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Sunday, April 25, 2010

A Day in the life of Marrakesh




Life in Jama'a el-Fnaa, Marrakech

Travel is definitely good for the soul and for the mind. When we grow depressed with our own style of life the cure is to go see how others live, especially those who are not so fortunate as we.

Marrakech is a good example of life throughout Africa, plus it has its own special twists and turns. The city claims to be the destination of choice for tourism in Morocco. This may be true as I have not seen Casablanca, or Rabat, the capital, or Fez. Marrakech is a city of super rich and super poor. The new quarter hosts top-class hotels. I imagine for those who can afford the tariff, once you cross through the hotel’s doors you enter another world. Such would be the case with Hotel Mamounia, the most famous of them all. Legend has it that within its walls you will find a whole different society.

Fundamentally, the old city is covered with dust and dirt, and the buildings are crumbling and all in need of paint. The desert winds blow plastic bags every which way, and petrol pollution paints a blue haze through the streets. The city is overcrowded with everything. Far too many people, cars, bikes, (motor and cycle,) donkey-drawn and man-drawn carts, massive trucks, buses, and many other very curious forms of transport.

For the outsider who is not a Muslim this may be our first entry into an Islamic State. Customs and dress are different than in the West, but in reality that is the only thing that separates Western people from the residents. People are people, and given that qualification I expected to meet a wide variety of attitudes.

The fact of the matter was that we only encountered people who were hospitable, some to great extremes. It would be for this reason that I would consider going back again. Even when walking the back alleys, at night and being confronted by shadowy characters, you realised they only wanted to be respected and of course, to sell you something. However, expect to feel tense as the men wear the djellaba, a full gown-like garment with a hood. When the hood is engaged it gives a very sinister pointy-look. Your imagination will persuade you that he is carrying a long-bladed, curved knife, suitable for cutting off heads with one feel swoop.

Marrakech is not for the faint of heart. In our case we lived in a Riad, which is a guest house. There were only six rooms that are housed in a three-storey building. The layout of the building is such that there are two doors on the bottom floor that serve as entrance into the interior, and no windows nor guest rooms. Small windows open outwards to the world on the upper floors, but they are barred. The sense of security from this arrangement is complete. Once inside this cocoon, if we chose to keep our windows closed the sense of peace would have been overwhelming.

The flow of traffic can only be described as total bedlam. I suppose that there are rules of the road but you can be sure they are ignored completely. Drivers seem to think their horns count for something, but they are so over-used that they count for nothing.

This is a world where nothing is pre-priced and everything is subject to barter. This gets on my nerves because I know that no matter how hard I bargain the seller still gets the better of me. Plus, it takes far too long to complete a transaction. Still, shopping in the Souks, (marketplaces) is part of the experience.

We took excursions outside the city that I found a cleansing experience. Being in the city was stifling and claustrophobic, so to get out to the Atlas mountains and down to the resort area of Essaouira was wonderful and is recommended. The contrasts are almost like being in a different country to Marrakech. Particularly the coast is the Atlantic that I have not seen in years, and filling my lungs with the rich pungent smell of seawater was invigorating.

Two factors stand out in my mind, and they both annoy me: firstly we saw women in a wide manner of disciplines, from those covered completely head to toe in robes, to the tourist wearing very scanty clothing, and everything in between. Given that this is an Islamic State, for the tourists in scanty clothing, it was an insult to dress in such a manner. Secondly, I was shocked to find that certain establishments have a license to serve alcohol. I am sure that no one who visits expects to drink alcohol, so why do they show such disrespect to their own culture to make booze available. Both the inappropriate dress and the booze greatly offended me. I can only imagine what the locals think.

Finally, I noticed while walking about that there was a company in the car rental business. The sign outside the business asked: ”Want to hire a Car?” I had to smile. “Are you nuts?” was my unspoken reply.

Copyright © 2010 Eugene Carmichael