Les Dossiers des Marrakech - Day 4 (final day)

I really thought i wasn't going to do this, but it's been niggling at me and i've decided to give in to the need to complete my Marrackech Files series. It feels almost redundant doing this now because it's been...what?...3 months since i got back from the trip. Anyhoo, just for completeness, below is the account of my final day in Marrakech last year. (see here, here and here for accounts of days 1,2 and 3).


Goodnight, Marrakech



So, as i mentioned at the end of Day 3, my trip to the beach at Essaouira was cancelled because i was the only person wanting to take the trip. The hotel staff tried to flog me another day trip to Ouarzazate, which i declined. I asked for a refund because my whole body still ached from my mountain hike the previous day!

The day gets off to a slow start. After breakfast, i finally get the chance to lounge by the pool with book, which is nice because the previous days have been jam packed with activity.

Later on, i decide to give the Hammam another try (it was closed when i got there the previous day). The Hammam i choose is one of the oldest in the City. Strictly no frills. Just your basic service with an entry fee of 10 dirhams. I've only got big denominations of dirhams on me and they have no change, so i offer to go and get some change and come back.



I take the opportunity to take another stroll through the Souqs and as expected, i get called out to by the shop keepers. I decide to take a detour into one particular shop which appears to be a kind of antique type store. I get talking with the manager and when i mention i'm 'from' London, he drops his sales pitch like a hot potato. Apparently, it's only the Americans who are rich enough to purchase his wares. Nonsense! Anyway, i take a look round the store and he gives me a running commentary of the goods on display. He then invites me to come downstairs to the basement with him, and once again, like they have at so many different stages of this trip, alarm bells begin to go off in my head. I mean, i had an amazing time travelling on my own, and i intend to take several more trips solo, however, not before i become fluent in some martial art or the other, so i at least have the confidence that if anything happens, i will be able to defend myself nicely against anyone who might be tempted to try it on.

Sha, i go downstairs with him. I should also say that his colleagues are on the ground floor i.e. we are not entirely alone - hey, i'm not stupid, ok! So, he makes a show of pointing out items to me and finally plonks himself down on a sofa in the corner and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He invites me to sit down, and i politely refuse. He offers me a cigarette, which i also politely refuse. He eventually confesses that he has lured me down there so that he can have a smoke. It's the middle of the month of Ramadan, you see. So everyone is meant to be fasting. He is not. I ask him why, and he confesses that he is not a practising Muslim, however, no one else knows this. The reason he has taken me down into the basement is so he can have a quick smoke and then blame it on me if any of his colleagues asks! Imagine!!!

He finishes his cigarette and we go back up. I say my goodbyes and am on my way back to the Hammam (which is nowhere near as tush as the picture above) where i pay my 10 dirham entry fee. None of the attendants speak English, so i kind of have to play it by ear. And ok folks, warning, look away now if semi-nudity offends you! Basically, you go in and you strip to your knickers, you pay, you leave your bag with the attendant, and a bucket is thrust into your hands. You are then pointed in the direction of the steam room. So far, so good. I step into the outer steam room and navigate through the other women in various stages of undress, squating or sitting on the floor, and i fill my bucket up with hot water. The attendant had muttered something at me and pointed to a spot beside two onyinbo girls (the only non-indigenes in the place). Oh yeah, as i paid, i was also offered the choice of a gommage (which is basically an exfoliating scrub with a really, really rough sponge) and a massage, and I had declined these, as i wasn't really too sure how i felt about having complete strangers touch me like that!

It soon becomes clear to me, as i squat in the corner, that without either the gommage and massage, the whole experience will be akin to having a wash in a communual space and going home. So i siddle back up to the oyinbo girls whom i had move away from and basically squeak 'help!'. They turn out to be Belgian, and one of them speaks a bit of English. She explains to me what i need to do, and offers me some of her oshe dudu which i have to rub on my body and wait for one of the attendants to come and gommage the hell out of me. Okay, so i wait until she is done with the Belgian chicks, and this woman now turns her attention to me...and i'm like,'okay!'. She (the woman, who looks like she should be a black woman named Bertha)grabs me, spreads her thighs and lays me across one of them...i kid you not! She seizes her gommage sponge and then begins to scrub the crap out of me. All i can say is 'mega-ouch'. One side finished, she flips me over and scrubs the crap out of my other side, then front, then back. In my mind, i'm reciting the alphabet, counting sheep, just doing anything to distract me from this completely surreal experience. I basically go to my happy place, so to speak.

