Morocco - Marrakesh

Africa
City
Author

Oliver Eaton

Published

June 23, 2023

Driving from Safi to Marrakesh was much the same. Potholes, inconsistent speed signs, reckless passing, and no indication from other motorists. Which was exciting.

The Police flagged me down, I pulled over and wound down my window. The officer spoke in French, to which I shrugged and responded “English?”. It took the officer some seconds to find the words, “Speeding infringement” he muttered. Oh fuck, I’m usually quite a cautious driver, so this took me by surprise. I tried to think back to a place where I drove fast, but speed-limit sign-postage is so inconsistent, it could’ve been anywhere. “I’m sorry, what now?” I said in an unconfident tone, trying to imbue an air of genuine ignorance. I expected him to rub his thumb and fingers together, quoting some insane price as a bribe, but he literally just said “Ok, you go.” and waved us off. It was all very nonchalant, he didn’t ask to see my driver’s licence, passport, vehicle registration, nothing. Which made me feel like they give foreign motorists a free pass in Morocco. Afterwards, we stopped for an espresso, and Trav took over the driving.

Bang! Not long after Trav resumed the wheel we approached a traffic jam. It was fucking insane, the most backed-up traffic jam I’ve ever seen. Buses, trucks, lorries, vans, cars, donkeys drawing carts, mopeds, people, police….everything was gridlocked, vehicles honked loudly. Like frozen atoms; there was no movement. It was 45 degrees. People were carrying sheep & goats on upon shoulders to their cars, or transporting multiple by (homemade) wheelbarrow. Sheep could be seen being stuffed into the luggage compartment of buses, or sitting in car boots. Thoughtful people were consoling their sheep, but most did not, it was hot and loud and stressful. Not an ideal environment for livestock. After a couple hours things started moving. To our surprise, the jam was not caused by an accident. Instead, a sheep market was the cause. In a few days is the national holiday of Eid al-Fitr. Whereby families celebrate by slaughtering a sheep and eating it. This explains the abundance of sheep in this traffic jam.


Due to the traffic jam, we were already late returning our vehicle to the rental company. So we swung by the hotel, where wedding attendees were staying, to drop off our bags. And finally, drove to the airport to return the vehicle. The bus returning to the hotel was fucking hot. Because the hotel was far from the city, we made an interchange and got on the second bus absolutely dripping in sweat. Finally, after nearly two hours on public transport, we made it back to the hotel and cooled off in the pool.

Here we met the rest of the wedding party. It consisted of Miriam’s immediate Irish family (her father is Moroccan), her extended Moroccan family (cousins), Dylan’s mother (Karen) and Stepfather (Kieth) and other friends/stragglers such as us; who were a global bunch, hailing from Ireland, Spain, USA, New Zealand & Morocco. That evening we had a few drinks at the hotel. Because Morocco is a Muslim country we had to pour alcoholic beverages into plastic cups and hide cans/bottles & other alcoholic paraphernalia from view. This gives the image that we are not sinning, but our intentions/behaviour was downright obvious. I find this enforced ignorant outlook common in Muslim culture; out of sight, out of mind.

Marrakesh

On the day of the wedding, Trav & I visited the old-town Medina. Again, it was a scorching-hot day, and like intrepid travellers, we travelled painfully by local bus. It is literally a 20th of the taxi price. The Media was huge, a maze of narrow streets designed for foot traffic but full of mopeds zipping through. We found a nice coffee place and took in the sights and sounds. Compared to Safi, business owners are accustomed to tourists, so a heavy sales pitch underlies all (solicited & unsolicited) interactions. Shady young men often approached us offering hash for a “good price”, we enquired about the price for one gram to which the pusher responded he sells by morsel, not weight. This was some bullshit tourist trap, probably horrible hash too, so we just walked off and purged the process of even trying to buy hash in Marrakesh from our minds. We stumbled into the Medina Square, which was huge and full of juice carts. Juice men in the Marrakesh medina and scum, akin to ice cream men in Turkey. They entice you in with a free juice sample, then ignore your order preparing for you the most expensive item on their menu. One even shortchanged me, attempting to trip me up using Euros as change. I argued with him for a while and he eventually gave me the correct value. Still, despite how other travellers described Morocco to us, the insistent sales pitches we experienced here are nothing compared to Egypt. I felt in control and capable of handling scam attempts and price negotiations. After a few hours exploring we made our way back to the hotel to prepare ourselves for the wedding, which was scheduled to start at eight in the evening.


Wedding

The girls had been spending most of the afternoon getting ready for the wedding. Because women’s wedding garb is a damn sight more expensive than men’s garb, they all hired. So a travelling suitor came and sized up all the girls at the hotel (even though it was a one-size fits all situation), they also had their hair and makeup done. They all looked incredibly attractive, sexy even. Similar to other cultures across the globe, preparation for guys is easy. Trav & I slipped into our Moroccan suits and sat down for a few drinks, waiting eagerly for the wedding to start. The wedding venue was near the hotel, so at eight in the evening, Miriam’s Moroccan family shuttled carloads of people from the hotel to the venue, which was a large family home that had been converted into a celebratory cavern.

