Day 4

Day 4: Thursday 26/7/03

Mickey was on the ball again at five thirty this morning to wake me from my rather fitful sleep, it has been difficult to sleep in the heat and seems that as soon as I dropped off the alarm sounded to get me up!

Rightly, or wrongly, I have decided to move on to Meknes today, rather than explore Casablanca any further. There are things to see and do here, but I can’t be bothered and just want to move on.

After a shower and packing my stuff it was still only 6 a.m. and the train did not depart until 8.15, but I decided to get to the station early rather than later. Again I have to wake another man to pay my bill, but this one takes it in good spirit, probably very used to people checking out early to catch trains onwards.

“I don’t suppose you know where I could get a decent cup of coffee do you?

“Ugh?”

“Oh never mind, thank you, goodbye”

I had to wait a good 20 minutes for the number 30 bus to turn up, although I had plenty of offers from the many taxis that passed by. Had I been in a rush I might have taken one of them up on these offers, but I had plenty of time to get to the Casa Voyagers train station.

A lot of people are on the train, but most get off at Rabat the Capital of Morocco, situated an hour or so up the coast. From Rabat the train cuts back across country heading East towards the Middle Atlas via Sale, Kenitra, Moulay Idris and then onto Meknes, my destination for today.

Once the train heads back inland the plains of the countryside are awash with the golden hues of wheat fields and ochre coloured mountains that dominate this landscape as far as the eye can see. The sea of gold is only broken occasionally by the odd earth tones of mud brick settlements jutting out from the hillsides, or small groups of people toiling under the intense morning heat in the fields. The views are very pleasant and make the journey an enjoyable experience to help pass away the otherwise boring three and a half-hour journey.

I have decided to visit Meknes after reading that it is one of the most hassle free cities in all Morocco. Something I could do with at the moment is a little time and space without too much hassle, was my thinking at the time. The city itself is not that big and only has an estimated population of some 200,000 people, not that these figures are an indication to just how many people really live in a city, but they are a rough guide of sorts.

I have read that the old city housed within the medina walls is a pleasant place to walk around without too much fuss, and according to the guidebook, it also boasts some splendid old architecture from the Middle Ages.

Reading through the reviews in the guidebook all the cheaper hotels seemed to be located within the medina and are of about equal standard and price. So again I decided to stay at one of the cheaper ones in the Ville Nouvelle. The criteria was somewhere near to the station, and somewhere that I felt would be the easiest to find should I end up getting lost.

Hotel Toubkal (named after a region in the High Atlas) according to the guidebook is one of the more decent budget range hotels situated in the Ville Nouvelle on the avenue Mohammed V, a 10 minute walk from the station and just about a fifteen minute walk to the Medina.

Every major city in Morocco has an area known as the Ville Nouvelle, which is literally French for New City. When the French were in control of Morocco they built these new cities on the outskirts of the old ones (Medinas), they brought with them the style of France of the time. Wide roads and tree lined boulevards, three and four storey colonial style buildings, open fronted street café’s and all the other things you associate with the French way of life around the thirties.

Forward thinking Moroccans took to this kind of living, but the old school and poorer people still maintain the old ways within the medina's, and it is to here that you have to go to really get the feel for the Moroccan way of life that has refused to change over the years. Although it has to be said that now the Medina's themselves are starting to change gradually with a clutter of fast food shops and satellite dishes to be seen in most of them.

One thing I had noticed in the three cities I had visited so far was that the main road that runs through them is named after Mohammed V, the ruling Sultan from the 50’s. A very well thought of Ruler who was originally exiled from the country because he sympathised with the nationalists. He was returned during a period of unrest within the country and was instrumental in negotiating the handing back of power from the French in 1955.

The Entrance to the hotel could easily be missed were it not right next to the Large Café Toubkal that fronts the building, with the hotel being situated above.

The young man who greeted me at the reception desk showed me the largish room on the first floor. It had a nice tiled floor and some ornate old wooden shutters that led to a small balcony onto the front of the building and overlooking the main road. He told me it would cost 70 DH per night, plus an additional 10 DH if I wanted to use the shower room. This was, I thought, good value for the room, which was spacious and had a large bed, but no en-suite facility. But then again I thought what do you expect for this kind of money. I liked it; it had everything I needed namely a bed!

