Morocco – Day 7 – Marrakesh → Home

Our final day in Morocco involved us waking up, as we had done for the previous week, listening to the sounds of the call to prayer of the local mosque kick off at some ridiculous time in the morning, an avalanche of noise coming towards us from the centre of the medina like the rippling of water from a stone thrown into a pond. Its hard to tell what they were saying, or even describe the sound – Fiona and I agree its something that’s a cross between a constipated cow mooing and an air-raid siren. The distortion from the speakers pretty much strip any human like quality out from the noise – evidently blaring the noise out at full volume is more important than clarity of the speech.

As I was still under the weather with the after-effects of gastro, our plan was to take an easy day by doing some of the bus tours around Marrakesh, and who knows, we might even get a bit of history in along the way. Corking myself up with the pharmaceutical plug that is Imodium, we left the riad for the Djemaa el Fna (affectionately known by the locals as “Main Square! Main Square!”). With a far better map this time that Henry & Allison left us from the tour two days previously, we made our way through the Souks dodging both persistent shop keepers and lunatics travelling at speed on motorbikes through the crowd.

The Souk. Note crazy bloke on the postie bike.

Arriving at the main square, we were a little surprised at what an anti-climax it was due in part to it being largely deserted. A few small stands with fruits and dates and a number of snake charmers and henna tattooists were beckoning the few tourists around to show their wares or attractions, though we skipped this and headed to tour bus near Koutoubia Mosque. Like many of the City Sightseeing tours around the globe, the buses were on time and we headed off on the Monumental tour through the Ville Nouvelle.

Koutoubia Mosque

Passing the Koutoubia Mosque, we headed through the wide boulevards of the Ville Nouvelle section of Marrakesh. Built in the 1930s, the buildings have a strong art deco influence to the adornments and design and appear quite grand compared to the buildings observed in the medina. The bus wound its way around the streets, past the train station we saw a few days previously and down Mohammad VI boulevard. Mohammad the Vi is the current king of Morocco though the photographs we saw of him appears to show a disinterested Arab in a suit. The photographs also appear to have been a snapshot taken by a tourist, rather than the grand portraits one associates with the Queen of England. Back towards the medina, the wide streets become narrower and the shops move from Lacoste to shanty like structures where mopeds are repaired on the pavement.

Ville Nouvelle

Moped repair shops near the medina.

We tried to keep a low profile around here, lest we be charged with planning a tourist attack.

We left the bus in search of a cafe, passing through the main square on the way. By now (about 11am) the square was full of tourists and various money-grabbing vendors were after the tourist durham. One such bloke came up to us as we looked at a snake charmer at a distance, straight away confusing me for being Dutch (must be the blond hair, blue eyes routine again). After encouraging us to get closer (a request politely declined) he stuck his hand out to shake hands and while holding on with his right, he then tried to shove a viper that he was holding with his left. I recoiled like I’d been bitten and resisted the urge to shove my fist into his face. I have a healthy respect for snakes, having grown up on a cane farm in Oz, but on the farm we shot snakes with a 12 gauge, we didn’t pick them up for cuddle. At this point we made for the cafe post-haste, leaving the cheeky bugger with his hand out, audaciously asking us to pay him for the privilege his and his vipers company. Nice try. On arrival at the cafe, we overlooked part of the main square and watched the crowds and motorbikes mix on a continuous basis from the 2nd floor terrace.

“Main square, main square!” – Djamaa el Fna

Coke, Arabic style

The final part of the day consisted of doing the other bus tour available, the so called “Romantique” tour. This proved to be an anticlimax as it took us to the Palmerie, a 64km² tract of land outside the medina filled with tens of thousands of date palms. Apparently this is used to offset the smoke and pollution produced from the city though it didn’t appear to be coping that well. After the palms, we passed several golf courses filled with western tourists and then back to the ‘kesh.

The Palmerie

The trip back to the UK was fairly uneventful apart from one exception. Having travelled to Marrakesh airport in a 40 year old Mercedes (gamers, think opening credits in Call of Duty 4 and you’re close), we flew back to Gatwick helped by a huge tail wind and we actually landed early. And there the trouble started. From the Day 1 post, we mentioned we were sure about the parking. As it turned out, we got it wrong. We parked in the wrong car park and forfeited the money for the correct park, costing us a total of over £100 for the weeks parking. Ouch!

