When we landed in Marrakech early so our arranged taxi was not there. My credit card would not work in the pay phone for me to call the Rockech Guest House. In the midst of my panicking, the taxi driver arrived.
The road to Marrakech was lined with olive trees and the Great Atlas Mountains loomed in the background. I just knew this was going to be a yummy holiday.
Once into the city the medieval-ness was beautiful, the tall red walls with parapets, arched windows and doors with decorative etchings, the smell of spices, animals and cooking, the sounds of vendors shouting, children playing, and traffic mingled with thousands of people in long djellabas with pointed hoods. The taxi driver dropped us off on the outskirts of Jemaa el-Fna, the main square and market place of Marrakech's old medina. It is also a UNESCO heritage site to protect its active concentration of traditional activities by storytellers, musicians and performers. Another guide loaded our bags into a cart and we followed him through the square and through some souqs (markets) to our riad (guest house). The medina (old city) is a spider's web of crooked lanes and blind alleys. We would have been hopelessly lost if we were not guided exactly to the riad door.
First of all, there are practically no signs indicating the names of any of the lanes or alleys. Apparently they are named and some have a sign, usually in some obscure place or so badly faded it is almost impossible to read.
Second of all, the alley where our riad was located was all but hidden from view by a street vendor selling items that seemed to change on a daily basis.
Third, it was a very desolate looking alley, one that I would have hesitated to venture down by myself on a dark evening (although, a day later I was doing just that).
Fourth, there are no signs on most of the doors. There is no way of knowing if you are knocking oat a private residence, riad or hamman (bath house).
Once at the riad, we were told that there had been a mix-up with our reservation and would we mind if we spent 2 nights in a different place. Since it was their error we were upgraded for free. Sweet!
We were guided to the Riad Hidden (that is the real name) just a few meters up the lane.
As with the first place, the outside door was wide, but not quite two meters hight. At 1.67 meters myself, I had to duck to enter. Once inside, we entered the center courtyard, with tall orange trees in full bloom and bearing some fruit. There were arched and sculpted Arabic doors leading off the courtyard to individual suites. Looking up, here was a balcony railing on three sides, with two suites per side. A fourth wall had windows overlooking the courtyard. This turned out to be our room.
It was huge. The ceiling had a center piece sculpted upward and painted to look like windows and intricate tiles. The bathroom had the same feature. The shuttered windows opened to look down through the orange trees and onto the courtyard. One could have simply reached through the window to pick an orange, had there been any ripe enough.
We were presented with two fancy glasses of Moroccan tea. It is basically tea with fresh mint and a hint of honey. The Moroccans have a very elaborate way of presenting the tea. The pot is a small silver pot with delicate carvings etched into it. The handle is carved with leaves or flowers. The spout is long and goose neck shaped. They pour the tea into glasses that are brightly colored with lovely etchings similar to crystal. Some have silver designs on them, as well. They begin to pour the tea close to the glass then raise the pot as high up as his arm will allow, while still pouring, then lower it back down. It is a very elaborate display of their tea pouring skill.
We dropped our bags then quickly headed back to the main plaza, Jamma el Fna, carefully making mental notes on how to find our way back.
The plaza is a very large market area dating back to the beginning of the 12th century. At one time it was also where public executions took place. OK then.... There were dozens and dozens of open tents containing food vendors. Tajine, a Moroccan stew, is always available. We very quickly go tired of it, as it is served everywhere, often with your only menu choices being if you want lamb, goat, beef or chicken in it. It always has carrot, potato, and pickle on the side or leaning against the meat. Also in thee stalls were skewers, pastilla (ground meat with some spices wrapped in phillo pastry and sprinkled with cinnamon - yummy) and cooked goat head. Maybe public executions still go on – but with goats.
There were dozens of fresh fruit vendors. We were warned that they dilute the juice with non-purified water, so we did not partake. There is no sense in risking diarrhea over a glass of dodgy juice.
There were dozens of dried fruit and nut vendors. Their displays wee so tempting, especially with the late afternoon sun causing the colors to enhance them. There were also carts filled with sweet pastries.
During the day there were lots of snake charmers and monkeys dressed up in cute outfits, ready in a moment's notice to have their picture taken with any of the thousands of people wandering past. Of course the cobras are de-fanged and the monkeys look miserable in the clothes.
