around in my head.

Most of the people around me looked as though they had nothing going on inside their heads at all. They were all preoccupied with their own thoughts and fears!

There it was again; the words were still running through my brain, it was like I was reciting some kind of mantra “Were all riding on the Marrakech Express”.

This of course was the make believe train mentioned in the song by Crosby, Stills & Nash, way back in the 60’s Happy Hippie era. A time when Morocco, and especially the town of Marrakech was considered to be the Holy Grail for travellers in search of the ultimate destination, somewhere they could quite happily get high without finding themselves in too much trouble.

I was, in my own way, riding on the Marrakech express, but my Marrakech Express had wings and came in the form of British Airways flight 6918 from London Heathrow to Marrakech via Casablanca, the other major city in the heartland’s of Morocco.

Mention the name Casablanca and you think of Hollywood, which of course made “Casablanca” famous in the film starring Humphrey Bogart, Peter Lorre and Lauren Bacall way back in the forties. Who in the world over thirty years old has not heard those legendary words “Play it again Sam” Taken, of course, from the classic old black and white movie. Interestingly enough, I had read somewhere that not a single scene from this movie was actually shot in Morocco, the whole film, it is said, was made entirely at the studios in Hollywood. Casablanca was on my list of places to visit while on this trip, but I wasn’t getting any visions from the film flashing through my head, like I was with the now slightly irritating song about Marrakech! Not even a vision of me stood leaning against a grand piano, smoke billowing up from my untipped cigarette, dressed in a grubby gabardine mac, a trilby hat and asking Sam to play that tune by Crosby, Stills and Nash again!

I could have actually been on a plane going anywhere at the time; as it had been a toss up between Morocco, Tunisia and Turkey as to where I would go on this trip, having only decided a few days earlier that I would indeed go anywhere at all. I had two weeks off work and nothing else planned, so chose Morocco in preference to the other two simply because I was able to secure a flight at a time and price that were to my liking.

Whenever you travel such a varied selection of people will cross your path. These people are all going to have some kind of affect on the outcome of your trip, in one way or the other, be that someone really pissing you off, someone offering a few words of advice, or someone spending a little time with you as you travel around. This Travelogue is therefore not only about the places I visited on this trip, but also about some of the characters I met and shared experiences with along the way.

The first person I met was a guy named Majid, who was sat opposite, but after opening a conversation he came and sat next to me on the plane for the whole journey from London. On first impressions he looked like the reincarnation of the seventies’ rocker Mark Boland, with his dark olive complexion, long black corkscrew hair, tight fitting black tee shirt and faded blue jeans held up by a large studded belt. If he had broken into song with a couple of bars from Metal Guru, or Children of the Revolution I would not have been the slightest bit surprised. A rather naff looking pair of wraparound sunglasses, that for some reason he wore to hide his eyes for most of the journey topped off this rock star look. Why people wear shades when not in the sun is a little beyond me. I could understand it if they were blind, say like Stevie Wonder or Ray Charles, but not to just look cool!

The conversation between us started when I asked what he was listening to on the portable CD player he was constantly fiddling with. “Oh Nothing, I haven’t got any batteries in it!” he replied.

“Oh right?” I said, trying to sound not in the least bit surprised!

I was going to ask him, why then was he wearing the headphones if nothing was coming out, but thought it better to let the conversation move away from the CD player. I was thinking to myself he probably didn’t have any CD’s either.

Majid was a pretty nice guy who was returning to Morocco to visit his parents and attend a music festival in Essaouira (pronounced esa-wera). He told me that he now lived and worked in East London as a florist! I nearly choked on my coke when he told me this, a rock star, social worker, or hairdresser maybe, but a florist? There was no way would I ever have guessed that. He came to be living in London after having met his wife, (a teacher from Wales) while on a trip to Switzerland some ten years previously. He was very much into the music scene and said he played guitar in a band himself. Not being one to miss an opportunity, the festival in his Moroccan hometown was the ideal opportunity and excuse for him, to not only indulge in his passion for music, but also to visit his parents.

Majid also told me that when he was not working as a florist he imported Moroccan handicrafts to England, he then sold them on in the trendy London markets.

The journey for me was spent swatting up on my destination by looking through the Lonely Planet guidebook and interspersed with sporadic bouts of conversation, mostly about flowers, Morocco and the places Majid thought I might like to see on my visit. He was also able to give me advice on such things as prices and places to stay e.t.c. Although in all honesty I don’t know why I bother reading up on these things, as I seem to have the memory of a goldfish, which they say forget everything after about six seconds. Now what was I talking about?