Anyway, that’s all from Morocco. Hope you enjoyed the commentary.

Morocco – Day 6 – (Enforced) rest day (Marrakesh)

Today we’d planned to visit Essaouira, a coastal fishing town almost due west of Marrakesh, that had been highly recommended by a number of sources. Unfortunately, I was still feeling ill with the gastro bug still inflicting its worst on my innards, so I was stuck at the riad all day electing to be no more than 5 metres from the loo. On the plus side, we both were quite glad we had a rest day as we were a little ambitious as to what we could achieve in this time so it was a good opportunity to catch up on some reading.

Fiona, meanwhile, went off with Marwan the riad owner to a nearby spice shop on the back of his scooter. Marwan is a body builder and built like a brick outhouse so it would have been a sight to see him cruising on his moped. At the shop Fiona was hounded once again by the shop keepers to enter their shops though we couldn’t really be bothered buying spices to bring back to the UK as the prices were the same as the UK and UK customs are taking a leaf from the Aussie customs book by cracking down on non-EU food imports, so getting spices in aren’t worth the hassle.

Fiona arrived back before lunch and shortly there after, it began to rain, with the sound of thunder loudly echoing around the court yard. Looks like the BBC weather prophets messed up the forecast once again…

As we didn’t go anywhere, the only photos are ones that Fiona took from around the riad.

Morocco – Day 5 – Berber camp → Marrakesh

The previous night, Mustapha had informed us that we needed to be up at 6am in the morning after which he then disappeared off into the night, to where we assumed his hotel was awaiting. We assumed that the early wake up was for either breakfast or a camel ride back to civilisation. As it turned out, neither happened.

6am came and went, though I was still awake from the previous night - the berber mattresses were uncomfortable with my dodgy back and as we kept the door to the tent open to encourage the mouse to leave – it was also quite cold. I was also starting to feel rather ill. 10 minutes after getting up to watch the sunrise, I was behind a sand-dune going the vom and was starting to burn up with fever. Breakfast arrived and the source of my illness became apparent. Henry & Allison asked for some boiling water for some (western) tea and in return received a teapot full of warm brackish creek water which is what the locals are used to drinking. As I’d drunken 3 glasses of the Berber tea made from the same water, it was no surprise my body was now protesting!

Berber tent

Inside the tent, with Fiona modelling touareg style

Sunrise – 20 minutes later the light was falling over the sand dunes nicely but I was speaking to Ralph at the time and missed it

Breakfast – with Berber tea :p

While I crept back to bed feeling sorry for myself, the others had decided that getting the bus back to Zagora instead of riding the camels was beneficial to all so we then tried to contact Mustapha. It turned out the Berbers didn’t have a mobile phone and after some background negotiations, Mustapha was eventually reached and the bus took 15 minutes to drive what took us 90 minutes by camel. While waiting, Fiona went off photographing camels (she really was obsessed with them) and soon we were at a hotel in Zagora where we could have a shower and feel vaguely more human.

I asked this Berber if he’s swap his camels for Fiona, but he didn’t understand English and offered me a cup of Berber tea instead. Bastard!

Berber in-breeding resulted in this rare two-headed camel

“So how’re you doin’?”

The bus ride back to Marrakesh was essentially a repeat of the trip there the previous day, passing the date palms in the Dades Valley (1500km of date palms lining the Dades river) and the scorched earth of the plains and hills leading towards Ouarzazate and its film studios. I was still sick at this point was was drifting into and out of sleep, with the few times I was awake I was out the bus and throwing up somewhere. The date palms have never been so well fertilised. At Ouarzazate, we took a slight detour to the nearby town of Ait Ben Haddou, where they filmed the slavery scenes of in Gladiator (about 20 minutes into the film) and other films such as Lawrence of Arabia and the new Star Wars films. While Fiona, Henry & Allison went for a tour around the town, Mustapha earnt his tip by arranging a room in the only hotel in town for me to sleep for 2 hours. According to Fiona, the tour of the town itself wasn’t brilliant as Mustapha kept talking to the locals instead of to the paying tourists about the town. Henry suggested I watch Gladiator and I’d get the same experience.