Evening and darkness saw the snake charmers disappear and the fortune tellers, lantern sellers and henna artists appear. There were also lots of story tellers (in Arabic, but drawing large crowds), musicians and dancers. Some people in Berber costume wandered around, although they looked more for the entertainment of the tourists.
We went up to a rooftop cafe for a tea and the view and a few pictures with the evening light casting a magical glow on the scene below. As darkness fell, the square took on an eerie look from all the steam rising from all of the food-stalls.
The next day we went to the Majorelle Gardens, a twelve acre botanical garden. It was designed by the expatriate French artist Jacques Majorelle in the 1920s and 1930s. The special shade of bold cobalt blue which he used extensively in the garden and its buildings is named after him, Majorelle Blue. The garden has been open to the public since 1947. Since 1980 the garden has been owned by Yves Saint-Laurent and Pierre Berge. They restored it to its original beauty with trees, flowers, ponds and notable collection of cacti.
On the site is also a Berber Museum with displays of traditional Berber clothing, jewelry and household items. The Berbers were a nomadic people who's lifestyle is basically extinct. There remains only pockets of Berber people who keep the language and traditions alive. The outfits of clothing are quite wild and exotic- like something from a Star Wars movie. The jewelry is amazingly intricate. Many of the items were from Saint-Lauren's and Berge's personal collection.
We had lunch at a nice restaurant (Pause Gourmande) across the street before heading back to the medina.
We walked aimlessly about and happened upon the Medersa Ben Yassef Koranic School. The school was founded in the 14th century and students here memorized the Koran by rote. A central courtyard was surrounded by the student dormitories and home to a small pool for ablutions (washing or cleansing of the body). The buildings were of stunning architecture, with beautiful decorations.We didn't realize we could have walked through the school and had a look in the student dormitories.
We made our way to the Museum of Photography. It was highly rated on Trip Advisor for good reason. It houses many old photos dating back to the late 1800's through to early 1920's. These exquisite black and white photos show Marrakech in a simpler time, with sheep and goats still grazing outside the medina walls. There are photos of people that are genuine and beautiful.
We had tea on the roof top terrace and had a grand view of the High Atlas Mountains.
We then came across a spice market that bordered a small open plaza that sold everything from carpets to geode rocks.
We found the Mararakech vendors and performers were rude – very rude – and demanded money for even looking at them. One of the snake charmers put a hat on Ed then a snake over his shoulders. Ed insisted that he remove it but the man was already demanding money. He wanted $20! Insane! I think I gave him $2. I was pointing my camera in order to take a picture of the general ambiance of the square, but some musicians were actually in the way of the shot I wanted to take. One of the men came running over with his hat out demanding money. I told him I did not take a picture. He started yelling and swearing at me. I finally showed him my photos and proved I did not take one of his group. He was then all over himself trying to apologize. It was my turn to give him a lecture on how to treat people.
A similar thing happened the next day. I was taking a picture of some lanterns hanging in the souq. Suddenly a man, who I had not even noticed, came running at me yelling that had not asked his permission to take his picture. I basically told him to bugger off as I was not taking his picture. Later I had to zoom in, a lot, to see that he was, in fact, at the end of the lane, sitting on a chair – with a hood over his face.
We were told by other tourists that they had rocks thrown at them for taking a picture of a market stall and not giving the vendor money for the privilege.
One henna lady grabbed my hand and started applying henna. I tried to pull my hand away but she held on tight and kept drawing. So I asked her how much this was going to cost. She assured me “Whatever you want to pay”. Ten minutes and a not-so-nice henna job later she wanted 700 dirham - $70! I said ”No, here is 100 dirham”. She got indignant. I told her to take it off then. She finally relented, begrudgingly. Personally, I thought $10 for 10 minutes of work was a pretty good wage.
This was a recurring thing all through the Marrakech souqs; but not so in other towns.
On the other hand, one day Ed was getting a shave from a local barber (Ed had his head shaved completely!) so I wandered down a lane where the craftsmen actually worked making the items seen for sale throughout the souq. These men were very proud of their crafts and were actually inviting me to take their picture. One man gave me a small wooden necklace, another gave me a small wooden bottle to hold eyeliner. I naturally paid for both, maybe more than I could have bought it for in the souq, but these men didn't even ask for money,. In fact, they initially refused it. I had to insist.
