Day 6
Day 6: Saturday 28/06/03
The old man was still on the floor at 6.15 the following morning as I left the hotel, only this time he wasn’t praying. Jesus! I thought he was dead, but it turned out he was fast asleep! I think it was the loud snoring that gave it away… I crept out as quietly as I could and made my way to the station.
“A ticket to Essaouria please” I asked the man at the ticket counter.
“No, there is no train station at Essaouria” he replied, shaking his head at the same time, as if to reinforce this statement.
“Yes I know, but I read there is a connecting bus from Marrakech, isn’t there?” I said questioningly, now doubting myself!
“Yes there is,” he said.
“OK then, that’s what I want to do please”
“You can’t, because there is no connecting bus with this train”
“Oh right, well what train does the bus connect with?”
“The next train to Marrakech has a bus connection at 7 p.m.!”
This would have meant over a three hour wait at Marrakech station, and a day of about 15 hours travelling in total, so I had a quick think about it, and said.
“OK just a ticket to Marrakech then please”
“171 DH please” Said the ticket clerk without even looking up from the newspaper he was reading.
I heard him quite clearly, but made out I did not understand what he had said in order to force him to look up from his paper. He could at least pay me the courtesy of some eye contact during this exchange.
That was the end of that plan then! I would now have another night in Marrakech and have to go to Essaouria the following day, maybe? At least from Marrakech I could catch one of the many private buses that run on the route to Essaouria several times a day, I consoled myself with a long swig from my now almost empty water bottle. I bought myself a packet of biscuits and some more water to have for breakfast as I waited for the 7.a.m. train to arrive.
No problem getting a seat on the train, the compartment had just one other man and a woman in. We were all spaced out a comfortable distance apart, you know, so as to avoid having too much contact, like you do on a train, bus, or plane for that matter. Why is that I wonder? We all do it, get on the train and say to ourselves subconsciously I won’t sit there because someone is near and will be crowding our space!
When in reality is doesn’t matter where you bloody sit, because it’s guaranteed that two, or three stops further down the line the train will be full anyway. And you will more than likely have someone virtually sat in your lap after commandeering the arm rest, trying to avoid eye contact, but at the same time reading your book, newspaper or listening to your conversation!
What’s even worse than that, is this! Why is it that when you are not really feeling up to it, the nutter gets on the half empty train and decides to sit right next to you? Then as if this wasn’t bad enough he want’s to talk gibberish to you, when all you want to do is shut your eyes and wish he would dragged off in a straight jacket by the men in the white coats!
Maybe we could get the pop group Travis to rewrite their song “Why does it always rain on me” to “Why does the Nutter always sit next to me” This would then popularise the idea and so we wouldn’t be that uncomfortable when it happens!
I remember once travelling on the London underground when I saw a man reading the paper of the man sat next to him. He was not even being very discreet about doing it, to me and also the man who’s paper it was, it really stood out. He was even leaning over at times to get a better view!
A little put out by this intrusion the man who had the paper in his hands got up when the train arrived at his stop, he screwed up the paper into a ball and threw it in the other mans lap saying loudly “Here you can read it all for yourself now!” I had to smother my head into my lap I was laughing so much, the intrusive reader sat gobsmacked as to what it was all about, I’m sure he didn’t even realise he had been doing it!
Meanwhile back on the train from Fes to Marrakech: another two men joined us in our compartment at the next stop, one much older than the other. I don’t know if they were travelling together, but they were talking to each other when they entered the compartment.
The older man took up a position opposite me and sat in such a way that he was actually taking the space intended for two people after pulling up the armrest. I could see him quite clearly giving me the once over; obviously not impressed he chose not to acknowledge me. The younger one sat next to me, straight away looking to claim his bit of space, but he could not get to dominate the armrest between us. I already had by arm firmly planted in position, claiming my own space!
The three of these men soon started up a conversation, while I and the women who sat next to the door tried to block out the noise and sleep a little. Sleep did not come easy with the noise of a tree way chat that was at times very loud, and full of laughter. To say the old man and his younger travelling partner had only been on the train a short while, they did not waste time getting aquatinted with the other man.
I would say that within twenty, or so minutes, you would have thought they all had known each other all their lives. The old man who looked like a slimmer version of Marlon Brando in the Godfather, was a very tactile person, hugging and kissing both of the others at every chance, in some show of affection, or admiration for what they had said. I don’t know what it is they actually said as I don’t know any Arabic, but it all looked interesting enough, at least if body language was anything to go by.
Throughout the journey whenever we came to a station the three men, on the instructions of the older one, would put their bags and newspapers on the empty seats to avoid anyone else taking up their space. It was obvious they were telling people who inquired that the seats were taken, and that they were being occupied by someone who had gone to the toilet, smoking a cigarette in the corridor, or whatever excuse they offered.
