Saturday, March 23, 2002 18:48
Weather: Hot & steamy, slight haze
Location: The atrium of the Hotel Gazelle, Marrakesh

My alarm clock woke me at a horribly early hour of the morning and I finished my packing and moved out. At 6am it was barely light out, and the streets were more or less empty. A lonely petit taxi waited outside the hotel and I was at the bus station in just a couple of minutes.

A healthy lineup demonstrated the popularity of the 6:30 bus. I got in line behind a quartet of young english travellers, and worked through the process of checking in my pack and taking my seat. The bus was full, with a 20-year old Moroccan as my neighbour.

By unanimous consent, the blinds were pulled and everyone dozed off. When I woke, the bus was winding its way up to a low mountain pass. The fields on either side of the road were a startling emerald green. We stopped at two moderately sized villages with very un-Moroccan architecture: detached houses with little gardens, steeply pitched roofs, and tree-lined avenues. At the second (apparently called "Fellah"--I started humming "Fellah from Fortune"), I took advantage of the brief stop to buy a small bottle of water and a couple of pieces of fresh corn bread.

The bus continued on. We wound our way down the other side of the pass, past small farmhouses and shephards with small flocks of sheep or herds of goats. We made several more unremarkable stops. Gradually, the land grew drier, the fields less green. Finally, the high snow-capped peaks of the Atlas mountains came into view, but by then we had descended into Marrakesh's wide valley.

As we arrived in Marrakesh it was clear that the desert was near. Bemused-looking dromedaries stood around dopily, and palm trees grew everywhere. The unirrigated land tended towards dry cactii, brushweeds, or simply bare dirt.

When we arrived in town, the English group invited me to join them in hunting for a hotel. We piled into two taxis and headed down to the medina. Unlike those of Fès and Chefchaouen, this one was clearly (unfortunately) accessible by car.

We ran into a problem there: hordes of tourists had filled most of the hotels. When we asked the taxi drivers to take us to a second, nearby hotel, they started off following their own agenda, driving us to an expensive 3-star back in the Nouvelle Ville. We rebelled when we saw its prices, and headed back to the medina again. There, we paid off the taxi drivers (who had clearly gouged us) and walked into the medina to find a hotel.

We quickly found one, labelled Hotel Gazelle in the guide book and on the signs outside, but Hotel Les Visiteurs Koutoubia inside and on their business cards. N'importe: they had rooms, so we checked in. Each floor has two shared bathrooms and a single (cold) shower, but it was cheap and central.

Next stop: checking out the central square. One of our party, Alison, had had serious motion sickness all day and was too drained to move. But Bob, Cloe, Rob and I wanted a drink after the long bus ride. We walked into the Djemaa el-Fna, the huge open central area of the medina. Cafés lined the eastern side, and we picked one with a roof terrace from where we could see some of the action. Sipping mint teas and soft drinks, we looked out over the medina of Marrakesh.

In the afternoon sun, the square was crammed with people. A central area was marked out for food stalls, each one ringed by a u-shape of benches and tables for its customers. Around, a horde of humanity resolved itself into dozens of individual crowds, attracted to particular street vendors or performers. While many of the crowd were foreigners, it was clear that most were Moroccans out for a good time.

Surrounding the square, the north and west sides were sooks and other shops. The sound end funnelled past an impromptu parking lot to a small manicured park, and to the main streets of Marrakesh. And to the southeast and eastern sides, the cafés on the edge gave way to pedestrian streets, with hotels, restaurants, banks and shops lining their sides.

After the refreshments had had a chance to soothe our nerves, we set off into the thick of the crowds. Here, salesmen, beggars and street performers all had their pitches, and all were quite persistant if they sensed the slightest interest. We stopped to watch a small group of musicians playing a dance for two veiled figures with finger cymbals. Though they were obviously talented, it seemed that at least one of these "women" was a man behind the veils.

Further on, snake charmers blew piercing ambulance warbles through their clarinets at dazed-looking cobras who appeared completely docile. A group of acrobats took turns tumbling, then formed a human pyramid. Story tellers were ringed by crowds of appreciative onlookers.

It seemed a bit hard to believe that all of this was not put on for the benefit of tourists, as indeed it was--but the tourists were Moroccans, as they always had been. We were wandering through the original Disneyland.
posted by Tom at 6:59 PM | link |