The Leaving Journal

The night market in Marrakech’s town square is chaos: the air thick with steam and pungent spices, the metallic clang of pots and pans, meat simmering on hot griddles, bright lights reflecting off of silver cookware. Eager waiters beckon with their hands and broken English phrases, trying to corner tourists into a seat at their restaurant. Even for the most seasoned of travelers, it can be intimidating.
I’ve thoroughly sampled the market: tasting boiled sheep brain, munching on dried figs from a fruit stand, sipping cold, fresh-pressed orange juice, allowing myself to be corralled by the eager waiters and consuming countless tagines and couscous dishes. Chez Aicha is the only stall I ever revisited. As I slip onto the worn, vinyl bench for the third time this week, an old man in a floppy chef’s hat and a soup-spattered white coat flashes me a familiar grin, exposing dark gaps where there once were teeth, and slaps down a steaming bowl of Moroccan harina in front of me.
While much of the market is overrun with squealing tourists, Chez Aicha’s primary patrons are middle-aged Moroccan men in suits eating alone. They gulp down their soup quickly before shouting goodbye to the cooks and leaving a pile of silver coins next to the empty bowl. To my left, a father sings softly in Arabic as a giggling toddler crawls on his back. A woman across from me nurses her baby, a pink headscarf flowing over her shoulder and chest. Surrounded by strangers, I feel warm and safe. Foreign but welcomed.
Given the wild nature of the market, it is possible that Chez Aicha’s tent is no longer located at the northeast corner of the square as it was during my trip two years ago. Therein lies the beauty: each night is an adventure. There is no map or definitive guide to finding your pleasure. The joy is not in finding the “best” restaurant in Marrakech, but in trying as many of them as you can before submersing yourself in a setting that suits your tastes. The market is a culinary and cultural smorgasbord to be devoured slowly and carefully. With patience, it’s certain you will discover your own diamond in the rough, and the journey that gets you there will make the discovery that much sweeter.
My now-empty soup bowl disappears as quickly as it came. Moments later, my hands clutch a hot glass of tea. I inhale the sweet steam and watch the mint leaves wilt in the heat. While it steeps, I admire my surroundings, smiling at the irony: sometimes the center of chaos is where you find peace.