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Published: April 29th 2008
When you’re about to land in Morocco and you’re still not sure if you need a visa to get in ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
When you’re luggage still hasn’t arrived an hour after your flight has landed ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
When your arranged transfer isn’t waiting for you after you finally get your luggage ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
When you realise your sim card doesn’t work so you can’t call the hotel about the missing transfer and you have no idea where you are ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
When you get lost in the ancient medina of Marrakech at 11 pm at night ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
When the “nice locals” demand more money from you for helping you find your way home ... ”always look on the bright side
Djemaa el Fna (Main Square in Marrakech)
This place is absolute madness! It gets better at night as a lot of locals gather to eat, listen to story tellers and hang out.of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
And that is all in the first day! Welcome to Morocco! Our week here well earned the Monty Python inspired motto.
An Australian couple we met on the way said to us; “if you want a culture shock, fly straight into Marrakech, Morocco.” So we thought we’d do just that and see how we fare. We loved (almost) every minute of it!
After we finally got to our Riad (Moroccan style hotel in the medina - old town) and were greeted by the most helpful and friendly manager we’ve come across. After showing us our room and letting us unpack he came and told us he will take us the square. Being big scaredy cats we weren’t planning on tackling the main square of Marrakech until day time but Yusuf insisted so we had to go (and we were quite hungry). We wandered around seemingly endless twists and turns of the medina with Yusuf pointing out landmarks we very soon forgot we made it to the main square. Yusuf pointed at the square and said “here we are. You have the map, don’t get lost on your
way home. See you at breakfast.”
Slightly dazed and massively overwhelmed by this completely new world that lay before us we wandered into the thick of it, forgetting of course where we came in (hence the “nice locals”). Marrakech is, quite literally, Bali on speed. No other way to put it.
There are fresh orange juice stalls, spice tea stalls, snail soup stalls, 50 or so restaurants under canopies grilling up fresh meat and steaming cous cous shouting out to tourists. There are men selling fresh dates, figs and nuts, knock off handbags. Men trying to get you take a picture of them in a ridiculous costume for a couple of dirham. Snake charmers charming cobras out of their hessian sacks and their assistants trying to drape massive pythons over any unsuspecting tourist walking within a two metre radius. Women trying to draw a tattoo on your arm with henna, others with their children begging for money. Medicine men with their wares laid out on a blanket sipping mint tea, story tellers telling grand tales to a crowd of locals. There are crowds of tourists and locals alike gathering around boxing matches, games aimed to rip anybody and
The Souks just off Djemaa el Fna
The souks can only be described as a shopping maze within the walls of the medina. This is where we needed Dan's compass. You can get seriously lost in this place. everybody off and the occasional and persistent hashish dealer. That is just the sights....
The smells all mingle together, a combination of mint tea, smoke from the grills, hashish from the guys smoking a joint near the orange juice stall and the inevitable smell of overloaded drains that come with any country like this.
The sounds become one big blur after a while, men and women all shouting at you to eat at their restaurant, “are you Aussie?”, “Oi Oi Oi”, “Look at moi, look at moi”, have a henna tattoo, give them some money, buy their bag, have an orange juice, take their picture, bet on the boxing match....all underpinned with the flute of the snake charmer that makes your blood pressure sky rocket and gives you the sudden urge to RUN!! (and believe you me...we did run!)
We quite seriously spent the first 24 hours wandering around with our jaws wide open (and eyes peeled for those bloody snake charmers!). On our second day there though we joined a cooking class. We knew a part of the class was to shop for the ingredients but we didn’t realise we’d be doing it all. We were
split into groups and given a shopping bag, a wallet and a shopping list. We were then taken to where the locals buy their produce and told to make sure we paid local price not tourist price.....what the!??!?!?! We’re used to Woolworths price! Luckily the other couple in our group spoke some French as the locals only spoke Arabic or French. After the shopping we went back to a riad to cook up a storm. We spent the next few hours cooking up a feast with two Moroccan women and after all the hard work was done we ate. And ate. And ate. Those Moroccans sure know the meaning of the word “feast”! It was the best meal we’ve had so far even if it was interrupted by a massive dust storm from the Sahara - just added a bit of grit to the meal.
