Marrakesh - MOROCCO
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 Cheers to our third day of blue skies and not a cloud in sight. Although the early mornings and evenings are cold, the searing midday heat always seeps in and it's hard to believe that winter is on our doorstep. This mornings shower left much to be desired, but at least the small trickle was warm, unlike the majority of cheap Moroccan hotels. By 10am a few of us headed into the square, through the dirt tracks of the medina and past local stalls selling "fresh meat" and constantly overstepping the blood pools in the dirt. Donkeys happily splashed past and often you'd pass the odd piece of wall used as the men's toilet. No wonder the walls are crumbling! To us most unpleasant but the Moroccans don't seem to be offended. After a glass or two of freshly squeezed orange juice Dave and I ventured back into the souq and enjoyed the tranquility of the morning hours. It was just us, the laden donkeys, motorcyclists and locals ploughing through the covered market. Our goal was to purchase a piece of fabric that we sighted yesterday but we found the stall almost impossible to rediscover. Once we found it we took one look-and-feel of the silk then went in for the kill. The bargaining extravaganza took 15 minutes, from 500DH to 200DH, with the usual banter - "you insult my family at that price" etc etc. After the war of pen to paper prices we whipped out our 200DH. Unlike the beginning of the conversation - "Welcome to Morocco... we are friends" - this no longer was the case and the shopkeeper and his son would not speak to us - the friendship was over. We felt we had won as they didn't seem too pleased and weren't jumping "high-fives". A small eternity of silence passed as they wrapped and packaged the fabric and one could not help but feel a little sad about the bargaining process. You only seem to be "Welcome in Morocco" and a friend of the salesman if he empties your wallet. If he doesn't he's one of the sorest losers in the world. We left with a simple "au revoir" and rubbed our hands in glee for seemingly doing so well. Ah, the souq's a piece of cake and we emerged out of the lion pits and into the warm sunlight, surrounded by our favourite snake-charmer, teeth-seller, storyteller, and orange juice salesman. It's hard not to fall in love with Marrakesh as it depicts and exudes all that dreams are made of!! Sadly we donned our bags and headed towards the Ville Nouveau with some of our friends, passing through the suburbs of five-story high-rise decay and filthy streets lined with rubbish, children playing happily and women attending to the business of the day. The bus station was bulging with the usual frauds, hustlers and lunatics and after a quick goodbye to our friends we alighted the 1:15pm to Ouarzazate. The journey would take us up and over the High Atlas, through unremarkable villages with beautiful red bricked kasbahs, the odd lush and verdant palm grove and across a spectacular lunar landscape with rocky, tortuous peaks. Each new corner exhilarated the senses and imagination. Unfortunately I didn't enjoy it as my stomach was quite upset. For lunch we stopped at a restaurant over the Tizi-n-Tichka pass and on our arrival this sleepy setting came alive with waiters in full motion and chefs throwing meat on the grill. I watched in horror as the BBQ took place with a hundred flies swarming over the hanging carcass. Instead I spent a good 45 minutes on the bus watching the fossil and pottery shop sales people across the road eagerly await some business. Not much happens here and indeed the highlight of the hour was watching two of the salesmen engage in a playful scuffle in the centre of the road. The hordes rejoined the bus, not a westerner in sight, and the doors slammed shut. This marked the beginning of a three hour horror show. The driver did not drive under 100km/h and on every corner and past every town I dug my nails into the seat. Although the rough and rugged scenery was at it's best here. We both had to hold the motion-sickness down and spent a quiet few moments contemplating how to get out of the bus in case of an accident. I have a saying whilst on buses in Morocco and would feverishly repeat it in my head, "Live every moment as though it's your last and be content with the time you've had". As the sub set we left the high mountain peaks and wonderful kasbahs behind us. The dry landscape opened onto a plain and it wasn't far to Ouarzazate. Although the driver felt the need to catch up on lost time and accelerated fast than a bus should travel. You know things aren't right as we flew through a town forcing people and a flurry of animals off the streets. Even the Muslim ladies were screaming at the driver in Arabic. How somebody did not die I do not know! Finally and thankfully we alighted from the vomit inducer at Ouarzazate to find only the locals mingling along the street and not a hustler in sight. We walked up along the main dusty boulevard in the twilight passing shops (with a few persistent owners), cafes, a hoard of car rental agencies and some cheap hotels. Hotel Royal won our patronage as it was clean and friendly, had a proper toilet and the teenager at reception had grasped the concept of customer service! Dinner later consisted of - yes, you've guessed it, those who've been to Morocco - Tagine. A casserole-type judgement packed with your choice of meat and vegetables and all the spices one delights in tasting, brought straight to your table in a ceramic dish, bubbling hot. There are three choices in Moroccan cuisine - Tagine, Couscous (semolina rice topped with meat and vegetables) and lastly, the simple meat brochette or kebab! It's the quality of spices that make these dishes so memorable and exotic. As we surfaced from the restaurant, after a refreshing cup of traditional (and not to be missed) mint tea, the streets were deserted and the shutters of business and restaurants slammed shut as the weary returned to the welcoming arms of their Muslim families. The only others lingering were the drug pushers and we made our way back to our room leaving the darkness of the streets behind us. The plan for tomorrow was to hunt down a car to hire for three or four days, explore the uninterrupted plains, fertile river valleys, kasbahs, palmeries, villages, gorges, and rough and rugged splendours of the sub-Sahara. Yet another eventful day. |