With no time like the present I dropped my rucksack, locked the door and headed off in search of the medina. The young man who had shown me the room gave me directions to the medina, which were simply to cross the road and keep going for about 15 minutes and I would come to it on my left.

An easy enough walk as the road was all slightly downhill past the hotel Ibis where the money tourists stopped, then past a large drive in McDonalds that looked out of place, but probably built there to attract tourists from the Ibis hotel. A little way past here was a large roundabout where I turned left and climbed a little up a road the led to the outer wall of the medina.

The Medina here in Meknes is set on an elevated position, so I now had a small climb uphill to the main gate of the Imperial city to the area known as Place el-Hedim where the main gate Bab el Mansour was situated. As I walked towards the gate I noticed a Moroccan woman dressed in the traditional jellaba, the full-length cotton garment, known more commonly to us as a kaftan. She was heading straight towards me, I knew straight away that she was going to approach me, but was not ready for what she had to sell.

“Parlez vous France?” she inquired.

“Non parlez France, parlez anglais” I replied, in what was probably the worst French you could imagine, but she got the message.

“Oh good, I see. You englis and wonna Fockey, fockey” she said smiling broadly, showing off a set of teeth that I could count on one hand.

“What?” I said, not really fully grasping what she had just said to me.

“I say Fockey, fockey!, You wanna to come wid me have fockey fockey?”

The penny finally dropped at about the same time as my jaw did.“Oh I see, ah, well I’ll have to say no thank you! It’s just a little to early for me, but thanks for the very kind offer anyway!” I told her, as though this was something I was used to being offered everyday.

She looked a little disappointed to have been turned down, but that’s the breaks and I’m sure if she worked the law of averages and kept asking people, someone would take her up on her offer.

I carried on walking towards the main archway entrance to the medina laughing to myself and wondering if this offer had a price that was negotiable, just like everything else in the souq?

Walking through the Bab el Mansour archway into the Medina you could not help but marvel at the intricate inscription above the main arch of three. To think it had been there since being built around 1730 and still looking good today. Thankfully vandalism does not seem to be a major problem in Morocco.

It was surprisingly quite in the square with not many people about. A few cale`ches (Horse-drawn carriages) stood ideally waiting for customers, with the horses chewing away on their feed oblivious to the intense mid-day heat day that was almost stifling me.

Looking around I could see there was an open air market on just a little way down the road to my left, but decided against going that way to have a look around, and instead walked straight ahead towards the covered souq and some welcome shade. With no real plan I just walked around aimlessly in any direction I fancied, passing through the chicken market where there were hundreds of these birds crammed into small wooden cages awaiting their fate. My roaming took me to all parts of this small, but very compact area of the city. I passed through the areas where they specialised in ceramic goods, leather, jewellery, furniture, cushions and musical instruments of every description.

Most of the banter between the shopkeepers and myself was Very light hearted and a pleasant way to spend an hour or two, without feeling under any pressure to buy anything. If only all the other souqs in Morocco were like this one, people, and I mean tourist in particular would be more inclined to spend more time and money in them I think.

At one point while in the alleys I came across what I suppose is the Moroccan equivalent of a car boot sale. Lot’s of women had spread out old clothes on the ground in a small side alley and were selling quite happily to other women who were rummaging through the garments, just like they would here at home.

It must have been a woman thing only as I did not see a single man amongst the largish gathering there?

Towards the outer wall I walked through a large vegetable market that was really busy, with again mostly women shopping for their daily produce. But what put me off the area was the smell. At the end of the road was a very large, almost bonfire style mound of rotting vegetation that really stunk to high heaven, so much so that I had to cover my nose when passing through as the smell was really very nauseating.

Worth looking at for a couple of hours, but with nothing of any great interest is how I would sum up my walk around the Meknes medina. I made my way back retracing the route I had followed as near as I could remember and coming out where I had been propositioned earlier by the Moroccan hooker. She was not there anymore, so I guessed had either got lucky, or got bored with the lack of likely customers passing by. In all the time I had been walking around the medina I did not see anyone else who could have been taken for a tourist, or traveller. It was a very quite day and probably too hot for most tourists to be walking around. You know what they say about mad dogs and Englishmen, which is probably true, as far as I could see anyway. I definitely was the only person out walking about in the heat.

