Travels of a Troubadour

Anybody who grew up on a similarly ordered and polite, middle-class estate as I did would appreciate the overwhelming exhilaration of being flung into the melee that is Marrakesh’s Old Town.

My father and I had finally chosen to fulfill a lingering urge to visit Africa. Accustomed to camping in the rain somewhere in the murk of England’s mountain regions, huddled around a gas stove and struggling to sip scalding soup from a Thermos flask, Africa was a revelation.

We arrived at the airport greeted by Hasan, a gruff, grizzled man who was to shepherd us to our apartment in the city centre. Hasan’s car was parked outside, dented and dusty, it’s metal silently screamed under the direct heat of the Saharan sun. It was hard to imagine a time when Hasan’s car might not have looked like somebody had taken to it with an arsenal of medieval weaponry. But once we entered the city center we realized why Hasan’s car was so misshapen and sorry-looking.

Overawed by the Old Town’s pink and orange clay walls, the tight streets and alleyways of Marrakesh were hot with bodies. Our taxi snailed through crowds who parted lazily, if at all. If chaos was a drug I would say everyone in Marrakesh had taken some. But chaos has a way of settling and conforming and our senses soon became accustomed to the city that had enveloped us.

After arriving at our apartment, and losing faith in Hasan’s knowledge of Marrakesh’s traffic laws, we offloaded our luggage and stepped straight back out into the mad streets. The main square in Marrakesh and the tributaries in its vicinity is where you need to be to experience the energies and activities that define the city. We were quickly confronted by snake charmers, effusive orange juice vendors and seductive tea dealers. Silks on sale festooned the arcades. Carpets hung in shops like sides of meat at a butcher’s. Metal pots and pans, piled high in grotesque plinths reflected all this back at us, like light through a prism. The air here seemed to be held together by the shouts of bemoaning barters tussling over esoteric products.

Life itself is improvised in Marrakesh. The lowly tourist, unversed in the ways of the city is both stunned and enlivened by their exotic surroundings. Approach such an experience with an open mind and you will soon find yourself at the heart of this country. You will stumble upon stories that will entertain your landlocked relatives when you regrettably arrive back to orderly routines and the bland light of home.