Ait Ben Haddou – Gladiator Country. Leather thong not included in the tour

The rest of the trip was uneventful, though the highlight of the last section in the bus was when Mustapha, disappeared into the store that he bought the duplicate Berber tape, only to reappear and enter another store (the right one this time) and he returned to bus with two new tapes. He inserted one into the tape desk and within a minute, Mustapha went deathly quiet and the driver began to chuckle – Mustapha had traded the duplicate tape for yet another copy! We all had a chuckle at Mustapha’s expense, though he had the last laugh by inflicting his karaoke on us over the top of the music from the second tape, which was a screeching, whiny series of tunes that were positively terrible. The bus arrived back in Marrakesh around dusk and after bidding Henry, Allison, Mustapha and the driver farewell, we walked fairly quickly back to the riad at which point I went to bed. Fiona enjoyed the Chicken tagine and soon followed.

Morocco – Day 4 – Marrakesh → Berber camp (near Zagora)

We got up early to meet the bus at the near by post office, where we had met Marwan the previous night to be led to the riad. We arrived several minutes prior to 7am, expecting a mini-bus of some description to pop along any minute. 30 minutes later, still no bus so we were wondering if we’d been had again when the bus finally turned up. The bus had Hassan (we missed his name when we were picked up be we think that was his name) the driver and Mustapha the guide, along with Henry and Allison from Sydney, Australia. We quickly discovered that the bus was late due to the driver being caught by the cops for crossing the double centre lines, which resulted in a fine and a 30 minute delay while they discussed it (animatedly I’m assuming). We’ve quickly come to realise that no one appears to be in a hurry in this country, which can be frustrating at times.

The drive out of Marrkesh quickly morphed from cityscape to mountainous terrain in seemingly the blink of an eye. It was only 350km to Zagora, but it appeared that all of it was on windy mountain roads behind beat up old trucks and cars travelling at the speed of sloth. We quickly entered the heart of the Atlas mountains and looked at the Berber villages pass by in unending fashion. It seemed to be an inhospitable place to live on the side of a mountain, but they seemed to have adapted well, for centuries too it appeared. There also appeared to be no schools (there is school on a Saturday in Morocco) as all the kids seemed to be along the road side selling all sorts of tourist tat from daggers to tagine dishes to thunder eggs. We also had a bit of a laugh when Mustapha jumped out of the bus at one of the villages to buy another Berber music tape, only to find he’d bought the same tape that he already had. Duly, we then listened to said tape which was quite painful to listen to.

Berber village

Fiona is attracted to the tat

In the middle portion, the mountains levelled out and the plains became dusty and arid. In the middle of it all at a place called Ouarzazat, was a film studio that produces the sum total of FIVE films a year (I’m sure its more as I’m sure Mustapha misunderstood our question) though they did film Gladiator and the new Star Wars films there. The town itself was similar to what I imagine Las Vegas must be like – an utter oasis in the desert that appears to have no visible means of support but flourishes nonetheless. We stopped there for lunch (yep, another tagine) and then back in the bus to Zagora. Again we passed another mountainous range that was slow going, and just on dusk, we arrived at Zagora. Here we traded hats for a touareg head wrap (appears to be nothing more than a gimic to fleece tourists so bring your own scarf instead) and then embarked on a 90 minute camel ride into the “desert”.

Passing Berber

Tour group: Hassan (?), me, wife, Allison, Henry & Mustapha

Fiona goes all touareg

Camel ride: Fiona appears to be enjoying herself, while I’m trying hard not to fall off

