Morocco - Marrakech

Thursday 31 January 2008

Exhausted after a 5:15am wakeup in Fes to catch the 6:50am train to Marrakech, and with disturbances during the night from rowdy locals outside our hotel, we were hoping to sleep for much of the journey. Unfortunately the locals had other ideas. Once again, the local women found it fascinating to be able to hold an intelligent conversation with a man, let alone a western one, so Michael ended up nattering with the women on the train for most of the journey. It was all very pleasant and entertaining but left us even more exhausted when we arrived in Marrakech 7 hours later (photo).

Very weary, we trudged out of the railway station and followed our Lonely Planet map to our hostel - well that was the plan anyway, the Lonely Planet map was absolute rubbish! It bore no resemblance whatsoever to the streets of the city. We wandered aimlessly for a few minutes then realised we weren’t getting anywhere but still had to appear to be walking purposefully because every time we would stop walking a tout would offer us a lift to the Djemma el Fna in the centre of town, which wasn’t where we were going. Eventually we asked a passing local for directions to the youth hostel. These directions took us two blocks back where we came from, across the city garbage dump (photo) and inside a ‘compound’ of sorts what looked like it might be the local juvenile detention centre. We were even more unimpressed to find no lockers to keep our stuff in, no locks on the dorm doors, separate dorms, and showers to be paid separately and only provided upon request - although given that the beds only costed 60 Dirham per night (less than 10AUD). Not feeling amazingly secure, we agreed to only stay for one night and then we would move on in the morning.

After we had settled in we decided to go check out the Djemma el Fna, being the main square in the centre of town. We walked out of the hostel and began walking along the street looking for a taxi as we were quite far from town. Kindly, but strangely, a male guest at the hostel was outside in his car and offered us a lift into town. The man seemed harmless enough as Michael had already had conversations with him in the hostel so we cautiously accepted and hopped in. He drove us into town, through the city gates (photo) and then parked the car. He told us he had some business to do in town but was waiting on a phone call so he offered to show us around a bit while he had some spare time. With nothing but a crappy Lonely Planet map to get us around and the promise that it would only be for a short time, we accepted.

We strolled past the city park (photo) and to the Koutoubia Mosque (photo) where our guide described some of the local history to us. We then strolled past the rows of horses and carriages lined up to carry tourists (photo), across to the Djemma el Fna where we were Barbara promptly spotted some strange men in costume and went to take a photo (photo). There was when we learned lesson 1 for the day: don’t take photos of locals because they expect to be paid for the privilege. No sooner had she take out the camera that they grabbed Michael by both arms and insisted Barbara take a photo of the trio (photo). Another passing costume man spotted the opportunity and joined in (photo)... and of course each insisted on being paid separately. Michael handed them some change which broke him free from their grasp and told them to share it amongst themselves - not impressed. We were very careful thereafter to take pictures only of inanimate objects for the remainder of the day.

In the square were some interesting - wouldn’t go as far as calling them amazing - sights such as snake charmers, monkey trainers, musicians, and dancers. Very exotic, but we didn’t stay too long to watch as each individual performer expects payment to be viewed. Plus, the square was supposed to get much more interesting after nightfall so we took advantage of the remaining daylight to explore the medina. We started wandering through the alleys and markets (photo) but started wondering when our ‘guide’ was going to meet his business partner. He had been very kind but had had been not so forthcoming about what ‘business’ it is that he conducts so we were suspicious of him being a not-so-professional guide preying on hostel guests and expecting large fees afterwards. So we told him we were exhausted and needed to sit for a while, thanked him for his assistance and told him we would go find a coffee somewhere... so he offered to take us to a cafe - foiled! We went to the cafe and had a coffee and tried to pay for his coffee to thank him for his kindness and wish him successful business, but he insisted on paying for his own and said that he hadn’t received a phone call so it looked like he would not be able to meet his colleague that evening - foiled! It was time for the not-so-subtle approach of “Thank you sir for guiding us, you have been very generous with your time but we would like to wander and explore by ourselves for a while now, have a lovely evening, goodbye” He wasn’t very impressed, gave brief protest on the grounds that we would get lost by ourselves. We advised that we probably would get lost because this medina was much easier to navigate than Fes, where we had self-guided successfully, and that getting lost is half the fun anyway. Seeing that he wasn’t winning, he politely bid us farewell - we were finally free!

We wandered further through the medina (photos), discovering little alleys, beautiful gates and tiny plazas. Michael even managed to negotiate for pair of fake Armani sunglasses to replace the sunnies he’d recently lost.

When we had exhausted our interest in the medina - it wasn’t nearly as charming as the one in Fes - and it had started to get dark, we headed back to the Djemma el Fna where the plaza had started to ‘come to life’. The sun set beautifully behind the Koutoubia Mosque (photo). The fresh food sellers had set up shop (photo) and the ‘restaurants’ had started cooking creating a strange smoky atmosphere in the square (photo). Still wanting to do some more exploring, and in need of dosh, we searched down the main shopping street (photo) for an ATM. The queues were long so we ‘absorbed some atmosphere’ - and some coconut biscuits sold by roaming women - while we waited for the rest of the tourists at the ATM.

