Marrakech Madness

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Why should I go to Marrakech?
Stepping off the plane into a sultry Marrakech night my first experience of this magical city literally took my breath away. It was late November in England and it made a nice change to the cold and rain I had left behind at Gatwick three hours before. Although it was almost midnight it felt like mid summer to me.

I woke the next morning as dawn broke to the haunting sound of the call to prayer drifting from the minaret of the nearby Koutoubia Mosque, closely followed by the dawn chorus from thousands of tiny birds that roost each night in the bougainvillea of the Es Saadi Hotel gardens. I'm sure some people would want to shoot the birds and the wailing muezzin for waking them up but I went back to sleep with a smile. Stay within the heart of the city and this will become a familiar sound, as Muslims are called to prayer five times a day, beginning at dawn and ending at dusk.

My first day in an Islamic country felt daunting. How should I dress? Should I cover my head? How safe would I be? Looking back it seems funny but at the time my fears were very real and I am sure many share them. Luckily I booked a City Tour through Complete Tours http://complete-tours.com/ to help me get my bearings on that first day. It was a wise move. My guide, Mohammed, reassured me that head covering was only necessary to keep the sun off. Moroccan women don’t all cover their heads, although some choose to, but they don’t show a lot of flesh on the street. Follow their example and you won’t attract unwanted attention, unless of course you want to be followed around by hoards of local men offering numerous camels to buy you, in which case wear short skirts and low cut tops.

He also warned me about the faux guides who pounce on naïve tourists. They're harmless but the 'small fee' they want to show you around the city will cost more than you think. Everywhere they take you is owned by their ‘brothers’ and ‘cousins’ who sell to you at inflated prices and later give the guide his cut. They're not interested in showing you anything that doesn't make them money so you will end up misinformed and missing some of the best sights. Book a guide through your travel agent or your hotel and you won't regret it.

Strolling along the wide boulevards from Es Saadi to the Medina with the handsome Mohammed the French influence was unmistakable apart from pink walls everywhere I looked. He explained that all the buildings in Marrakech have to be pink because it stops the glare of the sun, I'm still not sure if he was joking or not. Perhaps that's why they call it the red city.

Soon we came to the Medina and once inside it was plain we were in North Africa in a city that is an confusing mixture of the ancient and modern. Men in long, loose hooded djellaba straight from the middle ages jostle for position with boys in branded tracksuits weaving in and out on little motor scooters. Some women are completely covered others wear western dress. The overriding impression is of colourful chaos.

What is there to see and do in Marrakech?
Our first stop was the Koutoubia Mosque. This famous landmark will help you find your way around as the magnificent minaret is the tallest in Marrakech and can been seen for miles. Just head towards it and sooner or later you will know where you are.

Mohammed told me that originally the four copper balls that top the minaret were made from pure gold. A mosque usually has just three balls but fable has it that the extra ball was made from the melted jewellery of the wife of Yacoub el Mansour as a penance for breaking her fast during Ramadan. Whatever she ate I hope she enjoyed it because it was an expensive meal. Mohammed joked that the wooden scaffold structure at the top of the tower is where they hang Moroccan wives who can’t cook. Actually it's where a flag is flown to call the deaf to prayer.

The original mosque had to be demolished and rebuilt after they found it was not properly lined up with Mecca. A very costly mistake. I would hate to have been the architect.

Next we came to Djemma El Fna (pronounced Gemmaa elf nuh), the square famous for providing the ‘greatest free show on earth.’ According to Mohammed the name means Place of the Dead and is so called because they used to carry out public executions there in the days when there things were the norm in Morocco.

As it was still early morning things were, in Mohammed’s words, quite quiet, although to me it seemed like a riot of colours smells and sounds filled with stalls setting up to sell orange juice, bright spices, clothes, in fact everything you could imagine, plus the snake charmers and jugglers warming up. I passed by with open mouth and camera snapping until we came to the arched passageway leading to the labyrinth of alleys that make up the souks.

Mohammed told me that I had to come back in the evening when things really warmed up, but to watch out for the henna tattooists. These women grab your hand and before you know it you have a henna tatoo whether you want one or not and they then hassle you to pay them. I made a note to keep my hands in my pockets.

Stepping out of the bright sun into the relative darkness of the covered souks with beams of sunlight slanting through the slats overhead was disorientating at first. Mohammed explained that the morning was the best time to visit, before it got too crowded. Without him I’m sure I'd still be in there now trying to find my way out. To those who know them there is some logic to their layout, with different areas for different things, although to the uninitiated it seems like a mad jumble of lanterns, colourful textiles, leather, wood, wrought iron, silver and copper jewellery, spices and people, even in the quiet of the morning. Every so often we had to step aside to avoid being run down by hand carts piled high with goods and produce negotiating the narrow alleys.

