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Published: April 9th 2007
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The Koutoubia
This Minaret, the most famous Marrakshi landmark, stands at the edge of the Djemaa el-Fna. Hearing the calls to prayer from this minaret were welcome moments of peace throughout the day. Snake charmers with cobras and flutes, watermen with jugs and tin cups, witch doctors and their lizards, 3 dirham orange juice stands, cookies galore, souq keepers eager to make a sale, donkeys pulling carts . . . an overwhelming fusion of sights, sounds, and smells - this is the medina of Marrakesh.
The Marrakesh medina is another world - obviously contrived to cater to the massive tourist crowd - but distinct from any other place I have ever been. It is the city's prime attraction; there are mosques to draw some attention, and a newer part of town where the four of us found a hotel, but the main energy of Marrakesh finds focus in its core. For the wanderer and the people watcher, it is a Mecca . . . assuming you find some sense of exhilaration in being lost, and can stand up to the hassle.
Since our hotel was in the Ville Nouvelle we spent our two days primarily in the medina, and then retreated back to the new section of Marrakesh at night. 'Retreat' is probably not the correct word since there is nothing mellow about any part of the city, but the Ville
In the Medina
A witch doctor who had set up shop in the Djemaa el-Fna Nouvelle's intensity is restricted to CRAZY traffic and mass of people. The medina, on the other hand, is a constant bombardment. It seemed like everything had a strong smell - whether good or bad, the odors were always present and my nose was working overtime. Also, as people who had no hopes of blending in in an Arabic land, none of us could walk more than 10 feet without one of the souq keepers or cookie sellers or random individuals "inviting" us to spend (or just hand over) money. This was the most wearing and overwhelming aspect of being in the medina. However, it didn't deter us from enjoying our wandering.
The medina is divided into two sections: the Djemaa el-Fna (a huge square in the medina that becomes the backdrop for a great spectacle of activity) and the labyrinth of souqs that border the square. The souqs are alive with color and exhibit the talent of the Moroccan artisans. Some of them seem to have fallen prey to the tourism industry and have either compromised their authenticity or simply switched to the trade of western knock-offs. But there are plenty that (at least seem to) capture the essence
of Morocco. We all took the opportunity to brush up on our bargaining skills . . . I (having a weakness for accessories) found myself mostly in the jewelry and shoe stores, and emerged from the medina with coal eyeliner, leather shoes, and a necklace. Buying the necklace turned out to be one of the more amusing of my bargaining adventures. Emily and I had wandered into one of the higher quality jewelry stores that specialized in pieces crafted by members of Berber tribes. We ended up talking with the souq keeper for a good half hour - he was excited to meet Americans who were traveling the world, and kept talking about how important it is that we all broaden our horizons by exploring other cultures. He also showed us how to write our names in Arabic and gave us complimentary tea. So when it got to the point where I was asking him about jewelry prices, I felt like I couldn't bargain too low without feeling like a horrible person. I found this "circle of life" pendant that is a common Berber symbol for eternity, but he priced it at 650 dirham (65 euros). My immediate thought was
"eeeek!" and then "there's no way I can bargain that down to something I'm comfortable paying. . . and there's no way he would only accept the 300 dirham I have on me. Thus, I'll get out of this one and just leave the store." Haha - right. Silly me, I was honest when he asked how much I COULD pay (300 dirham), and I somehow fell into 10 minutes of "bargaining" - which was really just me saying I can't pay that much and then making up excuses about coming back with more money and thinking to myself that I just wouldn't come back . . . anyway, when I was sure he wouldn't cut his price in half and I would get out without spending any money, he put out his hand and said, "ok - 300 dirham." Emily watched the utter disbelief cross my face as he wrapped up the necklace and I pulled out the only money I had on me. And that's how I spent 30 euro on a necklace. Thankfully, I like it, and the entire thing just seems hilarious now.
The other part of the medina - the Djemaa el-Fna - is
In the Medina
A Craftsman at one of the Souqs where the snake charmers and watermen set up shop. The snakes made me a little nervous . . . but, according to Emily, they sew their mouths shut so they won't bite. Plus, because I would inevitably have to pay for staring, I never got close enough for it to really matter. The Djemaa el-Fna is also the part of the medina that only grows more alive at dusk. Around dinnertime at least 100 food stands appear in the square, all vying for business. This leaves the medina coated with the smoky smell of grilled meat and other Moroccan delicacies. We ate at one of the stands the first night we were in the medina, and then spent the next couple of hours exploring the different "acts" that had also appeared. Some of these were an atrocious attempt at getting loose change - there was one man who thought rubbing a bow across violin strings constituted playing an instrument, but just ended up producing one of the more painful sounds known to the ear. But some of the displays were mildly entertaining. However, as Emily and I quickly learned, stopping to watch any of them brought out the goose. This
In the Medina
This was a pretty common occurrence . . . is what Pat and David called the Moroccan men who were grabbing our asses . . . to put it bluntly. At the beginning Emily and I were second-guessing whether or not this was actually happening; we were in a crowd of people, so it was plausible that hands just kept accidentally hitting us. However, after multiple grabs, and our attempts at avoiding it by moving away, they kept coming. The worst was one man who was standing next to me . . . despite five minutes of moving around in circles and trying to stand in front of David or Pat so that “Mr. Creepy” couldn’t get me, the goose kept biting. David, our French speaker, told him to stop, and Pat picked up the French phrase and joined in. Eventually, after all three of us were practically yelling at him, I took Emily and stormed out of the circle to get away from the grabbing hands.
I knew that adjusting to another culture’s views on women would be one of the biggest challenges. From the beginning I had been observing the interactions between the sexes and found that these were somewhat nonexistent; quite frankly, there were far
Eeeek!
David was a little braver than I was around the snakes. fewer women in public than I had seen in any other country. Women were running around doing errands, and some were working at henna stands or selling cookies. But they were rarely out and about without an obvious purpose. Men, on the other hand, were out in abundance. There had been a few times Emily and I had walked into a café and (because we were alone in a crowd of men) wondered if women were even allowed. The night of the goose was no different; it seemed that the setting sun scattered the women and brought out the grabby hands. Ever since we arrived, Emily and I (and I’m sure all the other Western women) had been receiving catcalls and obvious stares. We had observed that I was getting a little more attention because of the red hair (the Moroccan queen has red hair, so we were wondering if this had something to do with it). I had been doing my best to ignore it; I figured it was obnoxious but harmless, and I shouldn’t overreact since it wasn’t my culture. But the goose incident was the breaking point. As a Women’s Studies minor, such objectification probably bothers me
The Snake Charmers
If you take a picture, one of the men will inevitably come up and demand money. I managed to sneak this one without anyone noticing. They caught me on the picture after this one, so I ran away. more than most people, and the consistency of such unwelcome attention was certainly taxing. Thus by the time I broke away from the crowd I was practically in tears. That was definitely the low point.
When people ask me about Morocco I tell them it was 90% good, 10% bad . . . Marrakesh was the city that basically caused this response. While the unwelcome attention - in the form of catcalls and hassling for business - grew tiresome and contributed to a fairly consistent state of feeling overwhelmed, it was this intensity that made our experience so unique. There were times when the culture shock was a challenge, but it was amazing to be surrounded by the energy and excitement of the Marrakesh medina.
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