Seduced by Marrakech
Laura and I arrived at dusk to Marrakech, pleased that the heat we'd been hearing about every time we mentioned we were going, had subsided. We felt like we were back in Peru as a throng of taxi drivers approached us. "Speak English?" "Taxi?" they asked to polite replies of non-merci. We marveled that my knee was well enough and our bags light enough to walk to the main square. Laura, not sure which way it was to the main square, pointed in a random direction and said "the main square is that way right?"
After they corrected her we walked off in the correct direction and enjoyed a nice stroll of a mile or two along a fountain lined street to the medina.
All it takes in Marrakesh is a momentary look of confusion and the locals point one towards the main square, Femna de Ja(sp?) where much of the spectacle takes place. As we neared the square we could see the bright lights of the food stalls, hear the drums beating and the crowds of people. Our aqquantainces were correct when they told us that we mustn't miss Marrakech as there is no where else like it.
Although we were dazzled by the lights of the square we were hungry and carrying our bags and decided that finding the hotel first was boring but practical. As Laura pulled out the guidebook to find our hotel a local man saw his chance and led us down a winding narrow alley then hung around until we were annoyed enough to give him 10 dirhams.
The alley is so narrow that Laura and I press our stomachs to the wall at the sound of approaching motorcycles. Although cars are not allowed in the Medina it is filled with motorcycles obeying no clear rules. I'm used to looking right and left before I cross a street, but now I must look and listen all around before walking anywhere as they are not confined to any certain part of the squares.
We climbed three flights of stairs to a rooftop restaurant and marveled at the spectacle of the square. We watched mule drawn carts carry away buckets of orange rinds from stall after stall of people selling fresh squeezed juice.
After chicken tajine and local watermelons we made a circuit around the main square. Laura stopped for a moment to look at a woman selling henna and gave her enough reason to grab her hand and insist on giving her a "gift." A flower rapidly appeared on her hand and I took pictures, and thought that Laura was not asserting herself very well since we'd decided we wanted to get Henna at the end of the trip. We didn't want to be branded tourists right from the get go but thought it would be cool to have in another country.
Unfortunetely the lady saw me and decided to give me a gift as well. I insisted that I didn't want a gift but she grabbed my hand with such force that I would have had to use quite a bit of strength to get free. Since it was only 10 D that Laura had paid for her gift I let myself be seduced by the lady and now have a faint flower on my hand, likely made with diluted henna. She told me it would give me "good sex." I couldn't believe she'd said that.
Next a young Morrocan man asked us where we were from and convinced us to drink tea with him that was supposed to help the stomach. We accepted his offer figuring that my stomach had been quite upset and that we could practice more French.
Eventually he became insistent that we drink beer with him and we made our escape back to the hotel so that we'd be ready for a 6 am run. I haven't run that far since I had knee surgery and had the great pleasure of finding a man's bathroom at a bus stop mid-run because I've been having stomach issues. I felt very tenacious for even attempting to run so far with Laura despite sexual harrassment and stomach issues.
After our run we made our way to the Royal Palace and tagged along behind a French tour group. We discussed how much we would have to study French before we could respond with anything other than "un peue" (a little) when asked "parlez vous francais?" I can't even spell in French clearly. Almost nothing made sense in the French tour but Laura happened to hear Spanish coming from another group so we decided to switch.
Luckily the Spanish made sense and we realized how much farther we'd gone in that language.
The Morrocan leading the tour could tell we spoke English just like everyone else and inquired if we understood. It was nice to honestly say yes and feel like I wasn't wimping out by trying to only speak English.
On our way out a shopkeeper stopped us and told us his brother was from Seattle, where I live now.I wouldn't have been surprised if I had told him I was from Seattle but since I hadn't I thought it was quite a coincidence. He pulled us into his spice shop, showed us Saffron. In the United States, while shopping for spices for Morrocan Stew recipe I found on runners world I noticed that Saffron was 5000 dollars per pound. Here is is only 700 dollars per pound so we decided to buy 6 grams. He then offered us tea and we accepted not knowing what were were getting ourselves into.
He procededed to rub perfumes on our hands, lotions on our skin, massaged our foreheads with orange oil and showed us traditional Morrocan soaps. In the end we ended up with 6 or 7 Morrocan bathroom products and a bag of saffron and absolutely shocked we'd spent 45 dollars on bathroom supplies. Perhaps some of my readers can look forward to some Moroccan soap or rose scented lotion.
He pointed the way to the Morrocan art Museum where we attempted to read the French. A kind guide let us behind the roped off area in a deserted room and showed us that the walls were painted with saffron. We tried to ask him how much it cost to cover the walls in saffron but he didn't seem to understand. I'm motivated every day to improve my French by new questions and new needs.
Now I'm going back to the souqs, the market, filled with carpets, shining silver, walls of leather shoes, purses, rainbow pottery and more.
