September 10 2010 / Marrakech, Morocco

Once again Ellie woke me up because my alarm is so temperamental.  Still, I was able to charge into the Union to be able to make it pretty expertly on time.  I found Steve (a guy a couple doors down from me) and found out that he was going to the medina in Marrakech, which is the massive outdoor market where you do all your haggling.  Being as that I didn’t want to be considered a prostitute, I asked him if I could tag along, which was fine.

Going to the train station was pretty neat—we must have just missed the call to prayer, because many cars were stopped directly in the road, and there was a crowd of people just praying together in what would have been a busy street.  I wish I had gotten a picture.  We went off to the train station around eight o’clock to catch an 8:50 train to Marrakech, but it was hugely late because of Ead (the Islamic holiday that is practically like Christmas, which comes after the month of Ramadan).  We didn’t actually leave until 10AM.  that was fine for us—Dasha amused us by giving us mind puzzles: fill in a 3x3 grid with the numbers 1-9 where all crosses, lines and diagonals equal 15.  I finished first and was ridiculously proud because I never get those things very easily, and she gave me a coconut candy from Puerto Rico—NOM NOM NOM.  It took a while to find a compartment but we finally found one a little away from the SAS main car.  Many women and men sat in the halls, which I felt bad about.  We talked a little about school and we were very communal about sharing our box lunches.  I gave them a couple of riddles as well as the story puzzle about the albatross, and then I looked outside for a while as they took naps.  Taking the train through Morocco felt a lot like what I felt looking at the Old West would be like—tons of cacti, red and brown earth and rock, donkeys, towns made of plaster and  mud, mountains and valleys of rock.  It was all very Clint Eastwood. 

After three hours or so we arrived in Marrakech and walked to our hotel.  I’m still not used to people wearing head scarves (though otherwise they dress pretty conventionally, though conservatively), but there were a lot more women on the street here in Marrakech, which was nice, as there were none in Casablanca, which kind of crept me out to be honest.  But we walked a couple of blocks with our guides (Mohammed, “Momo” Mohammed, and Hussein) to the Hotel Oudaya, which I could only remember the name of because it sounded like Obadiah who was the baddie in Iron Man (yeah, I know, I’m geeky).  I had a room with a girl that I didn’t know, Camille, but that was okay even if there was only one key.  The room and bathroom were small and okay enough (it wasn’t amazing), and we had a rather large patio with a garden, which was pretty neat.  But I went downstairs to find a big group of people who were rearing to go to the markets. 

We went out and got some dirham at the ATM (I pulled out 1000 dirham, which would be a little over a hundred dollars).  People stood around all anxious about getting a cab, so I held out my hand and flagged one down immediately.  We haggled for a while (he wanted 20 dirham each to the market when we knew that 20 period was reasonable) and I jumped in the cab.  Though I was the first one in the cab, I belatedly realized that people drive like crazy things in Morocco—there are no lines on the road and people drive very aggressively.  Our cab driver would get actively annoyed if he had to stop for a red light.  Still, we beat the other cab there (four people packed into the tiny car).  There was a minaret on one side, and the market on the other, so we headed over.  Because it was Ead, not everything was open, and there was a huge empty space that was usually filled with stalls—but today, it was filled with snake charmers, people who would frequently hang snakes around your neck (whether you wanted them to or not) and then demand 200 dirham.  I knew that they would demand money if you stopped to watch, so I circled while pretending not to watch.  I’ve heard lots of stories of how they train the snakes—some people say that they blind the cobras so that they just hear the music and react to it, others say that they place glass in front of the cobra so that it hurts itself while striking out and so learn to not do it.  I thought they almost seemed drugged, the cobras kind of lulling to the side.  There were cobras and what looked like rattlesnakes, and smaller snakes they would hold around people’s necks.  Needless to say, I did not stop  by.  There were also women calling people over to try to do henna on their hands.