Here, away from the luxury of my hotel it was clear that Morocco is not a wealthy country. Mingling with the traders were sights to tug at the heart, a blind beggar feeling his way among the crowd, little children, barefoot and holding out their hands for money, women with huge bundles or tiny babies tied to their backs with brightly coloured scarves. There were signs of poverty and grime at every turn and it would be easy to judge or feel guilty. Tempting as it may be, it isn't a good idea to put your Dirhams into the outstretched hands. Begging is almost a trade and if you do you will have a gaggle of beggars following you wherever you go. Morocco does have a welfare system and a benevolent king and money from tourism helps to bolster this. The industrious prosper and there is a real sense of community with close-knit families looking after the less fortunate.

Mohammed guided me through each area chatting all the while to people he knew. He explained how to barter and get a good price. Always have a price in mind when you start, the shopkeeper will usually start at about double or two thirds above what he wants so start very low and work up to your price. Enjoy yourself, smile, have a joke with them and don’t take it all too seriously. If you don’t get the price you want walk away, you’ll often be pursued with cries of ‘best price’ and get the bargain you want, if not you may have more luck at another shop.

The area devoted to workshops is mind-boggling. You can watch leather workers making babouche slippers, blacksmiths hammering old pieces of metal into beautiful chairs and tables and carpenters working makeshift lathes with their feet. Everywhere there are children working along side the adults learning trades. I was left with the impression that the western world had a lot to learn about recycling as I watched an old coke can being turned into a beautifully ornate handbag mirror. Nothing is wasted and a use is found for things we would just throw in the bin.

Apart from the risk of getting lost, which is easily avoided if you don’t stray too far from the main streets, your only problem will be getting carried away and buying more than you can fit in your suitcase. My ‘golden’ hair did attract some attention but the offers of ‘one hundred camels’ to buy me were all in jest. Having said that, on a later trip my husband seemed very interested in how much a camel was actually worth! Many Moroccans may not be able to read and write but almost all speak several languages and once they know you are English you will hear calls of ‘fish and chips’ and ‘I give you good price, Asda price.’ This makes the shopping experience much more fun than your local high street.

When I was all loaded down with my bargains (if you don’t want to look like a bin man it is a good idea to take your own shopping bag as absolutely everything gets put into black bin bags) and wilting from the heat, Mohammed led me to the Apothecary where he said I could take the weight off my tired feet. A little shop tucked away in one of the alleys, the walls were stacked to the ceiling with jars filled with every imaginable herb, perfume and medicine, treatments for every aliment you could think of including a few I’d never even heard of. Gratefully I sat down and the white-coated Apothecary brought us glasses of sickly sweet mint tea.

I volunteered to be the first to sample a neck massage with Argan oil. This magical oil comes from the kernels of a tree only grown in Morocco. Believe it or not goats love it so much they climb high in the branches where they eat the leaves. It's not every day you see a goat perched in a tree but in Morocco anything is possible. Apparently, the rarest and most expensive oil in the world, it has anti-aging properties as well as a million and one medicinal uses. The trick is to rub the oil on your hands then rub them together until it gives off heat, a bit like the face packs you can buy that heat up when you mix them with water. It was cretainly a blissful experience and needless to say I bought a small bottle.

I also bought some little cubes of amber and musk perfume. They smell so lovely I couldn’t resist. You can rub them on your skin as a perfume or put them in little muslin bags to scent your clothes, your house or your car. If you go in a taxi in Morocco they hang like small furry dice from the mirror or sit on the dashboard. They last for years and to this day I have them amongst my clothes. Every time I open a drawer I’m transported back to Morocco.

I felt quite rested after my mint tea and massage and it was a fairly short walk to our next stop The Madrasa Ben Youseff. This Islamic college is the largest in Morocco and was once home to almost one thousand students who spent their days memorising the Qur’an. Normally, just like mosques, madrasas are not open to non Muslims but this one was closed in 1960 and is now open to tourists.