Majid who was being picked up by a taxi he had ordered, offered me a ride into Marrakech, which was most welcome to me as I did not want to be looking around for transport straight away in a strange place, especially as it was now getting dark.

As small as the airport is at Marrakech, I still managed to get separated from Majid when I had to change some currency. Thinking he would be outside waiting for me I left the airport terminal to find that he was nowhere to be seen! Maybe he had told me to meet somewhere and I had suffered the goldfish experience? Oh well, I would just have to find my own way into the town centre, which meant one of two things. Either I could catch the bus, although I was not sure where I should board it, or for that matter get off, or alternatively, I could catch a taxi for the 6-Km ride. I chose the softer option and hailed a taxi.

The taxi driver insisted that his price of 100 DH (DH = Dihram, the Moroccan currency) was the going rate this time of night? I was not to sure about that and felt I was being ripped off! But I was not in the mood to argue and was really just pleased to get into the town centre without any hassles, so I paid the inflated fare, albeit a little grudgingly! (The current exchange rate was just under 16 DH = £1.00)

I had asked the driver to take me to the Hotel Ali after having read a fair review of the place in the Lonely Planet guidebook, the driver told me he was unable to pull right up outside the hotel as the road was closed off to cars, so he would drop me as near as possible! I could not see the hotel from this spot and was a little suspicious; thinking the driver was just dumping me here on a busy intersection, rather than fight his way through the traffic. There was no need to be so paranoid though; it was less the 100 meters to the hotel from where the taxi dropped me.

The only room the lady at reception was able to offer me was a largish one with three single beds in it, and a window that faced onto the main street outside. I was happy enough, as it would only cost me 110 DH the standard rate for a single room with toilet and shower en-suite. My trouble with hotel rooms is that I will generally accept anything, I only see them as a place to dump my bags and crash for the night.

The Hotel Ali sits near enough on the corner of the Djemaa el-Fna; this is the large tarmac square of open land that dominates the medina here in the old part of town, renowned for it’s hustle and bustle.

It is here in the square where the body of Marrakech pulses from a steady trickle during the daylight hours, to an exhilarating and throbbing heart rate when dusk begins to fall.

As night descends the whole place comes to life, around the square are thousands of people jostling to watch the various forms of impromptu entertainment being provided by the many street entertainers that gather here. A collection of musicians, henna artists, acrobats, jugglers, snake charmers, story tellers and even a boxing show, are all to be found here jostling for space, and trying to attract a large as possible crowd to watch their show. Djemaa el-Fna when loosely translated, actually means “place of the dead, now if ever there was a contradiction in terms, then this was it!.

While it has to be said that these street entertainers do look towards the tourist to attract donations for their efforts, it also has to be said the acts are not primarily aimed at the tourist. They are in fact mostly put on to entertain the masses of Moroccans’ who flood to the square as part of a ritual almost every evening.

Djemaa el-Fna also hosts a collection of fast food stalls, which can be found, set out in orderly lines in the middle of the square. They all serve freshly cooked meals at very reasonable prices, and all kept at low levels by the large amount of competition.

Freshly squeezed orange juice can be bought from one of the many stalls that also compete for the attention of would be customers with their cries to buy from them as you walk past. A juice costs as little as 2 DH (8p) and is such a refreshing way to quench a thirst, not to mention a great vitamin injection. Just to stand near these food and orange sellers is enough to make you hungry, or thirsty.

A short walk heading north beyond the main square leads you into the souqs, a laberinyth of small paths and alleys that form the arteries which flow all around the body of the medina. Here in the souq you will find tightly packed together shops and stalls of every kind, selling foods and arts and crafts of every description, from leather work to metal work, woodwork to clothing, electronics, fruits, pastries, spices and of course, carpets. You name it and I dare say you can probably find it being sold somewhere here in the souq.

So it was to the middle of the square that I made my way after settling into my room, which simply meant throwing my rucksack on one of the three beds that made up the very basic room. This done I headed straight out to use what little time there was left of the evening to get aquatinted with my new surroundings.

I walked around the square in a state of bewildered amusement that obviously stood me out as a new face in town. I was attracting the attention of every beggar, shoeshine boy, snake charmer, henna artist, juice seller and street hawker I passed. Fending off the unwanted attention as politely as I could, I tried to take it all in, but this was just too much of a spectacle to come to terms with straight away, never mind understanding it all. No matter how much you read up on a place, you are never quite ready for it!