Back in the square we devoured some delicious local fare: lamb sausages with tomato chilli sauce - very freshly cooked right in front of us (photos), drank some deliciously sweet freshly squeezed orange juice (photo), gave the teas and sweets a miss because the seller was rude, strolled right past the shellfish (photo) and wandered through the maze of ‘restaurants’ - open air stalls with seating. Continually harassed by the waiters, we promised that if they stop hassling us and let us look, we will come back after we have looked at the rest. One waiter listened and took note so we kept our word and returned, much to his surprise and delight. We enjoyed a delicious tajine with couscous and vegetables and enjoyed the spectacle of watching the restaurants cooking and selling (photo) while we were waiting for our meal.

With full bellies and droopy eyelids we wandered out of the chaos - but not before grabbing some more coconut biscuits for our train trip the next day - and found a taxi back to the hostel.

However, Barbara didn’t realise that as she stepped out of the taxi she had dropped her purse into the gutter outside the hostel. We retired to our separate chambers where Michael went to sleep alone with his own room and Barbara was kept awake for 3 hours by a nattering woman in her dorm room. Finally getting ready for bed, Barbara was doing her ‘checks’ - her night time checking that all her stuff was ‘present and accounted for’ - but her purse was missing! She ransacked her stuff and the whole room but couldn’t find it so she retraced her steps through the bathroom and the rest of the hostel- by torchlight - right out to the front gate where she stood behind the locked gates staring at her purse in the gutter on the outside. She ran back into the hostel to ask for the gates to be opened an managed to get hold of the manager who said he would come and open them. Barbara raced back out - still in her pyjamas - to keep an eye on her purse and saw a car driving slowly down the street towards the hostel. In panic that they might spot her purse and take it, Barbara scaled the high metal gates in her bare feet and grabbed her purse. Without much forethought however, she was now in a situation where she was locked out on the street with a strange car approaching in the middle of the night in her pyjamas because the gate was very difficult to climb from the outside. Luckily the manager turned up with the key, unlocked the gate and let her in - phew!

Everyone who had been woken by the commotion then went back to sleep.

Friday 1 February 2008

An early train from Marrakech at around 8:30am took us back to Tanger at approximately 7:30pm. It was a long frustrating train ride back to Tanger because we honestly couldn’t wait to get back to Spain. Fes had been quite nice - except for the human excrement on the streets - but the people in Marrakech had been quite rude and appeared to strongly loathe tourists - especially white English speaking females like Barbara. She’d been yelled at, sworn at, and other times completely ignored and wasn’t very impressed with the ‘hospitality’. Michael had only received treatment marginally better for being male and able to speak French.

The train journey was quite picturesque with beautiful fields of orange, yellow and green (photos) and some bushland that looked strangely like the Australian outback (photo).

The train was late arriving back in Tanger so we rushed by taxi to the port where we found the ferry to be running late also. We had bought ‘open’ return tickets for the journey so we validated these and then waited to board.

The ferry was running very late unloading from the prior journey and only started unloading when we arrived. Half an hour later it was ready for boarding and so we found a seat and settled in for the journey.

Starving, we raided the snack bar and found bacon pizza and beer (photo), which was a very satisfying meal after being frustrated at some of the "hospitality" we received in Morocco.

Unfortunately, only a few minutes after we departed Tanger the ferry slowed down and started doing circles. Even the locals said this wasn’t normal so we became slightly concerned. We’d seen a couple of engineers dash outside a few moments earlier so Michael went outside ‘to get some air’ while he drank his beer. He found by talking to one of the crew that 6 Africans had been spotted hiding on the boat near the jet engines and, when spotted, had jumped into the water. The boat was now doing circles to try to find them. Seeing a delay and not wanting to lose our room booking in Tarifa, we phoned ahead and got a member of crew to speak Spanish to our hostal manager - we had booked at Hostal Facundo again because of our pleasant experience there previously. The manager was very accommodating and so holding the room wasn’t a problem.

It appeared after some time that they were not going to find the swimmers so the captain made a dodgy announcement that ‘there were problems with the jets’ and so we had to return to port. The only problem with the jets was that there had been people hanging off them! The ferry returned to Tanger and we were transferred to a different ferry which then took us to Tarifa.

We ended up being about 2.5 hours late getting to Tarifa but our hostal manager had intelligently allocated a room to us with outside access so we wouldn't wake everyone else up when we arrived. Our room was nice and comfortable and we went to sleep.

Our sleep was not restful that night but this had nothing to do with the room. We were quite disturbed by the events of the evening. Even though we had been upset at the lack of courtesy shown to us while in Morocco, we felt strongly for the people who had possibly died in search of a better life. No one on the boat had seemed to care about them and searching for them seemed more a matter of procedure than humanity - not a single life ring left the boat!

We were back in Spain finally feeling safe and relieved in the comfort of our hostal, but mournful for the unsuccessful immigrants and their families.

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