We flew from Madrid to Marrakesh in the morning, mostly uncomfortably sleeping on the plane. We landed, got out of the plane to be welcomed by a two story airport mostly made of white concrete and red bricks, simple, but still reflecting the semi-modern, semi-palace-like Moroccan architecture. Another welcomer was the distinct heat that seeped us in itself like a vacuum. I was ecstatic feeling the hot temperature; although Spain was warm, it wasn't summery hot and after months in England, one yearns for the hot weather. We went through the passport control, picked up our luggage and hurried for our first adventure in Marrakesh: haggling with the cab drivers. What basically happens is you get out of the airport, trying to look cool and indifferent to the cab-men (I don't think all of them drive the cabs, some of them are sort of like 'cab-pimps', trying to get you to take the cab they own.), but however cool you're trying to look, they know that you're a tourist and they know that you're dying to get a cab to wherever you will go to save yourself from melting in the hot weather and make it to cooler temperatures in which human metabolism can survive. So they approach you, "Take this cab, madam." and you ask, "How much?", "Three hundred dirhems!" (approximately 30 euros) and you know that's way too high a price, and having read many forums on taking cabs in Marrakesh, you say "No." They object to your objection, saying things like, "Well, that's the price, I can't go any lower. It's actually 500 dirhems (no, it's not.)." So you walk away, not knowing where you're actually going, or even if you will find another cab-pimp, but it's a part of haggling, so you do. They finally ask, "What's your price?" and although you sort of know what to say from the forums you've read, you're still hesitant, because what if you say a lower price and they do accept? But you still play it safe, because you know.. you're actually dying to get a cab- the thought of cool sheets in your bed, the mint tea and hookah they serve at the hostel (you've read about this in the hostel reviews, too.), a cold shower... And you say your final price, "200 dirhems." The cab driver stops in astonishment. He has that look in his eyes that says, "How can you even think of that?" for a split second, but then he reaches his hand for you to shake it; it's a deal.
African Pneus, which we ran into quite often.
If your accommodation is in the old city part of Marrakesh, then your cab stops at Aragana Cafe. From there, our host from the hostel, Ali, picked us up and we walked to the hostel, which was not that far away. The hostel, La Casa del Sol, was the nicest place we stayed during our travels. Sipping delicious mint tea and learning about how we should act in the old city, we payed our hostel fees. That first night, after we came back from a traditional meal at Djemaa el Fna, the main square in Marrakesh, we went upstairs to the terrace and smoked hookah in the calm, warm night of Marrakesh.
Old men conversing at Djemaa el Fna
The things you see in Djemaa el Fna do not just surprise, but fascinate you. It is a fusion of the unexpected and the outrageous, with snake charmers and musicians, story-tellers and fortune-tellers, food-sellers and tricksters. At around 8'o clock, the square lures you in with the smoke coming from the kebabs grilled at the portable food stands. You take a step towards one of them and a guy dressed in a white jacket like a lab coat starts cracking jokes at you: "Come on skinny, eat at my food stand." You walk away and hear him call, "Twiggy, slender, skinny, slim, scrawny! Why are you leaving? Eat here!" behind your back. The mere fact that he knows so many synonyms of 'slim' cracks you up and you walk back to that food stand, smiling. He shouts in absolute joy, "You're back! You won't regret eating here. The bread is free. We have the best food. All the food stands charge the same, but it's about quality. This is where all the Moroccans eat." So you sit down and order from the menu in which the most costly food is 70 dirhems (7 euros). Of course, you read online that people get food poisoned in Marrakesh, and their whole trip gets ruined. But you see other people, Moroccans too, dipping their bread in the juice of the Tagine and you ask yourself rhetorically, "Why not?" The food looks delicious, although the conditions don't seem all that sanitary... Eek.
I personally never got sick in Marrakesh, although we ate at the portable food stalls every night. And also I never came across malicious cat-calling (although when it was only me and Sharon walking around without Ben we heard more "Nice ass!"es and "Sexy!"s.) In that sense, my fears about what we would experience in Morocco turned out to be much better than what I expected. The people are a little xenophobic towards Americans and it's much easier to negotiate and become friends with them if you can speak French. Nevertheless, the variety of the languages the Moroccans can speak amazes you. Anyone we met could speak Arabic, French and English fluently. Many street-vendors also can speak Spanish and they also can welcome people in Japanese (we know this because Sharon is Korean, but people thought she was Japanese and we heard "Konnichiwa"s screamed at us quite often.) Also, if you yourself greet people and thank them in Arabic, it definitely earns you some friendly tourist points. I personally even played the Muslim card in several occasions, and although it helped quite often, it didn't prevent my getting ripped off when buying a pair of silky shalvar trousers (which I blissfully show off below).
Me at the Madrasah
