Marrakesh through Rose-Tinted Glasses

Friday began the trip that I'd been eager for my entire time in Spain: Marrakesh, Morocco. Of course, any of you who've spent time with me in the last few months know how I've recently been completely hell-bent on beginning my travels through the Middle East—a region of the world that I felt was so different to any other traveling I had done before; a region where they use a different writing system and where the language is full of sounds completely alien to an English speaker; where bargaining isn't just possible, but expected; where five times a day, every mosque in town broadcasts the voice of a muezzin, calling out Allah hu akbar, as crowds head to that nearest voice and remind themselves of their devotion to their religion, to their history, to their culture.

I had been alerted of the special Middle Eastern hospitality before coming. That in the Middle East, particularly in less-touristy areas, locals will help you out, will invite you into their house for a meal or for tea, and that they will talk with you to find out why you are there, how you like it there, and what it's like to be from somewhere else. However, as you will soon see, this over-friendliness that can be very true is a double-edged sword. Especially in a place as busy, crazy, and touristed as Marrakesh. My first experience with this hospitality was on the plane from Seville. We boarded from the ground, and when I stepped outside into the 110 degree heat, next to the warming-up jet engine, I uttered to Matt a near reflexive "Oh my god that sucks." The person in front of me said something in Arabic to her friend, which I knew was making fun of me, before she turned around and told me "this is cold!" For the record, Marrakesh never felt hotter than it did in that moment still in Seville, so maybe she said it more to be funny--to welcome me to the Arab world. Well, it turns out that she was the one next to me on the flight, and we ended up talking a significant amount during the flights about what to expect in Marrakesh. She speaks, in addition to Arabic, French fluently, as, I learned, do most people in Morocco, and since she's been working in Spain for six years, her Spanish is pretty good as well. I am, and will be, continually impressed with the general level of polyglot-ness in Morocco. It seems that most people are genuinely fluent in Berber, Arabic, and French, and most are close to fluency in English as well. I know that in more monolingual areas, it's considered a risk to raise a polyglot child—they'll mix up languages mid sentence, use structures of one with the vocabulary of others, and can delay the production of coherent speech—but here in Morocco, I think nobody would have an issue understanding a kid who's doing these things. When your brain is wired to speak all these languages anyways, I'd imagine it just kind of makes sense. Anyways, this lady next to me on the plane was a total riot. She bought a snickers from the flight attendant and offered it to me, she was trying out perfumes, and she was constantly taking videos out the window (despite being in the aisle seat in a row of three) and tried unsuccessfully to get the whole plane to clap upon landing. Despite getting weird feelings from her at the start, I think she's completely an example of genuine, Arabic hospitality. She didn't want anything from it, she was just excited that I was here to experience her home.

Marrakesh from above was all I hoped it would be. Red, square buildings all scrunched together with little open space. Buildings that, though they look boring on the outside, are decadently decorated on the inside. The look of Marrakesh from above is so, so different from the look of a European city from the air and forget comparing it to your average American suburb in the vicinity of its airport.

But the fun, the shock, the excitement was just getting started. We took the bus on the way into the city, since it was only 30 dirhams/MAD (10 MAD = 1 USD) round trip. The fifteen-minute bus ride took us through the outer city regions of Marrakesh, where we saw camels, crazy driving, and some really barren landscapes. As we neared the city, I spotted it. جامع الفناء, Jemaa el-Fnaa—the main square of Marrakesh, meaning literally "Assembly of the Dead." We got off the bus here. I was completely giddy in the moment. I had the largest grin on my face, my walk was borderline a skip, and I couldn't keep my excitement contained. I would soon learn that to appear excited around Jemaa el-Fnaa is how you end up attracting more people to get you to buy things. And I knew this, after all, I did spend two months in Paris, where, too, it is uncool to look like a tourist. But in the moment, I leaned into the "just a tourist" lifestyle. I thought that though I, of course, looked like an idiot tourist straight off the plane, that's exactly what I was. It was my right to be excited, and that later I would walk through the square with a stern look on my face, dismissing all the salesmen.

We arrived at our riad, the Moroccan equivalent of a guesthouse, which was down a series of narrow, winding streets that went underneath buildings, but still managed to amass an impressive amount of motorcycle traffic. When let in, the manager, Badr, had a pot of mint tea waiting for us. Mint tea is a complete staple of Morocco. I'd heard plenty about it in my research, but here we were, only half an hour of being in Morocco, and already served our first glasses. They pour the tea from very high up, which is a cool tradition for sure.

Mint tea being surved (not in the riad)

Otherwise, the tea was delicious and I'm glad we liked it since we were offered it many more times to come. The riad, as I was saying with the view from above, was completely unremarkable from the outside. Of course, for an American, seeing an all red cement wall in a narrow alleyway, with some other house above us was very cool, but from a Moroccan perspective, it looks like any other building. Marrakesh, by the way, is known as المدينة الحمراء , "the red city," owing the nickname to the ubiquitous red buildings. Inside, it was like a motel, but if all the balconies were on the inside instead. The top was open, covered somewhat by a tarp, and our room was on the top floor, just steps from the balcony. In the common room, there was an assortment of furniture with Moroccan tapestry styles, and a stone slab with Arabic inscribed on it.