When i made the top up payment for the gommage, i stated explicity that i didn't want a massage, but they choose to ignore this and i am passed over to another attendant who proceeds to knead me all over, like a lump of dough. Not a minute too soon, it's all over and i'm sent into the inner chamber which is the actual steam room/sauna. I chill (if you can say that in a steam room) for about 15 minutes, douse myself with warm water and then come out. Unfortunately, cameras are not allowed in the Hamman, so folks, i gat nothing for ya...As i step out and towelling myself off, i'm handed my bag and i get dressed. It's been a gruelling, unfamiliar experience, but heck, as i walk away, i have a big smile across my face, and feel like i am floating! Would i do it again? Oh, hell yeah!

Okay, i go into the square, and get somthing to eat at one of the roof top terrace cafes, while watching the sun set. Beautiful.Then it's back to the hotel. And home the next day.

In summary, i don't think i'll ever forget this trip. It was liberating on so many levels. I've always enjoyed pushing myself to see just how much i can achieve, and this was almost the ultimate test of this. I put myself out there, and i survived. I think that was the main thing i learnt (or maybe confirmed). I can do anything i want to...on my own! Goodnight, Marrakech. And you better believe i'll be back...

Les Dossiers des Marrakech - Day 3

To the Ourika Valley
The driver turned up at the hotel at 9.30am to pick me up. I was the last pick up and the mini van already contained 5 others - a middle-aged Spanish couple, a young french couple, and some other random old dude. The journey is about an hour and a quarter and very quickly we cut through the town and the landscape changes to little villages. We make a few stops along the way to take pictures, and here's a clip of me being very lame

Our driver gives us a running commentary in English, French and Spanish. His English is passable. I couldn't comment on his French and Spanish.
We stop again for a tour of a traditional Berber residence along the way. Around noon, we arrive at Setti Fatma, the village at the end of the road into the valley which is between the foothills of the High Atlas mountains. The driver asks us if we want to have lunch before proceeding. It's a bit too early for me, but the others say they want to. I decide to take a walk while the others go to eat.

Feeling rather parched from the burning sun, i stop off at a kiosk to buy a drink. The owner tries to charge me 60 dirhams for a bottle of coke when there is an gigantic sign outside advertising Pizza, dessert and a drink for 40 dirhams. With a 'humph', i hand the bottle back to him and walk away. I eventually buy one for 10 dirhams at the restaurant down the road where we'd been dropped off! I sit down with my drink and read as i wait for the driver to come back. Half an hour later, i start to get concerned and go into the restaurant to ask for the driver, only to be told that the guy is sleeping. Sleeping ke? So what am i meant to do while he sleeps? I eventually piece together that he either forgot or neglected to explain (in English, at least) that his job ended when he dropped us off and anyone wanting to go up into the mountains to see the waterfalls would have to either hire a guide or make their own way.

I retrace my footsteps back to groups of random youths i had brushed off on my earlier walk when they had tried to sell me their services as guides. I find one called Mustafa (what is my own with guides called Mustafa!See Day 1 shenanigans).



Anyway, we cross a raggedy bridge over a little brook, and as i stumble and almost fall, it suddenly dawns on me that trainers might not be the best or appropriate footwear for mountain climbing!!