The man who gave me the necklace made it using a lathe that he ran with a bow-like devise. His feet controlled the chisel. He was so quick. He was so detailed it was amazing that there is even a free floating ring around a narrower piece of the wood. He lathed this way and that until the ring floated free. Amazing! It only took him a few minutes.
There was another man making the delicate silver lanterns that we saw everywhere. He was patiently punching each hole into a lace-like pattern.
We were taking an early morning tour to the desert. We approached a vendor selling eggs and asked him to boil them for us through another vendor who spoke English. He was very happy to accommodate, although somewhat surprised that we wanted them cooked. He had a small kettle, and no doubt for his tea, and he boiled the eggs in that. He didn't even charge us for boiling them.
The hammam is a must do experience in Morocco. It is basically a public bathhouse, segregated for men and women. When we checked into our riad booking a hammam was on of the first things we booked. We were led down more zigzag alleys to a posh spa called “ISIS” - the Egyptian Goddess. Since we had booked us a a couple we were not separated. We were told to keep our underpants on, however. We were taken to a cave-like room which was basically a steam room. We sat in a stam so dense we could not see each other, even though we were sitting side by side. After this, a young lady proceeded to scrub us down with black soap.
Black soap is found all through Morocco often sold by weight from a large barrel or vat. It is made with crushed black olives and argon oil it is soaked in salt and potash. It is rich in vitamin E and prepares the skin for ex-foliation by making it softer and ready for the scrub. It has a gelatin like consistency and does not foam but becomes creamy when you add water.
She then used a mitten made from the scratchy side of Velcro to scrub us with the black soap. And scrub she did! Every inch of our bodies that was exposed got a thorough and vigorous rub down. This went on for about 15-20 minutes – enough time to seriously wonder if we had any skin left. When she was finished, she asked us to stand up and she poured water from a bucket over us to rinse us off. We could not believe how much dirty dead skin came off of us! Honestly, it looked as though we had not bathed in years. If you have ever been for a pedicure and seen what they can scrape off your dried heels, imagine that coming off your whole body. Gross! But our skin felt like a baby's after. She followed this with a relaxing massage. We were then led to a quiet room with soft music and cushy eds to rest, relax, and chill.
The ISIS spa was definitely a spa, even by western standards. Irene wanted a more authentic experience. Where do the local women go? There was a more rustic looking hammam near our guest house, but the vendor lady selling steel wool and knives outside the door rather put Irene off. The scratchy part of the Velcro was one thing, but steel wool?? And besides, it was on a very busy lane and crowded with tourists. Se saw no locals entering, It did not seem very authentic.
A few days later, after we were placed in our originally booked riad, which was well away from the main tourist areas. Irene got the attention of a local woman shopping in the local veg market. (The markets where locals buy and sell food and items are the best places to observe and experience local culture and foods.)
She asked the woman where she went to hammam, through a series of gestures and the one word “hammam”. She kept gesturing in the direction of the Jamma el Fna. Irene finally got her to understand, not the tourist hammam, but where she went. She looked surprised, looked Irene up and down, shook her head in disbelief then took her to a vendor and had him lead Irene to the hammam. The vendor was her son and he spoke a bit of broken English.
The young man led Irene down a series of alleys, which quite obviously saw few tourists. Then, tucked into a blind corner was the hammam. It was virtually invisible. The man started calling out and woman poked one eye out from behind a curtain, spying the man with a nasty glare as if to say “You have no right to be here”. Indeed he didn't, but he quickly started to explain (in Arabic) that he was merely bringing me to the hammam. The woman was motioning for me to go away. To to the tourist hammam. Wow! That's different. Finally after several minutes she finally relented and said to come back in one hour.
Irene returned an hour later, with her black soap and scratch mitten. (We each bough a mitten and long strap for doing our backs.) She was scurried through a series of curtains which were a buffer lest anyone peer into the hidden sanctuary of naked bathing women. She was motioned to keep her underpants on again, then led into what most definitely looked like a cave. It was dimly lit with electric lights. One had to push past the idea of how well insulated the wiring was in this subterranean space that had water running down the walls from all the steam condensing onto them. She was shown to a space with buckets of very warm, almost hot, water. There were taps with which to refill. Then motioned to start scrubbing herself. Maybe it was due to the fact that she was scrubbed to nearly raw two days before, or maybe she didn't apply as much pressure and could not reach all places, but the dead skin coming off was much less than from the spa.