Like most Moroccan buildings it’s build around a central courtyyard, but rather than a garden, in the centre of the cool white marble, there is a pool tiled in blue, white, black and terracotta zellij tiles. According to Mohammed this is where the students washed before praying. The bottom part of the walls is decorated with zellij tiles in a typically Moroccan circular pattern and above these they are ornately carved. Mohammed pointed out that none of the carvings were of humans or animals as this is not allowed by Islam. Most are geometric patterns but some are actually Islamic inscriptions, the writing is hard to distinguish from the patterns but he showed me where the word Allah was written, the shape it makes is like a right hand with thumb and little finger made into a circle and the other three fingers raised and slightly separated. At the back there is a prayer hall covered with carved pinecones and palm leaves. It must have taken years and lots of patience to complete.

Up a narrow stairway the student’s rooms run around the courtyard with small arched windows looking out onto the pool. The only light comes from the sun shining through the windows, It’s hard to imagine so many students crowded into these tiny, dark rooms with no real amenities. It must have been noisy and smelly but the view they had is amazing.

Our final visit was to the Saadian Tombs. Mohammed led me through a narrow passageway into a peaceful pink walled garden filled with haphazard oblongs covered with tiles like those at the madrasa. Mohammed explained that these were the tombs of princes and members of the royal household. Almost all face towards Mecca but the few that don’t are Jewish graves. The height of each grave denotes the importance of the occupant and in the garden most of the graves were just a few inches high although some had raised marble monuments shaped a little like stepped prisms. I guessed these must belong to the princes.

Inside the two mausoleum rooms the marble monuments were higher, the highest being the tomb of sultan Ahmad al Mansour, who had the whole place built. The floors and half way up the walls are covered in yet more zellij tiles and above this the cedar wood panels and vaulted ceiling are almost overwhelmed with carvings.

The bloodthirsty sultan Moulay Ismail is the reason everything is so well preserved. When he took over Marrakech in the 17th Century he had the tombs sealed. He destroyed the old sultan’s place but was too superstitious to destroy the tombs so he hid them away. During his reign he murdered between 30,000 and 100,000 people who he thought were lazy or who upset him. Goodness knows what he would have made of the western world today, there would be no one left. He was also said to have fathered over 800 children. It's a wonder he found the time between lopping peoples heads off, hiding tombs and building a palace that rivalled Versailles.

It wasn’t until 1917, when they showed up on a French aerial map, that the tombs were found, reopened and restored. It seems strange that such a large area was hidden away and forgotten in the middle of this crowded city, imagine Leicester square suddenly disappearing. Once you have explored the streets and alleys and seen the beautiful riads and secret gardens that hide behind the high walls and shabby little doors it’s a little easier to understand.

I decided my next day in Marrakech would be a lazy one so, on Mohammed’s recommendation, I took a gentle ride in a caleche to the Majorelle Gardens. Basically there are two ways to travel around Marrakech, petit taxis, and caleche. Petit taxis can be picked up almost anywhere, you will see queues of them waiting outside most hotels. They and are cheap, if a little rickety and the driving will probably have you squeezing your eyes shut most of the time. Always make sure you negotiate a price before you get in and you will have no problem. The more sedate, if slightly smellier way to get around is by caleche. These horse drawn carriages can also be found almost everywhere and, while the horses will not look as well cared for as those you see in the UK, you can be sure that they are well looked after. The horse is the caleche drivers livelihood and as such will be fed and cared for better than himself or his family. Once again, always negotiate a price before you get in.

My caleche driver took me around the pink walled medina and through the crowded streets to the Majorelle gardens. I felt like a princess perched high in the green carriage with the horse trotting at a sedate pace through all the madness and traffic of the city. I really recommend this as a form of transport.

The gardens are on a quiet street and, although they are smaller than I expected, they are a beautiful and cool place to linger on a hot morning. Designed by watercolour artist Jaques Majorelle in 1924 they were bought and restored by Yves Saint Laurent in 1980. They provide a shady oasis of blue and green in contrast to a predominantly pink and dusty city. The shade of cobalt blue used for the buildings was specially created by Majorelle and is called bleu Majorelle in his honour. Definitely a good place to spend a morning.

There is a café where you can sit and relax over a coffee or mint tea if you want to go native. The Islamic Art Museum of Marrakech can also be found here with North African textiles, ceramics, paintings and jewellery from Saint Laurent’s personal collection.

After a relaxing day I decided to go back to Djemaa el Fna to see what the fuss was about ‘the square’ at night. I took a petit taxi from my hotel and, even before I saw it I heard the cacophony of drums, eerily wailing pipes and voices. The centre of the square was lit by the food stalls. The smoke from their fires rose up into the night and tempting smells from their wares drifted into the crowd.