We pass some tiny settlements (i wouldn't really call them villages) with lots of women and children going about their daily business of washing and hanging out laundry and such like. They barely spare us a glance. Infact, it's quite interesting that up in the mountains and among the Berber people, i'm barely causing a stir, whilst back in Marrakech people openly stare. I wasn't even so bothered about the locals, because they were open and friendly with it. It was the FRENCH tourists who seemed to have an issue. I mean, after hearing 'du noir' (i.e. black) from almost every other group of frenchies i come across in the streets, it starts to get on my nerves. Firstly, because they couldn't be bothered to lower their voices just incase i happened (shock, horror!) to understand French. Or even happened to BE French. And on the way down from the waterfall, we pass another group of French people, and one middle-aged man actually called out to my guide in French, asking him something about 'du noir'. I really really wished i knew the French for 'shut up, grandpa and mind your own damn business'! I asked my guide what he said, but either he chose not to tell me, or the language barrier got in the way of what he was saying because i didn't understand a word he said. Anyway, i digress...

The journey is gruelling! I can say that i am fairly fit. I cancelled my gym membership a little while ago because after the first few months i just didn't go, however, i am fairly active and walk to work quite a bit (it's about a half hour walk). Having said all that, after about 10 minutes of clambering over gigantic rocks in stupid footwear and stripping off as many of my clothes as decency allowed, due to the ginormous fire-ball shining down on me from the sky, i'm practically begging Mustafa to let me turn back, as my lungs feel like they are going to burst out of my chest at any moment. It doesn't help that i also generally suffer from sporadic bursts of vertigo i.e. sometimes i'm not affected by heights at all and other times, i am - go figure! Sod's law is in operation on this particular day as i take a look around me and am overcome by bouts of dizziness. Who sent me? I still manage to capture a bit of it all on camera. Hah!

We finally make it to the top and i cannot lie, it has been well worth it. It's one of the most beautiful, serene, calming views of my entire life! As i sit down to catch my breath and take in the view, Mustafa points to a group of people on the rocks above us and asks if i want to go higher up to the next waterfall. I laugh and say nothing. I didn't come all the way to Morroco to fall off a rock and break my neck, thank you very much.



The walk back down to the Setti Fatma is much easier, as you can imagine, and soon i'm back in the mini van and we're making our way back to Marrakech. I'm dropped off first and as i get out, i realise just how completely and utterly drained i am. I go up to my room, crash out and can barely move.

To the Hammam

I decide that the perfect way to end this day would be to go for a Hammam (i.e. a type of Turkish bath)and so i rest with the intention of getting up and going back into the Medina and to the Hammam.

Still feeling extremmely tired, i finally drag myself up and set out on the 25-30mins walk into the Medina to my Hammam of choice. As i walk along the road, i pass several locals, all friendly, all willing to make conversation. Unfortunately, i am so knackered, the usual friendly and accomodating undacovasista has given way to her alter ego - pissed off bee-yotch (i am, unfortunately, one of those people who turn psycho when either tired or pre-menstrual. The rest of the time i'm a total angel and a joy to be around. I promise.). After being a bit rude to a random guy who has tried to engage me in conversation, i feel a bit guilty and decide to be nicer to the next person who comes my way. Big mistake!!!

The next nuisance turns out to be a guy called Abelle (or something... i didn't exactly ask him to spell it out). He's quite cute actually - tall and lanky, with nice eyes. Everyone i have met up till now have spoken better English than my pitiful French, but i can safely say that this guys English was probably worse than my French. Somehow, i communicate that i am on my way to the Hammam. I show him the map and he volunteers to show me the way. Incidentally, he is a tourist also. He is from another city called Fes and is visiting his brother in Marrakech. We walk down the well lit Avenue Mohammed V, but soon we have to turn onto a dark, deserted side street. Feeling a bit apprehensive, i nevertheless continue on. We've been making small talk (if you can call it that) as we walk, however, as soon as we turn on to the side road, he puts his arm around my shoulders. I shake him off and move away. He keeps trying and i tell him to back off and leave me alone giving him a dirty glare. He asks if it's a problem. I'm like, "erm, yah"!. Meanwhile, my heart is pounding seriously. Just at that moment a group of people start approaching from the opposite direction and he doesn't attempt anything else. We soon get on to another busy road and to the Hammam, which has just shut for the night! Ok, so now i'm really, really pissed off.

