Morocco: They're taking me to Marrakesh
Picture a city that you've read about in fairy tales, or 1,001 Nights, if you will. There are narrow alleys you can barely navigate by donkey or motorbike, let alone by car (and I've tried!). These alleys snake through rows of riads, the huge Moroccan court houses with the huge patios, balconies, and high ceilings that would make the Madison Avenue flats look like prison cells designed for solitary confinement by comparison.
At the market place, you have everything from carpet salesmen to snake charmers to acrobats and musicians. Of course the call to prayer is still belted out five times a day. After all, you're still in Morocco. At the small corner stores in the alleys, the natives drink piping hot tea poured out of silver tea pots. And no, there are no tea cups here, only elaborately painted small glasses that show off the foamy head of the liquid, a sure fire sign that the Moroccan poured the tea just right.
There are merchants, city dwellers, tourists, and hustlers, at least one for each tourist. This was the impression I had of the city of Marrakesh in the year 2002. 16 years later, not a thing has changed, except for the fact that the hustlers and the tour guides can now speak English and German. Marrakesh has evolved. Or has it?
As nice as Marrakesh has become, there is simply no visit to this quintessential Moroccan town without seeing the medina, or the old part of town. Coming from Beni Mellal, we discover quickly that our GPS has failed us. I shouldn't say that. Technically, you could drive through the medina. Then again, I suppose you could drive a car off a cliff, but neither event would be particularly satisfactory.
The fact is, you can fit the car through the narrow alleys. The problem is, this is the medina of Marrakesh, where you have a dozen tourists, plus the natives, plus the shop displays all competing for each square foot. See what I mean? Driving through the medina of Marrakesh is not for people with high blood pressure. We change our plan and decide to ditch the rental car first. If anybody is going to drive through this madness, it's going to be a local taxi driver.
Except for the fact that he can't get through, either. Worse yet, he can't find our riad and doesn't even recognize the address. Add to it that it's 95 degrees outside and we have a couple of cranky kids and Liebi ready to press the panic button.
We take our suitcases out of the trunk, the taxi driver tries to rip me off (of course), and we're on our own now. The GPS suggests we may be close. Along the way, many fake tour guides (also known as hustlers) suggest that they know where we need to go. They don't. They just want to bring us to a hotel where they know they'll get a cut if they can deliver the prime cut, or the fresh, white western tourist meat.
We finally do find the place, thanks to a pot smoking youth who attempts to shake us down some more. Denied. For all of our efforts, we accept a glass of hot tea (even in 95 degree weather) from our host before we settle in for the day. The zoo, the circus, or the medina of Marrakesh will have to wait.
At the market place, you have everything from carpet salesmen to snake charmers to acrobats and musicians. Of course the call to prayer is still belted out five times a day. After all, you're still in Morocco. At the small corner stores in the alleys, the natives drink piping hot tea poured out of silver tea pots. And no, there are no tea cups here, only elaborately painted small glasses that show off the foamy head of the liquid, a sure fire sign that the Moroccan poured the tea just right.
There are merchants, city dwellers, tourists, and hustlers, at least one for each tourist. This was the impression I had of the city of Marrakesh in the year 2002. 16 years later, not a thing has changed, except for the fact that the hustlers and the tour guides can now speak English and German. Marrakesh has evolved. Or has it?
As nice as Marrakesh has become, there is simply no visit to this quintessential Moroccan town without seeing the medina, or the old part of town. Coming from Beni Mellal, we discover quickly that our GPS has failed us. I shouldn't say that. Technically, you could drive through the medina. Then again, I suppose you could drive a car off a cliff, but neither event would be particularly satisfactory.
The fact is, you can fit the car through the narrow alleys. The problem is, this is the medina of Marrakesh, where you have a dozen tourists, plus the natives, plus the shop displays all competing for each square foot. See what I mean? Driving through the medina of Marrakesh is not for people with high blood pressure. We change our plan and decide to ditch the rental car first. If anybody is going to drive through this madness, it's going to be a local taxi driver.
Except for the fact that he can't get through, either. Worse yet, he can't find our riad and doesn't even recognize the address. Add to it that it's 95 degrees outside and we have a couple of cranky kids and Liebi ready to press the panic button.
We take our suitcases out of the trunk, the taxi driver tries to rip me off (of course), and we're on our own now. The GPS suggests we may be close. Along the way, many fake tour guides (also known as hustlers) suggest that they know where we need to go. They don't. They just want to bring us to a hotel where they know they'll get a cut if they can deliver the prime cut, or the fresh, white western tourist meat.
We finally do find the place, thanks to a pot smoking youth who attempts to shake us down some more. Denied. For all of our efforts, we accept a glass of hot tea (even in 95 degree weather) from our host before we settle in for the day. The zoo, the circus, or the medina of Marrakesh will have to wait.
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