I was soon caught up in the throng and carried along. The square was much noisier and more crowded than it had been during the day with groups of people, mainly locals, packed tightly round each different distraction. Every so often the crowd would part giving a glimpse of the spell binding performance within. A pair of Gnaoua dancers twirled the tassels on their hats and leapt and swirled around me clicking their castanet like karkabas and beating their tbel side drums with big grins on their faces. How they kept the beat of the music at such a frantic dancing pace I will never know.

A game was taking place on the outskirts of the crowd that seemed to involve knocking down skittles made from old bottles with a ball on a string. The local boys were each paying to compete with each other and, like teenagers the world over, to prove their manhood by being the best. I watched enthralled until, with another movement of the crowd I was carried away.

So much was going on that I was in danger of sensory overload. Each time the crowd moved aside there was a new delight to wonder at. Storytellers held their audience in the palm of their hand, magicians conjured objects from thin air, apothecaries, henna tattooists, fortune tellers, trinket sellers all peddled their wares.

Just when I thought my head would explode I found myself in front of the Café De France. Gratefully I stepped up onto the terrace and sat at an empty table to get my breath and a glass of mint tea while watching the madness from a more comfortable vantage point. This café is ‘in’ the place to go, apart from the wooden terrace just of the street there is also a roof terrace with some of the best views of Djemaa el Fna. You can get coffee, mint tea or a meal, if you’re prepared to wait a while.

Next, I set off for Le Marrakchi restaurant http://www.lemarrakchi.com/, as recommended by Mohammed on my first visit to the square. I was led up a narrow and dimly lit flight of stairs to the top floor to find a panoramic view of the square. The room was as dimly lit as the stairs but my window side table had a charming little beaded tea light holder, casting just enough light to see the menu.

Gazing out at the mayhem of the square below I enjoyed a tasty lamb tagine washed down with a superb rosé wine and served by an attentive waiter dressed all in black. The music was a kind of 21st century version of the Berber music I had heard up in the mountains. The atmosphere was romantic beyond belief and the bill very reasonable, so I made a note to come back with my husband as soon as I got the chance.

To round off a wonderful evening I sipped a strong coffee while contemplating the hustle and bustle below. Suitably revived I finally plunged back into the crowded square for a second look at the ‘greatest free show on earth’ and mentally thanked Mohammed for persuading me that it was safe to come out alone at night.

Probably the most unusual experience I had in Marrakech was a visit to Chez Ali. It can only be described as Disney meets The Arabian Nights. The first time I went I was leading an educational group. On the itinerary it was billed as ‘Fantasia Moroccan Dinner and Cultural Show’ and I had no idea what to expect.

We were picked up from our hotel at 7.30 and driven in our little mini bus a few miles outside of the city to the Palmeraie. The entrance is a large arch flanked by two rows of horsemen dressed in white and carrying old-fashioned muskets and women dressed as Moroccan brides. You can take photos of them but be warned, you may be expected to pay.

Inside we found a large arena surrounded by a number of sumptuous open sided Ciadel tents where we were led to tables. The food was wonderful and far more than we could manage, starting with harira soup and traditional Moroccan flat bread then lamb tagine with vegetable couscous rounded off with traditional pastries and mint tea. There was also wine or beer for those who wanted it, although there was an extra charge for this.

Throughout our meal, we were entertained by traditional Moroccan musicians and a group of women in colourful Berber costumes who danced and sang. The high-pitched ululating sounds they made were astonishing. We all tried to copy but none of us could work out how they did it.

After dinner we were led to stone seats beside the arena. These weren't terribly comfortable but before long the show started and we didn’t even notice. The horsemen we saw at the entrance began to show off their amazing acrobatic horse riding skills. They galloped up and down the arena, jumping on and off their horses, standing in the saddle and firing their muskets. It was truly breath taking and is apparently a war ceremony and mock battle. Then came a display of belly dancing and juggling at the end of which the arena darkened and all went quiet.

We weren't sure if the show was over or not, but as everyone seemed to be staying in their seats we waited. A spotlight focussed on the right hand end of the arena and we thought perhaps there would be more horsemen. Instead a magic carpet, complete with a seated Aladdin slowly rose into the air and crossed the arena. To us adults it was obvious that it was pulled along on a kind of wire but the children in the audience had their eyes wide in amazement.

The finale of the show was a deafening and quite remarkable firework display. All the horsemen, jugglers and dancers then came out to take their bows. Everyone agreed it had been a wonderful evening and quite the strangest thing they had seen. The whole show lasted about four hours and we were back at our hotel before midnight.

If you are planning to go to Chez Ali go with an open mind. It is a touch over the top. It may also feel quite cold after the heat of the day in the city so it's worthwhile wearing warm clothes and perhaps taking a little cushion.