This hammam was a wonderful experience, on many levels. There were women of every age and every body type. There were young children, no more than 2 or 3 years old, playing in the buckets of water. Some were taking the ladles and pouring the water on themselves, their mother, or just on the floor. Some children sat right in the buckets, like a tiny bathtub. It was obvious this was a socializing event. Many women gathered in groups, chatting, and laughing every now and then scolding, praising, or cuddling one of the nearby children. It was no different than any social gathering of women with small children, except they were all in naked in a subterranean cave.
There was an old, old woman leaning against a younger woman, maybe her daughter, who was gently and lovingly scrubbing the old woman. It was a touching scene of pure love and affection. The old woman was your typical old woman, overweight, sagging breasts, jelly belly, wrinkles upon wrinkles and a weak continence about here. Her daughter was middle aged and a slightly better body. Nearby was a very young lady, maybe 20-25 years old. She had the perfect body – firm breasts, flat stomach, trim waist, not an ounce of fat, thick lush hair, and not a wrinkle on her pretty face. Here we all sat, in various shapes and sizes and ages. There was a beautiful reality to it. The old woman accepting that years ago she had that beautiful young, healthy body and an endless future of hopes and dreams before her. The young woman accepting hat despite her endless hopes ad dreams she will, one day, be old with a body that bears the testimony of years of child bearing and the possibility of failing health. Realizing that in between she will probably have to bath her own aging mother and hoping she will have her own daughter to bath her in return. The children oblivious to anything in their future, focusing only on the bathing buckets and the strange fair haired lady in amongst them.
This originally booked riad was the Rockech. It was well off the beaten path of tourists. The doorway was in a tiny and dark keyhole off a dark alley. The building was ancient, but with a very modern whitewashed glow. The center court was brilliantly white with only a table and a few chairs. Unlike the other flora filled riads, this one had but one potted plant to soften the stark white. We were on the second floor, again overlooking the courtyard. There was an area filled with couches across the courtyard from our room. I am not sure if it was a common area for all guests or if it was for our leisure only. Either way, we were the only occupants.
We were searching for the Saadian Tombs, turned right at the Kasbah Mosque, instead of going straight, and wound up at the Bab Agnaou. It is one of the 19 gates of Marrakech and was built in the 12th century. This gate was the official royal entrance and very decorative. As with all Muslim decor, there are no animals nor humans represented, only inscriptions and geometric patterns. On the return from this area, we discovered an alley that took us almost directly to our riad - instead of the round about route through the main square that we had taken to get there.
Just inside the gate, in a wide lane opposite the wall was a row of shops. One carpet shop in particular stuck out. We ventured in and were immediately turned off by the pushy salesman bragging how they had sold carpets to various professional athletes and actors. Translation: stupid expensive prices.
Since the shining Kasbah Mosque was a large enough land mark, we headed back in that direction then eventually found the Saadian tombs. Built between 1578-1603 this mausoleum holds about sixty members of the Saadi dynasty. The building has three rooms with the most famous being the one with twelve columns and containing the sultan's son's grave. Everything is intricately worked with cedar wood and stucco with some marble.
Since the shining Kasbah Mosque was a large enough land mark, we headed back in that direction then eventually found the Saadian tombs. Built between 1578-1603 this mausoleum holds about sixty members of the Saadi dynasty. The building has three rooms with the most famous being the one with twelve columns and containing the sultan's son's grave. Everything is intricately worked with cedar wood and stucco with some marble.
We were then a bit tired and hot so we stopped for a small lunch at tea at the Kasbah cafe. It was directly across the street from the Kasbah Mosque and offered a fantastic view of the mosque and street life around it.
Nearby was the Palais Badia. After 25 years of construction, it was completed around 1593. It was was meant for festivities and official audiences with the sovereign. It was built to impress with its high and thick walls, lavish décor of mosaic tile of gold and onyx, marble columns and sculpted plaster and wood, large reflecting pools, and lush vegetation. There was a large veranda high up on the wall that gave one a spectacular view of the grounds. No royal pavilion would be complete without stables and dungeons, of course. Even today, with its worn and crumbling vestiges, the majesty is still evident.