Clambering out of the car into 45-degree heat, we were met with sounds of traditional Moroccan music played loudly by men in long pistachio-green shawls. Inside the venue, another band had set up and played Arabic wedding tunes. Once everyone had arrived the party began. The night consisted of dancing & singing, followed by eating, the bride & groom being paraded in on a float (carried by professionals), more dancing this time with the bride & groom present, then downtime for cigarettes and hash. This cycle repeated four times, each time the bride & groom had a wardrobe change and the food consumed was altered. Which started with cold refreshing sushi, followed by tasty, flavourful chicken, succulent beef (or lamb?) and lastly ice cream cake. The ice cream was blessed with some kind of magic cooling properties and staved off the insane 49-degree heat which shrouded the dancefloor (inside was hotter than outside).

The wedding has been, by far, the highlight of my journey. To summarise it: percussive thumps from the riq drum reverberated through the dense hot air of the night, complimented by melodic twangs of Arabic string instruments, such as the rebab. The atmosphere was electric! Despite the heat; dancing, singing, clapping & gorging on succulent meats were the main rejoicive means to celebrate the union of bride and groom. Festivities slowly came to an end around five in the morning, and attendees languidly melted away from the venue, probably to sip chai before rest. It was a special evening and sensational experience. I felt embraced and welcomed by Miriam’s Moroccan family and was taught local dance moves to symbolise new friendships.


Medina (again)

The next day, those remaining at the hotel ventured into the Medina for dinner. In the square, Zinab (Miriam’s Moroccan cousin) encouraged us to try snails (escargot) and Trav hit the jackpot on a gambling game where coins are flicked onto a grid. The man running the scam completely ignored Trav’s jackpot, and instead pocketed Trav’s flicked coin, HAHA, shame Trav!

Dinner was fun! We all crammed around a small table and laughed, reminiscing the night prior. We felt close & family-like. We had all spent the last few days together and over this time got to know one another, it was a nice feeling. On the way home, our taxi was in an accident. An oncoming car (taxi) recklessly overtook another car and careened straight toward us, nearly ploughing into us in, what would have been, a fast pace head-on collision. Our driver swerved onto the footpath, crashing into a street lamp. There was no major damage to the vehicle, our driver assessed the damage and drove off as if nothing had happened. We were all a bit shaken up (well, I was for sure).

Our final day in Marrakesh was spent visiting the Ali Ben Youssef Madrasa, which was the first university in the city. Lovely parquet tiles lined the floor, and a cooling fountain of water lay in the middle of the courtyard. I can only imagine how magical life would have been for students who attended, and lived, at this university when it was functioning.

Wrap Up

To wrap up our last night in Marrakesh was spent in a hostel instead of the hotel. Around ten of us that still lingered in Marrakesh all booked a hostel together and we relocated the ongoing good vibes to a hostel environment smack-bang in the Medina. Dinner plans had been organised at a fancy restaurant, the “fancy” part kind of bypassed the knowledge of Trav & I. Getting ready for dinner I slipped on a button-up shirt as did Trav, but we did this purely because they were the loosest fitting, most breezy clothes we had, a decision made to combat the hot weather. Although, meeting the girls in the hostel courtyard, they all entered in such beautiful dresses and outfits. Honestly, they looked even more beautiful for this night than they did for the wedding. I couldn’t keep my eyes from wandering. Shit! This must be a fancy establishment we were heading to? And, by gosh, it sure was. It gave off Game of Thrones festivity vibes, with cooling-mist phasing from the ceiling and beautifully tailored outfits being donned by patrons. There was a pool in the centre, a fucking pool! And no one was swimming. An unused pool; if that is not a sign of wealth I’m not sure what is. Prices associated with items on the menu were well beyond our travel budget. Our conventional meal choice consists of street food usually totalling less than $5NZD or so for both of us. We must’ve looked like scruffy street dogs from Kings Landing to the rest of the crowd in this restaurant. Nevertheless, we ignored money this evening and bought a bottle of red and meal each. Both of which were delicious. I can’t remember exactly what I had to eat, everyone was sharing morsels of food like it was laden with Moroccan hash. And everything that entered my gullet melted in my mouth and spread across the tastebuds of my pallet. Exquisite! Now I understand why this place was expensive.

After dinner, everyone went clubbing, but Trav & I being simple opted to taxi home instead. We had things to organise, like preparing for our trip to Fes the following day. We saw locals fight on the way home and were pestered by homeless children at an ATM that reeked of human secretion. Just another night in Marrakesh, it is an exciting place.