At one point an argument started with a man who wanted to take one of the seats, but the old man was adamant that it was taken and eventually won the argument. He looked at me a little shamefaced, he knew that I knew what it was all about!
I only had to put up with this constant chat, backslapping, hugging, kissing, handholding and laughter for 5 hours, which was the length of time it took the train to reach Casa Voyagers (Casablanca) where they all got off. As they did so the first man who had been in the compartment when I joined the train said to me in very good English “This is Casablanca” obviously thinking that was where I had been going. I wasn’t, I still had a further three hours to go to Marrakech, which was a peaceful journey with the people who had now joined the train being a little more reserved and keeping themselves to themselves. I slept without interruption for the best part of two hours.
Marrakech hasn’t changed that much since I was last here I thought to myself as I got off the station, as though it had been a long while since I had left there, it had in fact been only 4 days ago.
I caught the bus opposite the station and headed back to the Djemaa el-Fna
area, where I again checked into
the Hotel Ali, more out of laziness than
anything else, I knew this place and it would do fine as I didn’t plan to stay
too long. The room this time was a single one on the second floor, and I mean single!
It was really quite small, but at least it had it’s own shower and toilet,
albeit they were a little cramped, so cramped in fact that if you sat on the
toilet your knees touched the wall opposite!
The Greyish white paint on the walls was peeling off and the room smelled a bit musty, the window did not lock properly and again overlooked the main road outside where the horse and carriage taxi rank was. The bare bulb that hung overhead gave out just enough light to see your way around in the dark; the two small grey towels were again small! And smelled as though they were a little musty also. This would do nicely and was about the usual standard I end up in for being such a skinflint when it comes to hotel rooms. But like I say all the time, it had the most important thing I look for, a bed and somewhere to wash, as far as I’m concerned the rest is all just for show! Regardless of what a guidebook might say, they soon go out of date and very rarely does a place live up to it’s review.
And hey! I’ve ended up in some pretty decent rooms over the years, all right yeah, I have to admit I’ve also had some pretty shitty ones, but you gotta take the rough with the smooth as they say.
I had noticed in the hallway of the hotel a notice board advertising various trips around Morocco so stopped to look at this on my way out. Sat next to this board was a Moroccan women, who was explaining to another girl sat opposite her about a trip into the Atlas mountains that would be culminating with a camel safari into the Sahara desert.
This sounded like a good way to spend a couple of days, so I got talking to the girl about it. Her name was Priya, who it turned out only lived about 20 miles from me back in England.
She was here with her friend Danika, a German girl who was also living in England with Priya while she attended university. The trip was intending to depart the next morning, if they could get enough people to go on it. At the moment there was only 4 or 5 definite confirmed, but they needed a minimum of 6 to run the trip which would cost 1200 DH, but if they could get 8 or more this would be reduced to 1000 DH.
I did not take that much notice of what the woman was saying to me, basically because she was a little hard to understand and secondly she was blinding me with all these picture postcards of the places the trip would visit. I had made my mind up to go before I even sat down, so It all looked good to me and was the ideal opportunity to get into the more remote parts of the country. I felt at that moment that I really needed to get out into countryside away from the hustle and bustle, and this seemed about the best way to do it without the hassle of having to make bus connections e.t.c. And as a bonus I would have travelling companions for a change.
I agreed to sign up for the trip there and then and was told that after paying a deposit I should check back around 8 p.m. to see if it would run or not! If it did not run the next day, then it would more than likely run the day after, the lady said, which was Ok by me either way.
As I got up to leave another woman was also waiting to inquire about the trip, which I thought was a good sign, especially if she was to make up the sixth person it would mean the trip had a good chance to run. Also with less people on the trip it would mean a bit more space for everyone on the minibus we would be travelling in.
I spoke to the woman named Ulla, who turned out to be Danish. She had travelled to Morocco from Egypt where she was an Arabic speaking teacher working for the Open University, or something like that! This was getting better; she spoke English, Danish, Arabic and a bit of French thrown in for good measure. If she went on the trip we would at least have someone to translate should we encounter anybody we could not converse with? Ulla could not make up her mind on the trip and said she would return later if she decided on going.
I walked around the Djemaa el-Fna again, as the sun was in the first throws of setting, I was curious to see if anything had changed, it had a little. The most noticeable change as far as I could see in the few days since I had last been in the square was the amount of tourists that were now here. There were people from America, Australia, England, Germany, France and many other places, but I could not pick up on some of their accents enough to say firmly where they might be from. There were even a couple of Japanese girls sat at one of the food stalls trying just about everything on the menu, if what they had before them was anything to go by. Mind you I think they were probably a little new to the scene and the food seller was giving them as many dishes as possible to bump up the price.
