Marrakech, Morocco - Let Me Be Your Guide!

“Hello!” said the man in the long blue robes. Angela and I were walking back towards the old town after just visiting the Majorelle Gardens, owned by none other than Yves Saint Laurent. “I am not guide,” he intoned as he walked alongside us. “I only wish to practice English with nice people. May I perhaps talk with you?”

Angela sighed. For most of the day, we’d been hassled by various people. They were either trying to sell us something or else guide us somewhere. I take you to tanneries! was a common opening gambit, as was, You want hashish? I get you good hashish! But this latter comment was always directed at me for some reason. Perhaps I looked like a dodgy character. Plus, we’d already been ripped off by the snake charmers in Jemaa El Fna, also known as the central square. After draping snakes upon our heads and shoulders and taking a few photos (with our camera) the charmless charmers had demanded money. Four hundred dirham to be exact (or £28). For a few minutes we refused and haggled them down. In the end we gave them two hundred, and would’ve given even less had we possessed smaller notes than the 200 Dirhams in my wallet. Lesson one learnt: carry small value notes in Morocco. You’ll need them. And with the man in blue trailing after us, we were about to learn lesson number two.

“My name is Muhammad and I am Berber,” said the man in his thirties. “You must be heading for Square. I take you there as gift.”

Angela and I said nothing. This part of the city was renowned for unofficial guides trying to make quick money from unsuspecting visitors. In fact these ‘guides’ had become such a problem that the authorities had taken action. Undercover police patrolled the Old Town searching out unofficial guides and removing them. But in this part of town, the ‘guides’ had a free reign. Official guides wore name cards and charged 200 Dirham for a half day tour. Muhammad wore nothing except his nice blue attire..

Crossing a road to avoid him, I wondered whether Muhammad could actually be just a friendly local – they did exist; we had met quite a few already. Even so, we wanted to walk by ourselves, and so we wandered away from him. Muhammad shouted, “Square this way. You go wrong. Please follow!”

We carried on, hoping the man would take the hint, but he decided to join us again. “Okay, we go this way. No matter. We still get to Square this way. Take longer.” The three of us walked along. There was nothing much we could do.

“Many buildings you can see used to be homes for rich men,” said Muhammad as we entered the Old Town via one of the many gates that cut through the old city walls. “These men would own a few buildings together. One would be for his wives. But only if they get on with each other. If they fight, they would need separate house each. Other houses would be for concubines. Good life, eh!”

Muhammad certainly seemed a knowledgeable fellow, and he was certainly friendly enough. Perhaps he was just a kind local. “Come,” he said jovially. “I show you where university was. Is beautiful building. You take many photo.”

We followed him through the rabbit-warren alleyways of the northern medina. Without Muhammad, we would have been well and truly lost. Perhaps it has been good fortune him stumbling upon us. The lack of street signs made things even more confusing. Every alleyway looked identical to the next. And often we would arrive at a crossroads with similar looking alleyways leading off in all directions. It was a labyrinth. Suddenly we came to a large square.

“This is old university,” said Muhammad. The three of us stopped, admiring the beautiful buildings around the edge of the square. While Muhammad gave a commentary about the buildings, we took some photos, before eventually moving off, deeper into the medina. As we traversed the narrow criss-crossing alleys, the amount of people seemed to be thinning out.

“By the way,” said Muhammad, sidling closer to me. “You are not first people I help in Marrakech. And even though I not guide, people do pay me for my time and kindness. Perhaps you will pay me later if you so wish.”

This was what we’d expected, but still a let down to hear it spoken aloud. I shrugged at Angela as we followed him. We had no choice: we were in the heart of the medina with no way of finding our own way out. Saying nothing, we walked on.

“Let me tell you something of my people. I am Berber. But did you know that Berber are fine artisans? No? But there is one problem with products we make. We cannot sell them when we want. There only four time when Berber artisan can sell goods.” Muhammad turned to face us allowing large smile to form on his face. “But you are lucky to be in Marrakech today! Berber sell today! Come!”

We didn’t feel very lucky. We were in the middle of the medina, well and truly lost, and to top that, we were the only white people we could see. And now Muhammad probably wanted to show us into his brother’s fabric shop. Along the sides of the alleyways, people sat about in doorways, drinking mint tea and smoking cigarettes. Some even waved at Muhammad as he wandered past. Others simply stared at Angela.

