Hidden Treasures

Every organized tour we have taken invariably includes "the bus day."  Some dread this often long day stuck in the bus, getting from point "A" to point "B."  Others like the time to recharge.  I'm pretty ambivalent to this, as it has both good and not-so-great elements.  Today we were leaving Fez and traveling along the spine of Morocco, running a line equidistant to the Atlas mountains to our south, and the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea to the north, to the famed city of Marrakesh.  I continued to be impressed by the condition of the roads we had encountered, and we traveled most of the day along a pristine and uncrowded toll highway.  This day drove home to me just how fertile a country Morocco appears, especially in Spring, as we seemed to drive for endless miles through all kinds of farmland, spanning olives to apples to figs to wheat.  As we got closer to Marrakesh itself, it was more arid, and we came upon miles of poppy fields, all in bloom I might add.  We stopped every hour and a half or so for rest breaks, and it was usually at brand new rest areas.  We even came to the inevitable McDonalds, which was spotless.  We had the option to grab something here to eat, but most everyone waited for the next, more extended stop, where we had a more traditional sit-down Moroccan-themed lunch.

Miles of Olive Groves, as Seen From the Bus

A nice element to the "bus day" is that the guide can use the time to fill us in on history and facts.  This is the element I enjoy of these longer days.  I openly admit to having known little to nothing about Morocco before our visit.  I admit, too, to having never even seen the movie Casablanca. I know...I know.  Whereas, too, I had visited Tunisia, Algeria, and Egypt for work, this was my first visit to Morocco, for professional or personal reasons.  Katherine and her mom had visited for a day, during a visit to Spain in high school, on which Jane had been a chaperone.  They took the ferry from Spain across the short eight-mile stretch to Tangiers.  Their collective memory of that trip is Jane being offered 14 camels for Katherine.  Alas, we were not to visit Tangiers on this visit, so I couldn't gauge if her price has gone up.

Marrakesh, like Fez, can be spelled in a multitude of ways.  We seemed to see an equal sprinkling of Marrakesh and Marrakech, so if I interchange them, please forgive me.  It is smaller than Fez, by about 50 percent, with just under 1 million people.  It felt, however, larger than Fez to me.  It also had a much more "Middle East vibe" to it than Fez, which had seemed European on the fringes.  Marrakesh, too, was where we would encounter a majority of fellow tourists.  It definitely seemed attuned to the desires of rich Moroccans and tourists, with blocks of trendy, upscale hotels and a casino located just outside the walls of the medina.  Within the old city were signs for all kinds of hostels and such, which is also testament to the boom of low-cost European airlines which now fly directly into Marrakesh, often for less than $20 each way.

Our hotel, luckily, was nestled among several others, on the quiet end of town, across from a very fancy -- and equally intimidating -- casino.  We were again divided into two rooms, even though each room was very large, with a sitting area and small kitchen.  Anna chose to nap while K and I wanted to explore a little.  We had read that Marrakesh was "the" place to shop in Morocco, but our two tours for the following day would not leave us much time to explore the souk.  Our guidebook wrote of an "artisans workshop" that was located outside the city walls, and where craftsmen had small shops with fixed prices.  It said that you would be buying directly from the workmen, but also paying slightly higher prices than if you haggled your way to a bargain in the souk.  Never one to enjoy haggling, more so because you can never really know what something is worth, I liked this idea.  It was akin to a similar shop we visited in Cairo last year, which was run by an aid organization.