We sadly only had 3 full days in Marrakech so we spent the rest of our time eating and shopping - why the hell not! We got lost frequently in the souks and unsuccessfully haggled with the locals. The shopping here is definitely better than Bali but not nearly as cheap. Guess you can’t
Spices at the Spice Shop
These guys sell every type of spice or herb known to man we swear. Moroccans use spices not just for cooking but for alternative medicine. The spice man prescribed nigella seeds for our colds. You put some in a bit of hessian, rub it on your hand to crush the seeds a little then inhale like a nasal spray...and it actually works! have everything. Plus we’ve still got 5 weeks or so left of our trip so we had to keep the shopping to a minimum unfortunately... We really did not want to leave Marrakech and were seriously regretting reducing our time in Morocco from 12 days to 7. But what is done is done and we had to move on to get to Casablanca for our flight on Sunday.
From Marrakech we caught a train to Fes and true to the word in Lonely Planet we were approached by no less than two friendly “travel agents” on the way. Who spent a lot of time firstly trying to get our attention and then once they had that trying to win our confidence by reciting all the things that Lonely Planet lists to look out for as far as faux guides etc etc go in Fes. Just as we were about to consider thinking that perhaps this guy might just be friendly he delivered the punch line....”my friend is a tour guide for the government, he is very good and will give you a good deal. What is your hotel and when do you want him to pick you up....” Ba
Local's fresh food market
Our cooking class took us here where the locals buy their fresh produce to buy the ingredients for our day of cooking. It beats Woolies and Coles for freshness but everything is quite literally just pulled out of the ground - no fancy stuff here! Oh and the locals don't speak English - just French or Arabic....handy. boom! Welcome to Morocco!
Fes is said to be the cultural capital of Morocco but for us it was very, shall we say....blah. Granted, we were only there for 2 nights but it lacked the energy that we so dearly loved about Marrakech. It doesn’t have a main square like Marrakech and therefore we felt there was nothing for the medina to “feed” off. The faux guides were sooooooooo full on even though it was a Friday but we fobbed them off and finally made our way to the tanneries which were very interesting. We unsuccessfully bargained for some leather goods but our prices must have been too low because they let us walk out the door.
When we were ready to leave Fes we went into the parking lot (no cars can fit in the medina so they all have to park in the car parks on the edge) and were immediately asked by a local if we wanted a taxi. We answered and he told us to wait. One arrived within 5 minutes and we were told to put our bags on the roof. No roof rack, just a little box type thing with sides about
15cms high. No straps either, just put your bags in. We hesitated and were assured by 2 or 3 locals that all would be okay. So we hopped in and hoped for the best (driving in Morocco is similar to driving in Bali) ... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
We drove around a few corners for 5 or 10 minutes before the taxi came to a stop and the driver turned to us and told us to hop out. “Catch other taxi” he says. Confused we looked at each other and then back at the man who was very eager to get us out of his taxi. So we got out, got our bags and found ourselves standing in the middle of nowhere, with no “other taxi” in sight and no idea where we were... ”always look on the bright side of life...do do ... da da da da da da”.
We began to walk towards what looked like a main road in the hope that there would be another taxi somewhere. One came along after ten minutes or so. We made sure we took our bags inside
Making real cous cous
Sure beats the packaged stuff... the car with us this time though, tight squeeze but we managed.
All that we’d read about Casablanca told us it was not worth the visit but unfortunately it was a good hundred quid cheaper to fly to Cairo from here than anywhere else so it was an unavoidable detour. The reviews on Casa did not disappoint, it can only be described as....a hole. It is dirty, the people were unfriendly and the thought of the place still gives us the heeby jeebies! Our hotel was Lonely Planet recommended and was the WORST place we’ve ever stayed. We had a backup plan if the bed had bed bugs. We would pack up our stuff (leaving our infested clothes for housekeeping to deal with) and sleep at the airport. As it happened though the linen on our bed was the only clean thing in the whole city so we slept a little and high tailed it out of there ASAP in the morning.
Casa was an unfortunate end to an otherwise wonderful Moroccan experience. We are in love with crazy crazy Marrakech and would return in a heartbeat but we’d probably pay the extra to fly out of anywhere
Daniel concentrating hard
The vegies in Moroccan cooking are much more prepared than what we're used to. We had to peel tomatoes and cut the hearts out of carrots....our technical skills left a lot to be desired but the Moroccan women were so quick. but Casablanca.
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