The camel ride was an interesting experience and I can see why these animals were called ships of the desert. Having sat on one for 90 minutes with its undulating gait, I can imagine that those that acquire travel sickness easily would easily get sea sick on one of these things. The path itself was ordinary. We started out on a road, then though a dirt track leading through a date palm and mint plantation, and then finally into barren rocky plains. At this point, it was pretty hard to see as the delays at the start of the day manifested itself, resulting in a pitch black arrival at the Berber camp. Here we were shown our tent (all four of us shared which ruined the plan of a romantic desert getaway) and dinner was brought to us. It began with Berber tea (there’s a story here, though you’ll have to wait until the next few posts) which according to Henry was chewing tobacco soaked in warm water. It was so bitter they threw in lumps of sugar (about 30 sugar cubes worth I reckon, and no that is not a typo – THIRTY!) to disguise the taste. I finished mine out of politeness though the others were more discerning and hoiked it over their shoulder when the Berber wasn’t looking. Next was followed by (you guessed it) Chicken Tagine and followed by fresh melon for dessert. This was followed by more tea (I really should have stopped being polite by this point) and then some Berber music. From somewhere, about 10 other people appeared and we sat on a sand dune listening to music which appear to be quite repetitive and heavy on the drums. Once they’d packed up, we arrived back at the tent to find that a mouse had somehow gotten into the tent, at which point I then spent 10 minutes trying to chase it out. We long sight of it somehow and we attempted sleep on hard Berber pillows and mattresses, with the occasional squeak of a mouse in the darkness.

Berber tea – AVOID AT ALL COSTS!!!

Berber music performance – it was so dark the camera couldn’t actually autofocus to take the shot and we somehow managed this one before it packed in.

Morocco – Day 3 – Fes → Marrakesh

Essentially a repeat of Day 1, but in reverse and without a flight to contend with. On the way back to the train station, as stated in a previous post, we got a petit taxi for a pound, though the method of luggage handling leaves a lot to be desired. The petit taxis in Fes seemed to consist of a fleet of tiny banged up twenty year old Fiat Unos or Peugeot 205′s with a roof rack to put suitcases. As the cars had a tiny boot, the suitcase would be thrown onto the roof rack (no tie down straps either!) and through a lot of prayer and positive thought, we hoped it would be there when we got to the train station. We did however get very paranoid at traffic lights just in case some enterprising thief made off with our suitcase while we were stopped. Miraculously, the bags were still there at our destination and off we went onto the train.

Petit Taxi – note the optimistic roof rack for the suitcase

Train to Marrakesh

We had thoughtfully bought lunch from all the street vendors in the Souk the day before, consisting of a number of breads, olives, fruits and cakes. Sure beats the day old chicken sandwiches they were selling on the train. The landscape was in daylight now, as opposed to the misty sunset or darkness that covered the view upon arriving into Fes, showing lots of small villages and crops being grown – a stark contrast to the landscape out of Marrakesh where a dung beetle would have had difficulty living. Closer to Marrakesh, the scenery changed back to the arid landscape we first saw, though we could believe our eyes when we saw Eucalyptus gum trees growing wild along the train line – no koalas to be seen though.

View from the train – farmland near Fes

Eucalyptus trees

Arriving in Marrakesh we got a taxi to the medina, again as close as they could to the riad. This was a poor time to find out that my mobile can’t connect to Moroccan phone numbers (despite roaming enabled ?!?!) so we rung from a nearby “teleboutique” which consisted of several payphones in a shop. Marwan, the riad owner, meet us shortly and led us back through the labyrinth of streets to the riad, which was beautifully appointed and again, dead quiet to the sounds of the medina. At this point, Marwan suggested that they’d prefer the bill paid up front though they prefer cash (apparently if you use a card, theres a 5% tax so a lot of Moroccan businesses refuse to take cards). Having depleted most of our funds already via the Fes riad and train travel, we set out with a rudimentry map to find an atm. What should have been a 30 minute trip turned into a 3 hour marathon as I mis-read the map and ended up in completely the wrong direction and through a dodgy part of town at dusk. We were accosted continually by the local teenagers:
“Main square, main square?” they’d chant.
“Non!” we’d reply, even though that was where we’d planned to go.
“Let me show the way”
“Non!” (repeat several times)
“Let me show the way”
“NON!” at which point we’d walk off.
“Monsieur, f**k you! Madame, f**k you!” was yelled into our backs. Evidently they’d had that phrase yelled at them quite a lot. Can’t imagine why.
By the time we found an atm, it was dark proper and we now had 3000 DH (£250) in our pocket to contend with. We somehow got lost again on the way back and were ready to crash by the time we got back to the riad. A delightful vegetable tagine awaited us that could have filled 6 people up (plus dessert!) and then it was straight to bed as we had an early start in the morning for our taste of the Sahara.

Our room in the riad. I have to say the Moroccan style is very attractive.