Marrakech, although considered a tourist mecca, was for us
an experience of limited charm. It all began at the bus station in a heavy
downpour. Our taxi decided to evict us having been offered a better deal by an
independent tourist. We should have seen
it coming.
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| Hand of Fatimah knocks |
In the evening, we explored famous Djemaa el-Fna (Square of
the Dead), taking dinner at one of the many food stalls. Our small group was conspicuous and attracted
beggars, hawkers, sweet sellers and musicians.
Our food reeked of “tourist trap”.
To be fair, it was still raining and a blistering Marrakech had cooled
down. Still, the tourist brochure entertainment at Djemaa el-Fna was just not
happening, so we elected to return to the hotel. In the meantime, our guide had been picked up
and held by Police, his paperwork and credentials inspected.
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| Never a dull wardrobe |
The next morning, our local guide had some difficulty in
understanding our expectations for a day tour.
This was something of a concern because we were paying extra. Our group was eventually whipped around some
mosque ruins (1565), an interesting palace (Palais del la Bahia) and intricate Saadian
Tombs before heading back into the Medina souks. Ah yes, Djemaa el-Fna in the daylight! Our first experience of the “cobra
wave”! One by one, snake charmers, under
large umbrellas, poked hefty black snakes into action and played a few exotic notes
on flutes as we walked past.
In the side streets, GS stopped to price a teapot. Big mistake! An old woman chased her through the medina
determined to sell and was making quite a scene. Polite refusals made no difference and
eventually our guide put a stop to it. There
was quite a commotion. Deeper inside the
medina, GS (not quick to learn from past experience) found another shop with
teapots. Having established a reasonable
price, she decided to see what was on offer elsewhere. “Don’t bother coming
back if you don’t take my offer now”, said our less-than-humble shop
owner.
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| Majorelle Blues |
Whilst travelling on a downtown bus, a smartly dressed older
man seemed to shadow us. It wasn’t until
we were about to get off that we realised he was trying to pick pockets. He had, desperate to get a wallet, made a large
cut in a fellow travellers pants with a sharp knife. Nasty!
Our destination, the Majorelle Gardens, was a quiet (and
secure haven) where we could gather our wits and experience a colourful
Marrakesh in a painterly way. The small museum of Berber costume inside the
Gardens is quite stunning and presented as only Yves St Laurent would have
wanted it. The other Museum with fantastic costume displays well worth visiting
in Marrakesh was Maison Tiskiwin, home since 1950 to Dutch expat, Bert
Flint. As you can imagine, his Berber collection
is something to be admired (and desired).
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| Maison Tiskiwin |
Teapot in hand, the Motleys fled for the overnight train to Tangier. Our compartment buddies were two lovely boys, trainee teachers, about to travel to Brussels for study. Both spoke very little English while the Motleys gargled French nouns (mostly made up words). It was so much fun and the lads were so considerate, our misgivings about Marrakech vanished.
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| Goodbye Tangier |
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