The medina itself was amazing—my objective was some lightweight pants for the hike and a scarf.  The exciting part, however, was the haggling.  The shop owners always name a ridiculous price and then try to wheedle and guilt you into accepting it.  The trick is to find something where you both feel as though you are getting a reasonable deal.  I found a dress I thought was really cool—it looked as though it was two pieces, with one part being a jacket, but in reality it’s just one piece of cloth that goes between your legs and tucks over your arms.  I really thought this gray-blue one with gold embroidery was pretty, so I bartered it down from 350 to 200 dirham, which I thought was pretty good (at the time.  Dasha told me later she’d bullied it down  to 150).  Anyway, I also got this BRIGHT ORANGE scarf that I LOVE because it’s my favorite color of orange, and also a “magic box,” which is very difficult to figure out how to open.  And I got ~*~A GIFT~*~ for Cassy, which I really hope she likes!! :)  A hint: It’s really pretty. 

I was especially proud of my haggling skills for the box, which started at 300 or maybe more and I got it down to 150.  Haggling definitely needs to take time if you want it to pay off, which is why I was probably only third best in the group of six I was in—Dasha and Hans were willing to take lots of time to get the price they were fixed on, while Eric, Steven and I wanted to run around and explore more, because we only had four hours of free time.  Still, I felt like a badass Capitalist (though I probably still got screwed on all of these).  The streets “outside” were very bright while the “inner” alleys were small, darker and felt slightly cramped, with everyone’s wares practically out on the street.  It was kind of dirty and trash was littered all over—there isn’t really a garbage system in Morocco.  There were TONS of stray cats, as well as lots of tin teapots, spices, shoes, and rugs at the booths.  I really wanted to buy loose leaf tea for Bryson but apparently that’s not allowed on the ship (germs?).  I suppose I’ll have to find tea bags in India.  I found a single place that was selling paintings, but nothing mom and dad would like.  I WILL FIND SOMETHING!

One really cool thing that happened in the medina was when we were in the alleys, one of the megaphones attached to the roof began to start the call to prayer, which happens five times a day in Islamic cultures (I’ve only been able to figure out that one happens at 4AM and one at 4PM).  It was so incredible beautiful—very rhythmic and singing, even if it was in Arabic and I couldn’t understand.  No one really did anything in the marketplace (it’s more of a reminder to pray when you finish up whatever you’re doing, for the most part) but it was still incredible to hear.  It made my hair stand on end, and Steven said that he felt the same thing.

Another thing that we did that we probably shouldn’t have done was gotten freshly squeezed orange juice from one of the many vendors out in the square.  It was only 4 dirham, which is like 50 cents for a huge glass, and it was SO GOOD.  Probably the best orange juice  I have ever had in my entire life.  Definitely worth the potential diarrhea factor that the doctor had warned us against eating fruit in Morocco that you hadn’t peeled yourself (for the record, I didn’t get it anyway, which makes it even more worth it).  Go big or go home is still my motto on this trip.  Though, I’ve also noticed that I’ve needed to “man up” lots of times and just done something, and I’m proud of my effort so far, but I’m grumpy that I don’t have a more gender-neutral term for it.  Thoughts? 

What I really liked about the medinas was that the shopkeepers, totally against my expectations, were incredibly respectful and friendly.  Undoubtedly it was because we were tourists and bringing in money, but it was still appreciated after being afraid that I would not even be acknowledged due to being a woman.  In fact, all of them did business directly with me, and two out of the three shook my hand when they had finished, which I’ve been told they only really do if they respected your haggling effort.  I was also expecting to get hassled a lot more—if I said that I didn’t really like something or just wandered away after thanking them, I wasn’t chased after.  So that was pretty cool. 

Anyway, we went back to the hotel after a while.  We were really tired and the taxi drivers going from the medina were a lot more adamant about their prices than the ones on the street, so we ended up paying ten dirham each.  Which I guess is a buck, but was still kind of lame.  Anyway, I took a shower and got into my new Moroccan dress for dinner.  The only problem with the dress is that if you have a long stride, like me, your leg shows all the way up to your hip, so I’m going to have to bobby-pin it a little bit.  It was only happening on one side, and Dasha was having the same problem.  But it was still really comfortable and lightweight. 