The mall -- for lack of a better term -- of shops was very close to our hotel on a map, but as it turned out, it took about 20 minutes to walk there.  Marrakesh has a series of walls within walls, and one huge wall separated our hotel from the mall.  Using our phone, we navigated our way to the nearest gate through the wall, but it took a while.  Compounding the challenge was our first introduction to street-cross etiquette, or lack thereof, in Morocco.  Crossing the streets in Rabat and Fez had been a non-issue to date, with well marked and signaled pedestrian crosswalks.  Marrakesh, and Casablanca for that matter, were going to be different cases entirely.  This, too, added to the "Middle Eastern-ness" feel to the city.  Though painted crosswalks exist, they are universally ignored.  Cars would not stop and we soon learned the only way to successfully cross, with a modicum of sanity, was to just walk and look straight ahead, hoping that cars would stop and make way.  It was almost like wading across the street, as cars would fill all the empty space around you as you pushed across.  Adding to the confusion were the throngs of scooters and mopeds, which were everywhere.  As we'd see the next day, when we actually entered the medina, unlike in Fez, these motorized bikes area allowed in Marrakesh's old city, and it made for a much less enjoyable experience.  You always had to keep an eye open for someone riding through, which made it harder to soak in everything around you.

Passing Through the Outer Walls, on Way to Artisans Village

Artisans Village

Place To Go for Felted Hats

The artisans village was much, much larger than we had expected, and well worth the trip.  The quality of what we saw was outstanding, and not having to haggle was the cherry on top.  We bought several items, for ourselves and as gifts, and started to head back to the hotel.  We had signed up for a sunset carriage ride, followed by dinner and a music/dance show, so we had to be back by 6:30 pm.  We elected to take a cab, which was somewhat easier said than done.  Abdou had told us to never pay more than 20 dirham (~$2), and to use the "Moroccan stare" if they asked for more.  The only way to describe this stare is to say, "You just insulted my mother!"  We did not know from where to even hail a cab, and we were half way through a hectic attempted street crossing when a gaggle of taxis flashed through my peripheral vision.  We retreated from whence we came, and headed toward the taxis, which were assembled outside of a glitzy hotel.  The first taxi asked for 100 dirham.  I attempted the stare, but to no effect.  The next guy asked for 50 dirham, and I simply relented.  In reality, can I begrudge the man $5 in the grand scheme of life?  No.

We had just enough time to drop our purchases and splash some water on our faces before loading up into a caravan of horse-drawn carriages.  We had about a 45-minute ride through the city, as the sun set, which was very nice.  Carriages are allowed through the main square outside the medina, which is called the Djemma el Fna.  This was filled with every conceivable sight and sound, from men with trained monkeys dancing around, to snake charmers, to food stalls selling every possible type of food.  We even saw carts covered in live snails which the salesmen would peel off and place into a container, if you wanted them alive, or just as easily drop them into a bubbling cauldron in the center of the cart, for some fresh fast food.  It was a sight to behold, and truth be told, I was happy to have our first sighting from the relative safety of the carriage, so we could take it all in without being overwhelmed.

Carriage Ride Before Dinner

Koutoubia Minaret

Little Too Close for Comfort

Mass of Humanity in Djemma el Fna Square

Koutoubia, or Booksellers, Mosque

We left the bustle of the central square behind, and just as it got dark, the carriages stopped along a dusty street lined with vendors selling appliances, tires, etc.  We were directed to walk down a very narrow, nondescript alley between the buildings.  There were lights, but it still looked abandoned, and many of us commented that we would have never walked down there on our own.  The alleyway spilled into an open courtyard which looked as though we were in bombed-out Damascus.  There were broken ceiling beams and shattered bricks everywhere.  We were urged to keep walking, and turned another corner, only to see an entrance with dozens of beautifully ornate silver and bronze lanterns.  This led us into an incredibly beautiful riad, where a band of Berbers were playing traditional music and singing.  The transition from apparent bombing site to the utter tranquility of the riad made it all the more special.  We enjoyed a welcome drink while the band sang and danced, and Anna was even called up to join them.  The proper meal was served indoors, in a stunning setting.  The food was among the best we had the entire trip, and it was topped off with a belly-dancing demonstration.  Yes, it was toursity, but "yes," it was also fun and memorable.

Nondescript Alley Leading to our Restaurant Oasis

Riad of Restaurant Where We Had Dinner and a Show

Cocktails Beneath the Orange Trees

Hours after we arrived, we snaked our way back through the alleyway, luckily to find our bus waiting for us, for the relatively short drive back to the hotel.  None of us had any trouble falling asleep.