The souqs looked inviting as a means of escape from the organised chaos in the main square.

In hindsight this was not to be my best move of the day, because as soon as I entered the small alleyways I could see the look in the eyes of the many eager street traders as I approached. “Fresh blood” was the thought running through the minds of this pack of hungry shopkeepers! All of them stalking the streets outside their emporiums looking for their next cash cow to feast on! A couple of minutes into the souq and I realised that maybe I was not ready to tackle this assault course just yet! I knew I should have packed that flack jacket into my rucksack! I had to accept these souqs could be very disorientating in the daylight, never mind the dark as it was now. Turning into Captain Sensible I decided to head back to the square and run the gauntlet of hawkers, and snake charmers, rather than risk getting lost in the dark on my first evening.

Back in the square and all seemed to be a little less chaotic then it had been only 10 or 15 minutes earlier. Maybe that move away from the mayhem had given me a little space and time to take stock. Whatever it was, I was now ready to tackle the square once again and went to find myself somewhere to eat.

Most of the food stalls employ a boy to stand out in the aisles and attract passers by; these young men can usually speak at least a couple of different languages. Every stall I got within 15 feet of someone would be trying to encourage me to sit at their tables to eat, with the promise of the best meal I could ever have.  My plan was to eat at one of the many restaurants that surround the square, rather than out in the open, but this soon went by the by when I was coaxed to eat at stall No: 114. Actually I wasn’t totally convinced, I had just lost the will fend off the attention anymore.

The fare on offer was really quite substantial for such a small outlet, which I would say was no more than a couple of long bench seats set around a stall of around 20 by 20 feet. I chose to eat some chicken kebab with a salad, a bowl of olives that I did not ask for, some chilli sauce and fries, all of which it has to be said tasted fresh and wholesome.

It soon became obvious that I definitely stood out as a newcomer to the square when the young man who presented the bill tried to overcharge me, it was only by around 10 DH, but he soon realised his mistake when I questioned his sums! He offered me a free glass of mint tea to appease me, which I gladly accepted in order to aquaint myself with this beverage, the most popular of drinks in Morocco.

After my alfresco meal I further explored the square and surrounding areas, totally immersed in the sights and sounds that were all around me. The hawkers were still trying to extract whatever money they could from everybody and anybody passing within ten feet of them. Women wearing rags and holding babies in their arms sat huddled on the ground, their arms outstretched begging for whatever you could give them. The water sellers resplendent in their bright multi coloured hats, with matching red uniform’s and highly polished copper water urns slung over their shoulders, were making more money from posing for tourists camera’s than actually selling water.

The heady concoction of the smells circulating all around me would be a challenge for anybody’s senses; these included the very tempting aroma of lamb, chicken and fish being cooked over charcoal grills. There was also the smell of freshly squeezed orange juice, all kinds of fruits and spices, new leather, recently polished wood, rotting vegetation, horse manure and the unmistakable smell of stale urine!

Two hours later I was back in the hotel Ali, now using the internet café to send home a message to my loved ones to say I had arrived safely, and all was well. Which to be honest was not that easy to do, as the keyboard was in Arabic and the screen in French! After much frustration and a fair bit of help from the attendant, I finally managed to get the mail sent.

Then back upstairs sitting on the bed nearest the window I listened to the sounds of Marrakech, I could hear the musicians playing pipes to encourage their snakes to dance, with the accompanying rhythmic strings and drums echoing from the square just to the right of the building. From below the window came the sight and sounds of hundreds of people walking past, all talking so loud as to be heard above all the other noise. There were motor bikes with whole families aboard zipping in and out of these crowds, intoxicating all around them with the exhaust gasses.

There were donkeys trotting past, pulling small carts with loads the average lorry would struggle to carry, there were the horses pulling the Caleche’s (taxi carriages), all making that unmistakable clip clop sound as they trudged around the squares’ perimeter road, fully laden with the more well off sightseeing tourists.

Raising my head and looking directly in front of my line of vision, but nearly some 500 metres away was the unmistakable sight of the Koutoubia Mosque. It’s main minaret standing some 70 metres high and lit up against the night sky, this was by far and away the main focal point for the whole area.

I made a quick entry on my notepad which read “My first impressions, I think I am going to enjoy Morocco”.

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