The whole place was very colorful, with bright reds and yellows, and deep blues and greens on each wall. Certainly a very authentic experience. We headed down from the hotel straight back to Jemaa el-Fnaa, not too long before sunset. From this point on, the story will be less chronological, as our two and a half days spent in Marrakesh itself consisted of doing mostly the same things and seeing the same sights, just at different times, from different angles, and walking in different directions.

Jemaa el-Fnaa. Oh my god. What an amazing place; frankly, the definition of bustling. Right next to the Kutubiyya mosque, the two sites together form a definitive heart of the medina (old city) of Marrakesh, the part within the walls. (walls and gates shown below)

In Marrakesh, all roads lead to Jemaa el-Fnaa. You'll hear Jemaa el-Fna before you see it, with snake charmers playing their coronets, salesmen all yelling over each other to get your attention, your money, and during prayer time, three different mosques just in and around the square all announcing the greatness of Allah, not quite in unison and hence, overlapping. You'll smell it before you see it too, with the spice of street food, the stench of the mules used to carry goods into and around the square, the pungent smell of exhaust from the hundreds of motorcycles passing by, the aroma of mint tea when passing by the stand right at the edge of the square, selling thousands of sprigs of mint to those looking to welcome visitors. And from afar, you can see, during the day, the grand minaret of the Kutubiyya mosque, and at night, the lights coming out of the square and the

smoke rising up from the hundreds of food stalls. During the day, the square is certainly alive. There are people, mostly tourists, walking around, but there's enough room for cars to drive through with no problem. Dozens of juice stalls, each selling the exact same juices for the exact same price, are all set up, offering a nice drink to cool you off from the burning midday sun. Matt and I got juice from these stands on the first night, and I liked it, but not enough to warrant (or frankly, risk) getting another. Water was always a better price and way more hydrating.

But around sunset is really when the square becomes special. Matt and I arrived around this time, and thus, our first experience of Jemaa el-Fna was its totality. As night arrives, the juice stands stay, but a series of a hundred or so food stalls pop up as well. (Mom, Nana, Grandma, you'd all be happy to know that I did not eat at these stalls). And though we never tried it, their aroma is amazing. But they add to the night atmosphere of the square transcends just their smell, but also includes their people The desperate salesmen who are constantly approaching you, at every stall you pass, trying to make conversation, trying to convince you as to why their stall is the best, and trying to get their stall number into your memory. As you walk by, they'll come up to you. "My friend!" "My brother!" "I'm not aggressive, I just want you to eat here," "You don't have to eat now, but maybe later, maybe another day," "Remember, stall number 55 for when you're back tomorrow," "Where are you from?" "Take a look at my special process at preparing the food!" Complete chaos. An attack on every sense. We found it fun; sometimes we'd indulge them, talking to them just to see how hard it is to get out of a sales pitch once it's started. Hearing them tell us about traditional ways to prepare food, and in the process, getting a glimpse of what it's like to be a Moroccan selling food on the street. Other times, we'd enjoy walking by with a stern look on our faces, sunglasses up, trying to see how easy it is to be ignored by the sales people (spoiler, not very!)

We ate nearly every meal at different restaurants overlooking the hustle and bustle of different corners of the square, observing the chaos from above. And most of the time, the dish of choice: tagine. Tagine is a traditional Berber dish made of meat in a sizzling hot sauce with vegetables layered precisely over it, cooked in these triangular clay pots until it's borderline too hot to eat once served, even if it wasn't over 100 degrees outside. Our tour guide in the Atlas mountains said that no matter the temperature, the Moroccans like their food hot, and their tea even hotter. Frankly, every menu had tagine on it, and not much else. You could attempt to chalk it up to us being in a "touristy" area, but a few things lead me to believe that that's not the case. First, would be that in the medina, there really aren't many other restaurants around. They're mostly concentrated around Jemaa el-Fnaa, which, to be fair, is massive. Second, would be that Badr recommended that we eat there, and third, would be that their prices were quite cheap. We never spent over 200 MAD = 20 USD on a dinner between the two of us, even when ordering tea along with it. Finally, our tour guide said that real Berbers, and many Moroccans have Berber heritage, will eat tagine for lunch and dinner almost every day. So I think our very frequent consumption of tagine wasn't too much of a "touristy" thing to do. Of course, it's not always the same dish. You can order it with apricots and dates if you want it sweeter, vegetables and couscous if you want more of an earthy, bitter taste, and you can get it with lamb, chicken, or vegetarian.