The French phrase section in the guide book had been something I had not bothered to read in any great depth, but with the need to satisfy my caffeine craving I delved into it before heading off for the large McDonalds I had passed on my way here.

“Café au lait, S’il vous plait”. I said rather hesitantly to the girl behind the counter.

Yes! Bingo, success at last! It was like I had just won the lottery when she gave me the cup of coffee, it was just what I had been wanting for the last couple of days, a real cup of McDonalds coffee.

I sat outside under a parasol feeling very pleased with myself, savouring ever drop of it. In fact I was so pleased to have got myself a cup of coffee similar to what I was used to that another one was soon sat in front of me. Yes, I know, I probably could have got by without a coffee, especially in this heat, but I was getting sick of water and just wanted a hot drink that wasn’t black or mint tea, both of which I’m partial to, but once you get something in your head it is hard to let go until you get it.

It’s the little things in life that are sometimes the best, this was how I felt about the coffee that tasted really good to me, so much so, I sat there for the best part of an hour and savoured every minute of it.

Back in my hotel room just after five I heard a loud bang outside on the road. I knew straight away what had happened as the junction the hotel stood on was a very busy one, where only the brave, or very stupid would try to cross with the amount of less then responsible drivers there was out there.

Broken glass from the tail light of a Volkswagon cabriolet that had been rear-ended was lying in a neat little pile. The driver was already on his mobile phone calling someone, but not the police as they were also already there in the form of a policeman who was stood on this junction directing traffic.

I sat on my small balcony watching the scene unfold, and have to admit that it was really quite amusing. Within five minutes another car had pulled up and two men got out. They were obviously something to do with the man whose car had been rear ended by the old Mercedes, because the first person they checked on was him. The older of these two men that had just turned up, shook the hand of the policeman, then went into a rage with the driver of the Mercedes after being told what had happened. I did not see that he could get so angry over something he had not even witnessed, but angry he got and had to be restrained by the traffic policeman. The way he was acting you would have thought someone had been killed, rather then just a little broken glass and a dent in the back of a car owned by his son, or whoever it was to him.

After about 15 minutes of watching the goings on I was getting a little bored with it all so went back into the room, two minutes later I heard a screech of brakes and a loud thud! Here we go again, only this time the crash was about thirty metres further along the road. I dare say had I sat out here for a day I would have witnessed a good half a dozen or so crashes.

I was feeling a little lonely tonight as I sat in a small pizza restaurant eating alone, I was the only person in the place and that’s the way it remained all the time I was in there.

Feeling the need to talk to someone I decided to phone home and check in with the family. The phone rang four times and then I was greeted by that nice woman at British Telecom, the answer phone! Oh well, I guess I would have to stay lonely.

McDonalds was busy with the local young set all sat outside eating burgers at three or four times the price they could get a good meal for in the medina. I suppose eating at Mac D’s had some kind of kudos attached to it for these kids. As for me I wanted another cup of coffee.

Feeling a little out of place somehow, I sat there a little dejected thinking to myself what I should do next.

This was my third city in four days and yet I had not really been taken with any of them so far. Marrakech was good and probably warranted some further exploration when I got back there, Casablanca had been nothing like I thought it would be and I couldn’t get out of there quick enough. And here I was sitting in a McDonalds in Meknes having seen the best the place had to offer in just a day. I could have made a side trip from here to the ancient Roman ruins site at Vollubis, but this meant catching a couple of different buses, and I wasn’t feeling up to that, nor was I really that interested in seeing it anyway. Drinking my third cup of coffee for the day I made a decision and decided I would move on again tomorrow, this time heading for Fes, with it’s renown Medina that boasts over 9,000 lanes and alleyways in which to get lost.

I phoned home again on my way back to the hotel, this time I got through but Anita (My wife) did not sound to cheerful, I think I must have been interrupting something good on the telly, so we did not talk for very long. Feeling a little down again I went back to my room and read up a little on Fes, set Mickey to go off at 6.30 and closed my eyes…

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