After a short while, Muhammad stopped outside some dingy looking shop. “Let me show you some quality Berber goods. This is carpet shop. I not make money for bringing you here, I just want to show fine quality of artisans. Come, come, follow please!”

I could tell that Angela had had enough of this whole charade. We had no interest in carpets, Berber or otherwise. “No,” I said. “We just want to get to the Square to meet our friends. We are late already.”

Muhammad smiled disarmingly. “But carpets are of finest quality. You do not have to buy. You just look. Please come!”

I shook my head. “No. Just take us to the square.”

Muhammad paused for a moment, seemingly at a loss, but then his smile reappeared. “As you wish. You do not like carpets, I understand. I take you to square.” He left the doorway and led us down another alleyway.

As we walked along this particular alleyway, with even less people than before, Muhammad seemed less jovial than before. Perhaps he’d realised we were not going to go into any of his ‘brothers’ stores. “I am good guide, yes? People pay me for being good guide. They always very generous. You pay me now!”

Angela and I ignored him. We walked on, hoping to come to a more populated part of the Medina, perhaps even one we recognised. Muhammad caught up with us. This time he raised his voice. “You pay now!”

We came to a crossroads of alleyways. There were a few people in sight, and so we stopped. I turned to face our tormentor. I asked him how much he wanted.

“Four hundred Dirham.”

That was about £28. Double the cost of an official guide. And we’d not even got to the central square. “No way,” I told him as I fished about for some small change. “You can have fifty and be done with it.”

“Fifty! I cannot feed my family for that. You must give me four hundred.”

I shook my head and handed him a fifty note. “That’s all you’ll get, so take it.”

Surprisingly, Muhammad accepted the note. “Okay, I take fifty. That way to square. Goodbye.” And with that, he disappeared from sight.

The Central Square

It took us a good while to find ourselves back in the square, but we eventually made it safe and sound. On the way, we encountered numerous other ‘helpful’ individuals who wanted to assist us. We soon became quite adept at ignoring them until they left us alone.

The heads of executed people placed on spikes in the main square gave it the name, gathering place of the dead. Nowadays though, the square is a hive of activity, apparently the busiest in all Africa. Unsurprisingly, Angela and I spent quite a large proportion of our time there, either sitting in the roof top café’s or else wandering past stalls selling a myriad of items. They ranged from the relatively normal (freshly-squeezed orange drinks, shoe shiners, woman selling henna patterns, spices and oils) to the rather bizarre (tiny tortoises, toys consisting of Osama bin laden and George Bush driving a jeep and a tank, relentlessly pursuing one another around the circular track). And there were the freakish items (false teeth, and goat skulls). The sounds were equally exotic. They sounded like the Marrakech of my imagination – an orchestra of bizarre musical instruments with some percussion provided by the hooting of motorcycle horns. It was the perfect soundtrack to what we could see below.

Easily visible from the square, and indeed most of Marrakech, was the Koutobia Mosque, the tallest building in the city. In fact, local statute dictated that no other building can ever be higher than the mosque, making Marrakech a distinctly low-rise city.

“This is fantastic,” I said to Angela as I poured myself another cup of mint tea. Even though I found its taste a little too sugary, I still enjoyed a pot of Morocco’s finest. “This is exactly what I wanted Marrakech to be!”

Angela nodded, looking down at the large square below. Donkeys milled about on the periphery while large numbers of people wandered to and fro among the stalls. Motorcycles and taxis drove through one end of the Square, the road not even marked. How people were not injured or killed was a mystery, but somehow it worked. There was a certain order to the chaos.

The Souqs

We decided it was time to hit the souks. Angela was in the mood for shopping and I was in the mood for haggling. We entered the main souk located at the northern end of the square.

As soon as we stepped in, the crowds pushed us along. Every now and again a hoot from behind would make us get out the way as a motorbike snaked its way past. A clanging sound would indicate a donkey and cart. The driver would beat a stick on the cart to let people know he was coming through. Leather bags, belts, shoes, carpets, wooden handicrafts were everywhere. Outside every shop sat a man waiting to pounce.

“Hello,” they would say in turn. “I have good bargains here. I give best price! Look inside…come!” As soon as they caught your eye – even for a half second – they would jump up, beckoning us towards their store. “Come in! See my quality leather!”