There is a museum at one end, which may have been a summer house at one time, which now houses the minbar (preacher's seat). It is a beautiful piece of Islamic craftsmanship and dates to around 1137. this particular minbar is so exquisite that when a marauding tribe conquered Marrakech in 1147 they destroyed the mosque but kept the minbar. It is a national treasure of Morocco, for its religious, historical, and artistic significance. It has intricately carved wood panels and has inlaid bone decoration. Unfortunately, not pictures were allowed.
Because it can be so unbearably hot in Morocco, some of the guest houses were built underground to maintain the coolness. We wandered down into some of them. It was indeed much cooler. There were many passageways and tiny rooms in the semi-darkness. It would have been a great place to play hide-n-seek.
We also visited the Bahia Palace. Built in the late 19th century this stunning palace took 14 years to build. The grand vizier of the sultan had it build for his personal use and he hired the best craftsmen in all of Morocco to showcase it. It covers 2 acres, has 160 rooms and was intended for his 4 wives and 24 concubines. It is only open to the public when there are no royalty using it. It was so beautiful with its with original woven-silk panels, stained-glass windows, intricate marquetry and ceilings painted with rose bouquets that after entertaining some French guests, the guests decided they liked it so much that they booted their hosts out and kept if for themselves. I guess the French won't get invited to dinner again....
GENERALITIES
Throughout Morocco the men and women wear an outer garment (called a djellaba) that looks like a zip up housecoat with a pointed hood. The men's were generally striped vertically or plain white. When they have the hood up they make sure the point is up, making them look like Klu Klux Clan – without the face mask. The women's were similar style but because of their hijab (head scarf) they do not wear the hood up. The women's djellabas were usually of a fuzzy material and very bright colors and prints. Between the fuzzy material and leopard prints, they really did look like housecoats.
Tea was always offered. It didn't matter if it was a guest house or business. The tea was always minty and poured elaborately from a silver pot into fancy decorated glasses.
Tajine was always on the menu. Many times, the only thing on the menu.
Moroccan salad was an appetizer at most meals. It was absolutely delicious. It was made of tomatoes, cucumber, onion, garlic and green peppers coarsely chopped. It is similar to salsa but somehow different, possibly due to the lack of cilantro. The green peppers are always my guide as to the quality of the vegetables. These were delicious.
Olives were also served with every meal as an appetizer. There are different olives that compliment different dishes, similar to different wines for different dishes.
Alcohol was no where to be found. Only in a private riad did our host offer us some local wine. It was a very good red wine and did not make me ill, as North American wines tend to do.
There were tajine pots and colorful bowls for sale everywhere.
The salt and pepper containers were little tajine shaped pots complete with lids, joined together with a small handle coming up between them to carry it. Sometimes there were three pots joined. The third containing cumin. Many times, if there were only two pots, one contains salt and the other is cumin, not pepper.
Popular items for sale in the souqs (markets) were delicately painted dishes and bowls, silver tea pots, fancy tea glasses, lanterns, leather slippers, scarves, beads, spices and carpets.
The souqs (markets) sell a lot of fresh fruit (the oranges were the best ever tasted) and a fair amount of meat.
There are areas within the souqs where the craftsmen live and work. They are always hidden away behind a door or archway. They are very humble looking. We entered a few, sometimes by accident and sometimes intentionally. We always felt we had intruded. However, at times the workmen were so happy to show off their trade and craftsmanship that we were made to feel like special guests.
There are many public fountains throughout the souqs. Although most of them are no longer in use, they testify as to the forward thinking of the day for clean water for all residence and animals.
The Hand of Fatima is everywhere. Very similar to the Jewish hasma, it is seen as door knockers, wall ornaments and jewelry. Most have a gem in the palm. Fatima was Mohammed's wife and we were told that this amulet depicts the hand of God and the eye of God watching over you.
The Arabian style doors were almost always a dual set. A larger door, with the sculpted top and a smaller door cut into it. The smaller door is the one used. Most times we had to duck to enter and exit.
OTHER STUFF
Petrol = 9.10 dirham ($1.23 / litre)
nice condo = 250,000 dirham ($34000) and comes with a front yard of sheep
It is not uncommon to see Mercedes and Audi on the same street as donkey carts and tractors
They grow wheat, beans and barley between the olive trees.
Sometimes the police have "plastic eyes" - they look the other way.