During our first dinner, we heard what would be the first of many adhan's, or calls to prayer. At this point, five times a day, every mosque in town will broadcast, through its minaret, over four to eight megaphones pointed in every direction, a series of calls. The one I always caught, and the one they begin with, is Allah hu akbar, literally, Allah is great. The calls happen early in the morning before the sunrise, when the sun is at its highest point in the sky, in the late afternoon, at sunset, and after dark. I would have imagined a mad rush of everyone to get to the nearest mosque, but actually, it's not like that. The bustle of Jemaa el-Fnaa doesn't come to a halt, and though people do go to the mosques, it's not noticeable unless you're watching the door of a mosque from above. Again, you could say that this is because of tourists, but again, I'm not convinced in the slightest. But more on that later. Anyways, the calls are borderline musical in nature, and we even studied them in my ethnomusicology class before looking at pop music in Egypt. But they're done by a person. There are breaks, and they don't start exactly at the same time. That means that when the mosque that's closest to you has a short break in its call, you can hear all the other mosques in town all at once.

After dark, we went down into the square. And here, you can tell that most people here are Moroccan. It's not overrun by tourists like how you may imagine it to be. Sure, there are tourists, but they're greatly, greatly outnumbered by the number of genuine residents of Marrakesh coming to the square for the nightlife. See, as a predominantly Muslim country, alcohol is very hard to find. Hence, the nightlife needs something else. And oh my does it not disappoint. When there's no bars, no clubs, few parties, everybody, tourists and locals alike, congregate in Jemaa el-Fna. At night, the snake charmers and monkey tamers from the day time compete for space and attention with storytellers, recounting tales in Arabic or Tamazikht (the Berber language); with circles of musicians playing traditional Berber instruments; with people trying to sell you fake watches and cheap sunglasses or glow up helicopters and bright LED lights; and with ladies offering to give you a henna tattoo. This weekend, as well, there was a huge festival going on, with a stage set up right at the corner of the square for Berber musicians to perform very high energy dances with a hypnotic quality. Their music was endlessly repetitive, with the same little riff playing a hundred times in a row, but speeding up or slowing down with each repetition, while the performers on stage would jump and spin along in their traditional clothes. Where I said that cars could drive through the square easily during the day, it's hard to even maneuver yourself through the crowd at night. Even a police car with its lights on that tried to get through was hardly moving.

Well I could go on for hours more about Jemaa el-Fnaa, but I think I'll have to leave it there, because there's still more to Marrakesh! Leaving the square from the opposite direction of Kutubiyya (which, by the way, is illegal to enter for non-Muslims, unfortunately), you will enter the web of souks. The souks take up, in our experience, over half of the old city. In the souks, you'll see the most egregious display of absolute and utter chazerai. Complete garbage that nobody needs, being pitched to you as if it's the newest iPhone.

In Marrakesh, it's hustle or be hustled. If you don't go out and shamelessly promote, if you don't get out there, if you don't talk to every tourist and local passing buy, you'll never sell anything. Because there's always someone five stands down from you selling the exact same thing and who's doing a better job at promoting it, and hundreds of other stalls in the city, again, selling the same mass-produced goods if you continue to breeze past that guy five stalls down. I'm talking carpets, traditional clothing, slippers, golden lamps, tea sets, signs with Arabic written on them, keychains, trinkets, gizmos, and gadgets galore, baskets, tagine pots, jewelry, and my personal favorite, used TV remotes sold without the TV they're linked to. As I mentioned earlier, in Marrakesh, bargaining is expected. Prices are intentionally high, just so that you can knock them down. You've got to tell the person that you've seen something down the street for less, you've got to point out the fact that it's a little broken and that that should merit a discount, you keep money in some place that isn't your wallet so you can show the vendor that you don't have enough to buy it at their price, you're supposed to leave the shop for a minute, only to come back and for them to offer to name your price. It's all part of the fun of it. It's fun to listen to others on the street going through it, to hear who's good at bargaining, who's bad. And meanwhile, this is all happening in five different languages at once. What's interesting is that the default language for tourists is French. I've never been in a place where, pegged as a tourist, I'm not immediately expected to be American. In fact, we never met one American there. Those who spoke English were mostly Brits. When, on the last day, after having observed the tactics of those bargaining round me all weekend, I finally decided to try it out for myself, I set out to bargain in English. I figured that most salesmen speak French much better than English, so I figured I'd give myself whatever slight advantage I could. But the salesman slipped in the word "étoile," French for star, into the description and all the sudden my brain broke, and I slipped into French to finish off the deal. This first time bartering I was able to knock the price from 150 MAD to 100 MAD, which, if you ask me, was still expensive for what I was buying. But the second time I bartered, I took the price from 550 MAD to 350 MAD, so I would say I was definitely getting better. The second guy was also older, so though he’s more experienced, I suppose he’s also a little tired.

The two things I bartered for. The 26 on the license plate means that the car is from Marrakesh

We did a few other things in Marrakesh, namely the Badii Palace and the Secret Gardens, both of which were kind of unremarkable. If you’re there, and have seen enough of the pretty architecture (like what we have in Seville in the Alcázar and other places), then it’s not super worth visiting. Honestly, the biggest appeal of visiting Marrakesh is just to take and partake in the wild atmosphere of the place, not necessarily to escape that atmosphere by going into museums and palaces.

Me at the Badii palace

The final thing to cover would be the camel in the room. Getting scammed. At this point, however, I think it would be wise to cover that in a new post.