Then we are off to climb Toubkal, the highest mountain in North Africa and Mountain bike in the Amlen valley. I won't likely have interent for quite a few days. I have more posts in my journal, and more pictures on my camera but they might have to wait until internet is faster and cheaper.
After they corrected her we walked off in the correct direction and enjoyed a nice stroll of a mile or two along a fountain lined street to the medina.
All it takes in Marrakesh is a momentary look of confusion and the locals point one towards the main square, Femna de Ja(sp?) where much of the spectacle takes place. As we neared the square we could see the bright lights of the food stalls, hear the drums beating and the crowds of people. Our aqquantainces were correct when they told us that we mustn't miss Marrakech as there is no where else like it.
Although we were dazzled by the lights of the square we were hungry and carrying our bags and decided that finding the hotel first was boring but practical. As Laura pulled out the guidebook to find our hotel a local man saw his chance and led us down a winding narrow alley then hung around until we were annoyed enough to give him 10 dirhams.
The alley is so narrow that Laura and I press our stomachs to the wall at the sound of approaching motorcycles. Although cars are not allowed in the Medina it is filled with motorcycles obeying no clear rules. I'm used to looking right and left before I cross a street, but now I must look and listen all around before walking anywhere as they are not confined to any certain part of the squares.
We climbed three flights of stairs to a rooftop restaurant and marveled at the spectacle of the square. We watched mule drawn carts carry away buckets of orange rinds from stall after stall of people selling fresh squeezed juice.
After chicken tajine and local watermelons we made a circuit around the main square. Laura stopped for a moment to look at a woman selling henna and gave her enough reason to grab her hand and insist on giving her a "gift." A flower rapidly appeared on her hand and I took pictures, and thought that Laura was not asserting herself very well since we'd decided we wanted to get Henna at the end of the trip. We didn't want to be branded tourists right from the get go but thought it would be cool to have in another country.
Unfortunetely the lady saw me and decided to give me a gift as well. I insisted that I didn't want a gift but she grabbed my hand with such force that I would have had to use quite a bit of strength to get free. Since it was only 10 D that Laura had paid for her gift I let myself be seduced by the lady and now have a faint flower on my hand, likely made with diluted henna. She told me it would give me "good sex." I couldn't believe she'd said that.
Next a young Morrocan man asked us where we were from and convinced us to drink tea with him that was supposed to help the stomach. We accepted his offer figuring that my stomach had been quite upset and that we could practice more French.
Eventually he became insistent that we drink beer with him and we made our escape back to the hotel so that we'd be ready for a 6 am run. I haven't run that far since I had knee surgery and had the great pleasure of finding a man's bathroom at a bus stop mid-run because I've been having stomach issues. I felt very tenacious for even attempting to run so far with Laura despite sexual harrassment and stomach issues.
After our run we made our way to the Royal Palace and tagged along behind a French tour group. We discussed how much we would have to study French before we could respond with anything other than "un peue" (a little) when asked "parlez vous francais?" I can't even spell in French clearly. Almost nothing made sense in the French tour but Laura happened to hear Spanish coming from another group so we decided to switch.
Luckily the Spanish made sense and we realized how much farther we'd gone in that language.
The Morrocan leading the tour could tell we spoke English just like everyone else and inquired if we understood. It was nice to honestly say yes and feel like I wasn't wimping out by trying to only speak English.
On our way out a shopkeeper stopped us and told us his brother was from Seattle, where I live now.I wouldn't have been surprised if I had told him I was from Seattle but since I hadn't I thought it was quite a coincidence. He pulled us into his spice shop, showed us Saffron. In the United States, while shopping for spices for Morrocan Stew recipe I found on runners world I noticed that Saffron was 5000 dollars per pound. Here is is only 700 dollars per pound so we decided to buy 6 grams. He then offered us tea and we accepted not knowing what were were getting ourselves into.
He procededed to rub perfumes on our hands, lotions on our skin, massaged our foreheads with orange oil and showed us traditional Morrocan soaps. In the end we ended up with 6 or 7 Morrocan bathroom products and a bag of saffron and absolutely shocked we'd spent 45 dollars on bathroom supplies. Perhaps some of my readers can look forward to some Moroccan soap or rose scented lotion.
He pointed the way to the Morrocan art Museum where we attempted to read the French. A kind guide let us behind the roped off area in a deserted room and showed us that the walls were painted with saffron. We tried to ask him how much it cost to cover the walls in saffron but he didn't seem to understand. I'm motivated every day to improve my French by new questions and new needs.
Now I'm going back to the souqs, the market, filled with carpets, shining silver, walls of leather shoes, purses, rainbow pottery and more.
Then we are off to climb Toubkal, the highest mountain in North Africa and Mountain bike in the Amlen valley. I won't likely have interent for quite a few days. I have more posts in my journal, and more pictures on my camera but they might have to wait until internet is faster and cheaper.
posted by Cammie at 8:45 AM
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