When we get back to the main road, I stop and say thank you and begin to walk away. He follows me, saying he's going back to his hotel also. I grit my teeth and continue walking. He asks if my husband is at my hotel,and i say "yes". Is he African? "Yes, and he'll whoop your ass if you don't leave me alone". He laughs and tells me how he likes African women. "Good for you", i think to myself. I don't say anything and he continues to ramble on. He now proceeds to ask me for a kiss. I pretend i don't know what he means and he puckers up his lips to demostrate. It's so ridiculous, i just have to laugh. At this stage, i have established that he is not dangerous, just a bit of an ass. To cut a long story short, he finally gives up and turns back.


Saved by Macdonald's

I'm really fed up now, so i decide to go against my carefully laid plans to sample the local cuisine at every given opportunity, and i head for the Mcdonald's which just so happens to be enroute to my hotel. Don't you just love Mcdonald's? I don't, by the way, but the familiarity of the place is somehow comforting. It's full of scantily clad teenagers giggling and chatting loudly to each other and on their mobile phones. Could be a saturday night in a Mcdonald's anywhere in the world really. There's a group of girls in front of me speaking a weird mixture of french, arabic and American-accented English. There is only one girl behind the counter serving, so it takes forever and i am getting even more and more peeved by the minute. All of a sudden, this woman comes steaming in from behind, ignoring me, and standing at the counter beside the group of girls. I'm like 'oh no she didn't'! I leave my spot on the queue and stand pointedly beside her. Immediately the counter girl finishes serving the teenagers, i signal to her and state my order. The woman says something in arabic to the counter girl and i tense, ready to daa si rough if the need arises, because, as i mentioned earlier, i am tired and for me, unfortunately, tired = extremely grumpy and confrontational. Luckily for the woman, the counter girl had seen me and knew i was next and she takes my order. I give the woman a look that says 'God saved you'. I would have shown her how we do things sub-saharan African style!!!

Mcdonald's. Whether you hate it or love it you just have to admire the 'system'. I think they should actually be awarded country status and all their branches worldwide declared to be mini consulates. The moment you set foot through the door, you are on Mcdonald's soil and the law of the country beyond the four walls does not apply. These were the thoughts running through my mind as counter-girl procesed my order of a Big Mac meal - medium, with a diet coke (yeah, yeah. The irony is not lost on me!). No "pardonez moi's", "excuse me's". Complete understanding and efficient compliance. Perfect! So what if i'm about to clog my arteries with over 1000 calories worth of goop. All that mountain climbing i did before nko?

Back at the Hotel, they tell me the trip to the beach at Essaouira the following day had been cancelled. You cannot imagine the joy that flooded my heart...

End of Day 3

Les Dossiers de Marrakech - Day 1

Marrakech beckons

I almost missed my flight, you know.

Well, i technically almost missed my flight. I actually almost missed my train, because i almost missed my cab to the train station, because my alarm clock did not go off. But i won't bore you with the details. All i will say is "the devil is a liar". This holiday that i've been looking forward to for months, i will now come and miss my flight? Iro ni, it's a lie.

The flight was the usual humdrum. The in-fligth movie was Ocean's Thirteen. I read a book instead. As we approach Marrakech, we've almost touched down, when all of a sudden the plane gathers speed and takes off again. After 5 minutes the Pilot announces that its too windy to land from the east so were going round to the west runway to land. On arrival, we have to fill out a form which is basically a visa for EU citizens. You don't have to get one beforehand.

The Hotel
I arrive at the Hotel and check in, but not before filling out yet another form *yawn*. The Hotel's 'public relations' lady comes over and introduces herself to me. I ask about day trips and she informs me of/tries to sell me what they have on offer. I decide to go for a day in the Ourika Valley, between the first foothills of the Atlas Mountains and about 1hr30mins outside Marrakech; and a trip to Essaouira, a seaside town about an 1hr outside Marrakech for Saturday and Sunday respectively. I haven't got any money on me so i tell her i will pop out later, once i've settled in. After unpacking and a short rest, and much psyching up of self, i venture out on to the mean (rather clean, actually) streets of Marrakech.