Around seven thirty we boarded up into our buses and found ourselves quickly into a “sketchy” part of Marrakech, which really just meant that it was a little more run down than the main streets.  What was really cool that although it was completely dark, the streets were packed with people, motorbikes, and cars, I think because everyone was celebrating Ead and going to and from homes.  It was really cool to see it packed with so many people though.  When we got out we walked through twisted streets, past closing tiny shops and people to duck, finally, into this incredible restaurant called Dar Zellij.  It had round tables, rose petals everywhere, and lit with red light.  There were two men playing Moroccan drum beats.  It was stone and there were trees inside, and if you looked up, the stars were right above you.  It was completely hidden, quite the diamond in the rough.  Steven, Dasha, Hans and I sat together at a table, and we were later joined by a Stacy and Sarah who were doing the camel trek. 

The food.

Oh my gosh, the food.  Well, even though people of the Islamic faith don’t drink, they had a wine list, so Darsha and I had a bottle of red wine together while the guys tried something pink (we did a bit of mixing and matching).  It was really different from anything I’ve ever had from California, Italy, or France, which all have really distinct tastes.  For some reason, I couldn’t describe it other than it tasted like Morocco—a little more spicy and flavorful, not fruity but not incredibly dry.  Dasha said it was mellow and then had a little kick at the end, but aside from that, I’m not sure how to describe it.  It was lovely though. 

Anyway, aside from the wine, the first course was small plates of vegetables that we mixed and matched as we pleased into a salad.  Many were spiced specially, like the sliced carrots, and something else that looked like caramelized onions but did not taste at all like that.  Someone said it was eggplant.  That was awesome, and we also had Moroccan bread, which is kind of a flat, circular bread—really good.

The main course was cooked tagine style, which is cooked in clay ovens that slow cooks the meat.   It was chicken and lemon, and it was. the. BEST. chicken I have ever had in my entire life.  It was just so tender and moist and unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before, cutting up little bits of the lemon (… rinds? I’m not even sure, but it was really delicious) and eating them with the chicken pieces.  I didn’t want to say it was the best chicken I’ve ever eaten in my entire life, but the more I ate it the more I realized it was true.  It was incredible.  We just kept saying that we couldn’t even believe that we were there right at that moment, eating the most incredible chicken in Africa, in Morocco. 

Dessert was this strange crisp pastry with this cream sauce on it, and everyone said it tasted like cereal, which I still think is pretty weird because it DID taste like cereal, though after the chicken it was kind of eh.  Then we had some green tea—Moroccans LOVE tea, especially dumping tons of sugar in it.  After that there was a little bit of a belly dancer show, though it wasn’t the belly dancing that I’m used to,  where women can actually control the muscles of their stomach.  Mostly it was just hot women dancing around in bikini tops and pretty skirts, which was fine too.  They would pull up guys to dance with them, which made us all laugh and cheer. 

We walked back to the buses later, stuffed and satisfied.  I was really sleepy and we had to wake up around seven in the morning to leave at eight thirty for the Atlas Mountains, but a lot of people wanted to go to the hookah bar.  Dasha and I promised each other we would leave by 1:30 so as to not be utterly miserable, so when we got back we went with a great big group of like twenty people to this cool little locals’ hookah bar.  I got an orange juice (not as good as the medina and twice as expensive!) while the guys took care of business.  Dasha, Hans, and two guys named Chris and Luke were at our particular hookah, which the flavor was this very lemony mint.  I tried it a couple of times, but it kind of made me sleepy, so I just chatted a little bit with the guys about the Meyers-Briggs test and horoscopes, of all things, before Dasha and I headed back to the hotel around 1:15ish. 


I’ll be a little slow updating with these but I’ll do my best, guys.  A lot has happened within the last couple of days and I’m definitely gonna be playing lots of catch up, most likely tomorrow (the 14th).