My last trip to Marrakech was a ‘mega fam’ where we took 100 travel agents to Morocco. There were five different itineraries, trekking in the Atlas Mountains, visiting Fez, a bivouac in the desert, Agadir and Essouira, and the group I led took a cookery course in Marrakech. I still think I had the best deal!

It was certainly something different and something my family were really pleased I did. The course was just a half day one, although longer courses are available. We were driven to the gardens of Maison Arabe, which are not actually in the hotel but about ten minutes outside the city. It is a fabulous setting with a large pool surrounded by sun beds, lots of trees and plants and the building where we were going to learn to cook.

We sat at a long table on the terrace and, while we sipped mint tea, we were given a quick history of Moroccan cuisine and spices by Mohammed Nadir our translator and guide. We were then taken upstairs to the kitchen overlooking the beautiful gardens and introduced to the Dada or cook whose name was Lazziza. Traditionally the Dada is the housekeeper and is responsible for taking care of the children of the household as well as the cooking. She is a tiny little lady who speaks no English and has been working at Maison Arabe for decades.

We each had our own work space but worked in pairs which made the whole thing fun. First we learned, with the aid of the translator, how to prepare a traditional salad of green peppers onion and tomato, with spices and olive oil of course. Next we were shown how to cook a chicken tagine with preserved lemons, garlic, coriander, black pepper, ginger, turmeric, saffron and olives. The secret to Moroccan cooking seems to be in the number of fresh spices used. We all made notes so that we could hit the souks later and buy some to take home along with a plain unglazed tagine to cook in, as recommended by Mohammed. We learned by following Lazziza as she cooked with the aid of Mohammed's translation.

Once our chicken tagines were simmering away on the hob we went to relax by the pool with cold drinks. It really is a beautiful garden and we spent a happy, if hungry, hour waiting for our meal to cook.

By the time our tagines were brought out to us we were starving. We devoured our culinary efforts at the long table on the terrace under the shade of the fig and olive trees. I’m not much of a cook but it really was delicious. My family were really impressed when I cooked it for them at home and, even in England in the cold, sitting at our dining table, it brought a taste of the Moroccan sunshine back to me for a moment.

On the final night of our Mega Fam all of the different groups joined together for a gala meal hosted by Palmeraie Golf Palace http://www.palmeraie-marrakech.com/palmeraie-golf-palace.htm for a chance to swap stories of our adventures. We began our evening with a quick tour of the hotel, if you can tour a 312 room hotel quickly. This gigantic hotel, ten minutes outside the centre of Marrakech is a great place for those who love golf. It has it’s own 18 hole golf course, designed by Robert Trent Jones Senior. We were taken by golf carts to have a peek at one of the 44 amazing deluxe suites of the new Pavilion du Golf. It was dark so we couldn’t see the views over the golf course and gardens but the pathways lit by little lamps were stunning. The traditional Moroccan furnishings with a contemporary feel and beautiful cedar wood ceilings were out of this world. For golfing widows there is a state of the art spa, horse riding, tennis and a mini club for children not to mention seven restaurants serving international and Moroccan cuisine. They also have conference facilities.

The meal itself was held in the gardens. As we walked up the path, through a blue gazebo past the swimming pool tea lights twinkling in little frosted glass holders and large Moroccan lanterns lit our way. At the end of the path there was a big pavilion where we were met with glasses of champagne and canapés. It was great to have the chance to meet up with old friends and new and find out how they had enjoyed the different itineraries.

Tables were laid out on the lawn interspersed with more Moroccan lanterns. The food was wonderful and the wine flowed freely. After the meal there were the usual round of speeches followed by Moroccan dancers and musicians. We had a truly wonderful evening, a great way to round off a fantastic trip.

Although our flight the next day was early, I was persuaded by the Managing Director and Sales and Marketing Director of Cadogan to go on to the after party at the Palmeraie Golf Club night club. We jumped into the MD’s limo and were whisked off, all a little the worse for wear already.

As we walked into the club Shakira’s ‘Hips Don't Lie’ was playing, a favourite with the Cadogan marketing girls, almost as if they were playing it for us. We danced our way to the bar. We had the place to ourselves. The only locals were the bar staff and one lone old man who sat in the corner, half asleep the whole time we were there. The drinks prices were very high but the music was good, and we danced until our feet hurt too much to carry on. Eventually, at about two in the morning, we had to give in to tiredness and the thought of getting up at five for the flight. A great end to one of the most memorable trips of my career.

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