The Hotel is located in Gueliz, which is Marrakech's new town and was built by the French during their occupation from 1912 to 1956. The new town is as different as can be from the old town, the Medina (see below for a movie clip of my trip into the Medina). Gueliz is home to the business district i.e. banks, hotels, restaurants serving western type food, a McDonalds, bars and nightclubs.

The streets are very wide and as i stand at the zebra crossing trying to get to the other side for 5 minutes hoping someone will stop and let me cross, it suddenly hits me that that just ain't gon' happen. Taking a deep breath, i step out and manage to make it to the centre of the road amidst angry horn tooting from the oncoming scooters and cars. Heart pounding, i realise i'm going to have to be assertive here, so i take a step forward. More angry tooting occurs, but i give the scooter driver a look that says 'ok. You're either going to let me pass, or you're going to run me over'. Thankfully, he lets me pass.

I follow my nose and stumble onto a busy road with aforementioned McDonald's and several banks. Yippee. I withdraw the cash for my day trips and return to l'hotel.

Venturing out - again...

"You take the blue pill and the story ends. You wake in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill and you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes".
Morpheus to Neo (The Matrix)

I'm one of those people who enjoys watching local television stations when abroad, so i shun BBC News 24 and flick through the other channels. There's a German one, Spanish one, French one, Al-Jazeera and a local Moroccan one. My highlights so far have been watching the Spanish version of Who Wants to be a Millionaire and German The Weakest Link. Great fun!

Later in the evening i literally have to drag myself away from the TV, but somehow, i manage it. I step out again, intending to find the Place Jemaa al Fna, the main square of Marrakech. At night, it's meant to come to life with food stalls, dancers, musicians, story-tellers, henna tattooists, and lots more. Definitely worth seeing, so i retrace my steps from my earlier trip out. At the busy road, i notice all the non-Moroccans heading in a particular direction, so i make like i know where i'm going and i follow. I'm like a man in that respect - i never ask for directions unless i have to, which usually turns out to be when i have become hopelessly lost.

Hardly anyone is out and about on the streets as it's the middle of Ramadan and everyone is at home, breaking their fasts. I stop to take a picture of something that's caught my attention, and that one simple act changes the course of my holiday. I reserve judgement as to whether for better or for worse.

A scooter swoops down on me and the driver rattles something off in rapid fire french-arabic. I reply with something to the effect of "me no speakie frenchie". Hey, Mr Oguchi my JSS french teacher was narcoleptic and spent 45 minutes of our 1 hour lessons asleep on his feet! He asks if i'm going to the Medina and i make the mistake of saying yes. He offers to take me. I say no, because i'm sensible. I do not know this man from Adam. There's no way i'm going to get on the back of his scooter and allow him to cart me off to goodness knows where in a strange, unfamiliar land. I remember that i was actually heading towards Place Jemaa El-Fna and i say so (turns out he speaks Anglais). He says there'll be no one there at this time (it was around 7pm). He's very persuasive and my resolve starts to crumble as i ask myself the point of coming to Marrakech on my own in search of adventure if i refuse to take any risks. "Oh, ok", i say. "Let's go".


The red pill...
I clamber on to the back of the scooter and away we go. My driver's name is Mustafa. Occupation - okada driver and part-time tourist guide (so says he).
"Take me", he says suddenly.
"Erm, what"?
"Take me".
It turns out he means i should grab hold of him. Now, if he was Josh Holloway on a Harley Davidson, he wouldn't have had to say it twice. Alas he is not, so i choke back my laughter and politely decline. "I'm fine, thanks".

We make idle chit chat and somewhere along the line, i invent a Fiance back home in London in response to his question, 'Are you married'? Some of the material i read beforehand actually suggested wearing a ring on your ring finger if you're a woman travelling alone. Suddenly, i realise the enormity of what i've done and i begin to speak in diverse tongues. "Father, your word says...".
Mustafa: You ok?
Me: Perfectamundo, mate! Just perfect! Never better.....Yea though i walk through the valley of the shadow of death, i will fear no evil...