We did stop at some stores through. Indeed, Angela managed to buy a grand total of five leather bags, as well as two belts and some assorted wooden pots. We did some serious haggling to get them, usually involving us walking away from the shop with the proprietor chasing after us telling us he would accept our low price, even though his children would starve.

At the northern end of the souks we came to an area where craftsmen were actually at work. Small metal smelters were presided over by men in woollen hats, while in alcoves nearby, elderly men sat on floors banging pieces of metal into shape. It was all a bit medieval, but in a good, exciting way.

Before long we found ourselves in a small courtyard surrounded by shops selling just metalwork items. Lingering for just a moment too long, a friendly-looking man with a thick black moustache and a grey woollen hat beckoned us over.

“Hello,” he boomed. “You like lamps and candle-holders? Well come into my store! I have best in Marrakech!” The man beamed as we stepped into his small shop, showing us some of his finer offerings. I asked him if the pieces had been on the premises.

“Of course,” he said, picking up a particularly fetching candle-lamp. “It take four artisan to make single lamp. One make metal frame. Another prepare goat skin you see around lamp. A third artisan will put it together and finally we have woman who finish it off, adding paint and colour.” Angela ended up buying three lamp shades from him.

Riads

After the hustle and bustle of the souks, we decided to head back to our Riad for recuperation. Riads in Morocco are becoming quite fashionable now. A Riad literally means a house with an interior garden or in our case a courtyard. They are Morocco’s answer to the small boutique hotels of Europe.

Our Riad was located within the Old Town, just minutes away from the square. When we’d first arrived, the taxi driver had stopped at the end of a narrow alleyway, telling us to follow him on foot. We did, wondering just where we were staying. The man led us through the salmon-coloured alleys until we reached a large wooden door. When we entered, we couldn’t believe that such a beautiful place could exist within such dimly lit alleys. The only problem was what happened at 5:30am for the three mornings we stayed there. At first I thought I was having a waking nightmare, but when Angela groaned beside me, I knew the wailing sound must be real. Ordinarily, the singing would have been quite nice, but in the dead of the night, with no warning, the Muslim call to prayer was a shock to the system. And for twenty minutes, the wailing continued unabated, seemingly from next door. But then it stopped as suddenly as it had began and we could sleep once more.

Tourist Sites

The next day we decided to see some of the sights of Marrakech. This wasn’t as easy as it seemed. Even though the map in our guidebook showed us where the major sights were, in reality, with a dismal lack of street signs, things were extremely difficult to locate. But this did bring unexpected interest in itself. For instance, down one back alleyway, we spotted two cats. One was a mangy looking ginger animal chewing on a discarded chicken head. But nearby was perhaps the most pitiful cat I’d ever seen. Matted fur covered its rake-thin body, but this was not in itself noteworthy. It was the eyes – it had none. One was permanently closed while the other looked like it had been gouged out. The filthy animal simply ‘stared’ at me as I wondered how it survived.

We eventually found the Saadian Tombs, graves of 16th and 17th century princes, lying under the shadow of the Kasbah Mosque. Undiscovered until the 1920’s, the area is now a place where a visitor can wander the gardens, looking at some interesting buildings and the tombs themselves. Before it was rediscovered, the area was a slum area, with people living hand and foot upon the forgotten tombs.

The Bahia Palace was also a place of interest. Once the residence of a 19th century vizier, the palace was full of interesting courtyards and chambers, and even a banana tree. It was originally built house the vizier’s four wives and twenty-four concubines. I think I would have enjoyed being a vizier in old Marrakech.

We decided to go for another coffee on a rooftop terrace. The one we chose overlooked the ruins of El Badi Palace, a grand 16th century building. As we sipped our drinks, we could see large storks resting upon their gigantic nests on the top reaches of the ruins.

And before long, our time in Marrakech was over. We headed back to the airport with happy memories. If time had permitted, we would have liked to visit the nearby Atlas Mountains. Through the haze we could just about make them out in the distance. Perhaps next time, we thought.

Strengths:

The souks are a must to get a bargain.

The Square – full of entertainment and tasty eateries.

Beautiful old town, with Mosques, ancient walls and other notable buildings.

Food is very cheap and tasty.

Safe city.

Weaknesses:

Away from the main square, it is easy to be accosted by unofficial guides.

It is very easy to get lost.

Alcohol can be sometimes hard to find, and when it is found, it is expensive.