Yes to Marrakech, Go Morocco

 

In September 2000, I had the pleasure to visit Marrakech in Morocco. I flew from London into a very dark Casablanca airport and then went on to Marrakech. Several things were immediately clear- the dry climate meant lots of brown sand and dust, and the dual languages of Arabic and French were unusual. I guess a country that is part Africa, part Europe and part Middle East is bound to vibrant and contradictory and so it seemed to be.

 

Friends of mine who had been to Marrakech before had warned me that there would be a great deal of hustle and bustle and hassle from street hawkers and traders. However, when I visited the Jemaa el-Fna, the central square, I was pleasantly surprised. When I got into a taxi at my hotel, a guide with an official tourist office badge got in too and before I knew it, I had myself a guide.

 

The guide led me through narrow streets from which it soon became clear that the main items for sale were spices, carpets and fruits. Aside from exotic pets such as chameleons, I saw little else. Street after street of equally sized shops selling what appeared to be the same goods. One wondered as one often does when walking along any retail street anywhere, how the shopkeepers make a living. Only here, more so. Selling the same stuff as everyone else in the same place is not usually a recipe for riches. Many people offered goods and hailed us, but when our cries of 'No thank you' or signs of non-interest became clear, we were left well alone. In fact, I felt rather calm looking around and not harassed as I had expected. Maybe the government had cracked down on such activities- there were a lot of police around- or just maybe the hawkers had learned that harassing a customer to try to get them to buy something is never a recipe for success. There was one very, very hectic area in which it was hard to breathe, but it was clear that we had stumbled on a local trading area in which the locals were intensely buying and selling.

 

In fact, the so called tourist guide was by far the most difficult person to shake- he kept leading me into carpet shops and porcelain shops and other places clearly belonging to his friends, despite my protestations that I was interested in nothing more than the strong, sweet, refreshing mint tea that was always offered. A Moroccan carpet that supposedly had taken 11 months to hand weave cost about 300 US dollars.

 

I headed then for the mosque. It was not hard to find given that it was by far the tallest building in an area of otherwise flat brown abodes. The government planning regulations to prevent very tall buildings from obscuring other areas were clearly working well- or just maybe religion, climate, materials and other facts meant self-regulation prevailed. 

 

The areas surrounding the mosque were a sanctuary of even more peace and calm. They were totally clear and the mosque was clearly closed. I walked all the way around the mosque and enjoyed the lime trees and other flowers and trees in the gardens.

 

The conference organizers arranged for a folklore evening and traditional Moroccan dinner at the Kasbah Tassarout on the outskirts of Marrakech. It seemed like it was exposed in the middle of the desert and I was concerned about a lack of security- but it was a great occasion to eat Moroccan foods and drink Moroccan wine, see some belly dancing, ride camels, listen to music, wear shawls and otherwise sample the culture of Morocco.

 

There were transportation problems as always- taxis without meters and airplanes that did not arrive. But I enjoyed the place more than I expected and although I did no get the chance to do more than talk superficially to the Moroccan people, I liked what I could see.

 

Yes to Marrakech, Go Morocco.

 

 

Author: Simon Buckingham

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