First stop, the Koutoubia Mosque, the biggest mosque in Marrakech. It turns out that that day is the only day in the week on which non-muslims are allowed within the courtyard. I manage to get some good pictures, and then we resume our journey into the Medina. At this point, my apprehension that i might have hooked up with an axe-murderer has begun to dwindle and i somehow have the presence of mind to take out my camera and film part the journey. Please click here to share the experience with me.

Destination, Sahid's shop, a veritable Aladdin's cave nestled within a building in the labyrinth of dusty streets that make up the Medina. We go in and i'm invited downstairs to sit down. Sahid is a Berber Artisan who comes into Marrakech on a monthly basis to sell his silverware and other goods. He leads me down the stairs, warning me to mind my head on the door frame, but i still manage to knock my forehead. Aah well.

I ask if i can take pictures. He says fine. I take a couple. I've read that people might demand money for their pictures to be taken by tourists, and sometimes it gets ugly. I ask again and Sahid tells me they are Berber, not Arab. They don't mind. Hmm. Good to see North African tribalism at work!

No sooner have i sat down, than Mustafa swoops down with 2 bowls of soup. Oh no! I've always been squeamish about eating things whose origins i am unsure of, but do not wish to appear rude.

"What is this"? I ask.
"Vegetable soup", they reply. "Try it. It's good"
No spoons are provided so i mimic Mustafa and slurp the soup out of the side of the bowl, whilst noting to myself how surreal this whole experience is.

Vegetable soup is promply followed by mint tea, an accompaniment to every meal. "Do i want sugar"? "No", i reply, but they don't seem to be able to get their heads around the fact that i don't want sugar and proceed to cajole me. "Ok, already. Just a little". Sahid goes off and comes back with the tea. I take my first sip and it takes every ounce of self control i possess not to spit it out. Do you not understand the concept of little? The thing tastes as if it's one part mint tea, one part sugar! Disgusting!!! I manage a few more sips, but then i give up. If its a toss up between offending them and taking another sip of that goo, then sorry dudes...

Pleasantries out of the way, we begin to transact some business. What? You thought the vegetable soup and mint tea came without strings attached? Sahid begins to pull out some hand woven rugs and show me the intricate desgins, explaining how they've been hand woven with silk by Berber women in the Mountains. He whips out a cigarette lighter and holds it to one of them. I'm halfway up from my seat and about to knock it out of his hand, when he explains that pure silk does not burn. He demonstrates it and is proven right. Phew! Ok.

As you can see from the pictures, there are numerous rugs, of various designs and colours. Sahid pulls out a number and lays them on the floor, inviting me to take my shoes off and walk on them. I comply and then sit back down. They tell me the words for 'yes' and 'no', which i have now forgotten. He raises them up one by one and asks me to tell him if i like it or not. We finally settle on one rug, but i change my mind because i'm not quite sure how to fit it into my luggage. Also, the total price he gives me for the rug, a silver bracelet and another item is just too ridiculous for words. They actually have this fun system for bargaining. He takes out a little notebook and divides a page into two columns - one with my name and one with his. He then writes down his total price (which was 4,700 dirhams. At an exchange rate of approx. 15.6 dh to the £). I'm like, 'Yeah, right'! He says to not worry, just write down what i'm willing to pay. I write 500 Dh. He shakes his head in a mixture of shock and incredulity and is rendered partially speechless for a while.

Long story short, i select some smaller items as gifts for my family, and a bedspread for myself. Sahid gives me a ceramic bowl as a gift and i'm happy with the other stuff i got 'cos i know they'll make good gifts, but i still leave there feeling like i've been Punk'd! Well, i tell myself, that's my souvenir/gift budget blown on my first day.

I know Mustafa's was going to demand some sort of remuneration at some stage. As we leave, he lays it on me - 500 Dh. I laugh and say 'thou art not serious'! I beat him down eventually to 350 Dh, which i'm still not happy about but by now i'm tired and have had enough excitement for one night and wish to retire to my supposedly 4 star, but in actual fact 2.5 star hotel room, and just crash for the night.

He drives me to the cashpoint, where i find out i've exceeded the daily limit for withdrawals (£125 a day). Just great! I persuade Mustafa to come by the Hotel the following evening. He drops me off and i go to bed.

End of Day 1.