Flying in to Marrakech was slightly unreal, not only because for the first time in Europe we’d flown somewhere (well, Steve and I anyways), but of course because we were now in Africa. And in a country of Islam. Almost had an ‘oh shit we’re in Europe’ moment, except that of course, we weren’t in Europe.
Our contact from the hostel arrived late, a juxtaposition of smart dressing, thongs and cheap cigarettes, all bundled up in a beat up minivan. The drive to the hostel was initially hair raising and concerning, but soon enough the crazy swerving and complete and utter lack of road rules kind of lulled you into acceptance. Once disembarked, we followed our host through dusty winding streets, poorly lit alleys and low archways stretching 10s of meters forcing one to duckwalk for quite some time.
The hostel itself was truly amazing, a high walled courtyard surrounding by 2 levels of rooms and 2 terraces, absolutely divine. We were treated to some Berber whiskey (the local name for mint tea, the popular drink) while having some of the rules of the city explained to us. Thus prepared, the net morning we set out to explore a totally foreign culture.
We were staying in the old town, quite near Jemaa el Fna (the main square), so we jumped right into everything. The market stalls were huge, a twisting turning warren of sellers hawking their wares, each trying to fleece hapless tourists for however much they could. Thankfully our host had forewarned us and armed us with some basic haggling knowledge. A key tip was not to buy till your last day, cause you’ll see many vendors offering the same items and the prices are generally made up on the spot. Getting a feel for the range of prices allowed you to more accurately aim for a reasonable price – often 1/10th of what was initially proposed.
An interesting point to our entire stay in Morocco was that we were visiting during Ramadan, a major Islamic festival. Not a festival in the traditional sense, but a period in which followers fast between dawn and sunset, consuming no liquid of food or any other luxury – e.g. smoking. This makes being a tourist slightly awkward, as the country shifts to a nighttime cycle of life, and eating during the day in front of people is considered rude. Still, snatching quick bites to eat unseen in corners, or sitting down at a cafe is permitted, so one can survive easily enough.
While we spent the daylight hours wandering through the old town, seeing the catacombs and palaces, sunset was when Marrakech truly came to life. Named the Red City for the simple fact that almost all the city is red from the building materials, the fading sunlight highlighted this dramatically. Watching the sunset from a terrace overlooking Jemaa El Fna, we witnessed the entire square fill with food stands and locals eager to break their fast and indulge in food. And what food it was, Tagines, couscous, whole lambs heads, camel (quite expensive), spicy Moroccan soups, all along side traditional western meats. A feast, for quite reasonable prices too – couple of euro would land you a good feed, if your bowels didn’t react badly to the local cuisine.
One of the 3 days we went on a tour of the countryside, visiting a traditional Berber house (Berber being the natives, as opposed to the Arabic population) to experience first hand the lifestyle. As part of that we mounted up on some fractious camels and had a brief ride. Once out of sight of his dad however, the child acting as our guide tried to extort us, refusing to lead us back till we gave him some euro’s. Cheeky bugger, it conveys well enough the general attitude towards tourists that exists over here – cash cows, waiting to be milked.
Our 3 days in Marrakech were packed with activity, and thoroughly enjoyed by all. With that in mind, we had high hopes for our next port of call, Fes.
Flying in to Marrakech was slightly unreal, not only because for the first time in Europe we’d flown somewhere (well, Steve and I anyways), but of course because we were now in Africa. And in a country of Islam. Almost had an ‘oh shit we’re in Europe’ moment, except that of course, we weren’t in Europe.
Our contact from the hostel arrived late, a juxtaposition of smart dressing, thongs and cheap cigarettes, all bundled up in a beat up minivan. The drive to the hostel was initially hair raising and concerning, but soon enough the crazy swerving and complete and utter lack of road rules kind of lulled you into acceptance. Once disembarked, we followed our host through dusty winding streets, poorly lit alleys and low archways stretching 10s of meters forcing one to duckwalk for quite some time.
The hostel itself was truly amazing, a high walled courtyard surrounding by 2 levels of rooms and 2 terraces, absolutely divine. We were treated to some Berber whiskey (the local name for mint tea, the popular drink) while having some of the rules of the city explained to us. Thus prepared, the net morning we set out to explore a totally foreign culture.
We were staying in the old town, quite near Jemaa el Fna (the main square), so we jumped right into everything. The market stalls were huge, a twisting turning warren of sellers hawking their wares, each trying to fleece hapless tourists for however much they could. Thankfully our host had forewarned us and armed us with some basic haggling knowledge. A key tip was not to buy till your last day, cause you’ll see many vendors offering the same items and the prices are generally made up on the spot. Getting a feel for the range of prices allowed you to more accurately aim for a reasonable price – often 1/10th of what was initially proposed.
An interesting point to our entire stay in Morocco was that we were visiting during Ramadan, a major Islamic festival. Not a festival in the traditional sense, but a period in which followers fast between dawn and sunset, consuming no liquid of food or any other luxury – e.g. smoking. This makes being a tourist slightly awkward, as the country shifts to a nighttime cycle of life, and eating during the day in front of people is considered rude. Still, snatching quick bites to eat unseen in corners, or sitting down at a cafe is permitted, so one can survive easily enough.
While we spent the daylight hours wandering through the old town, seeing the catacombs and palaces, sunset was when Marrakech truly came to life. Named the Red City for the simple fact that almost all the city is red from the building materials, the fading sunlight highlighted this dramatically. Watching the sunset from a terrace overlooking Jemaa El Fna, we witnessed the entire square fill with food stands and locals eager to break their fast and indulge in food. And what food it was, Tagines, couscous, whole lambs heads, camel (quite expensive), spicy Moroccan soups, all along side traditional western meats. A feast, for quite reasonable prices too – couple of euro would land you a good feed, if your bowels didn’t react badly to the local cuisine.
One of the 3 days we went on a tour of the countryside, visiting a traditional Berber house (Berber being the natives, as opposed to the Arabic population) to experience first hand the lifestyle. As part of that we mounted up on some fractious camels and had a brief ride. Once out of sight of his dad however, the child acting as our guide tried to extort us, refusing to lead us back till we gave him some euro’s. Cheeky bugger, it conveys well enough the general attitude towards tourists that exists over here – cash cows, waiting to be milked.
Our 3 days in Marrakech were packed with activity, and thoroughly enjoyed by all. With that in mind, we had high hopes for our next port of call, Fez.
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Marrakech, the Red City