It was also noticeable that there were some different buskers and hawkers to look at, or avoid, depending on how you look at it.
I was feeling a lot more confident about walking in the souq and was able to get my bearings very quickly this afternoon as I roamed around the back streets and the now not nearly so claustrophobic feeling lanes and alleyways. I was even up to stopping and engaging the shop keepers in some light hearted banter, and was even able to get a handle on the prices of some of the items I might buy before leaving.
It’s funny, but the last time I had been here I did not have a clue where I was, even when I had found my way back, I hadn’t really known how I done it. Yet here I was just a few days later and feeling as though I had spent a long time here and knew my way around like the back of my hand!
I thought about eating at one of the food stalls in the main square, but decided in the end to return to the Toubkal restaurant where I had eaten a few days earlier.
Again it was a good meal and so cheap that it gave any of the food stalls a good run for their money on prices.
Something happened while I was sat here to reinforce my belief in most people’s good intentions. A group of four, or maybe five people who had been sitting at a table outside right at the front, got up and left, leaving a large amount of food on the table. Bare footed and dressed in dirty torn clothing a tramp came over and started to help himself to the leftovers.
This tramp was a very simple looking youngish man, who was obviously starving, yet had that smile which only people who know no bad can have on their face, similar to someone with Downs Syndrome, if you know what I mean? The waiter saw him and went over, but rather than chase him off he picked up the leftovers and scraped them onto a larger plate, then asked the tramp to move around the side of the restaurant to finish the food away from the other customers. He didn’t actually sit him down at the table and bring him the wine list, but as far as I was concerned he showed wonderful compassion towards this man. It was refreshing to see, when ninety nine times out of a hundred the tramp would have been chased away, and the leftover food thrown in the bin. Mind you with the amount of stray cats there were around the square, I dare say it wouldn’t have gone to waste there either!
Returning to the Hotel Ali to take some pictures of the square from the elevated position of the roof restaurant, I again bumped into Priya the girl from England I had met earlier. She and the other girl, Danika, were having a meal here and were with another Australian girl they had met, who was also going on the trip the following morning. The trip was definitely going to run now, as there were enough people, according to the woman I gave the money to at least. The trip was to cost 1000 DH, so I guessed it would be cramped in the minibus, as this 200 DH reduction meant there was at least eight people now going!
I sat up on the roof for the best part of an hour just looking out over the square and occasionally up at the star filled sky, it was surprisingly cool up there, certainly a lot cooler than my room, that’s for sure. Today was a Saturday and I assume this accounted for the noticeable increase in the number of people walking around in the square, and all of them seemingly taken in by the sights and sounds that were all around them.
I was taken with the urge to join them in the square again, but did not give in to it, instead I chose to walk somewhere else for a change.
It was a little early to retire to my room, so I decided to take a walk around the Koutoubia Mosque, where I took some pictures and mingled with the local crowds who congregate in this area. There were lots of these local people attending prayers at the mosque and many more just walking in the flowered gardens that surround it, which as far as I could make out were only open at the weekend? When I had visited this area earlier in the week they had been closed with padlocks on the gates and no one in these little parks, that seemed to be undergoing some kind of restoration work.
The site on which this impressive and imposing building stands on has been a holy place since at least the early 11th century when the first construction known as the Amoravid mosque was built by the Almohads, then reconstructed by them again towards the end of the 12th century.
At night the 70 mtr high minaret can be seen for miles around as it lights up
the night sky, forcing you to stand in amazement as you view the stars in the
otherwise dark black sky. Searchlights illuminate the mosque from the ground up,
like most major monuments seem to be these days.
There was an excavation site here also that has uncovered the base of the original Mosque.
I went back to the square and sat outside a café where I had another “Café au lait” before going back to the hotel with a raging headache, probably due to the amount of caffeine I’m now taking on board!
Marrakech has grown on me and I have to admit that I’m now enjoying the place, but again I’m going to bed knowing I will be moving on again in the morning. I’ve turned into a modern day nomad with the amount of moving about I do. Ulla the Danish woman is at the reception desk when I get back to the hotel, trying to book onto the trip having decided she will now definitely go.
Unfortunately the man at the desk can’t give her a firm yes, or no, for that matter as he doesn’t know how many are booked on the trip, so advises she returns in the morning!
Laying on the bed I realised that I don’t really have a clue where I’m going in the morning, all I know is I have to set Mickey to do a dance at 6 a.m. Then struggle to get myself downstairs onto the minibus and set off on an adventure somewhere into the Moroccan desert.