Tagged : Morocco

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Marrakech Photos

The following is a little photo gallery of my trip to Marrakech in December 2009. Marrakech is such an amazing place. It took several days to get accustomed to the local culture, but once I had my bearings and could relax a bit, it became an absolutely wonderful place to visit. The weather in mid-December was perfect. The days were sunny and about 25ºC, and the nights were moderate at 15º-ish. Other times of the year are supposed to be ridiculously hot, so I think just before Christmas is a decent time to visit. I’ve written a few other articles about Marrakech which are posted at the bottom of this page.

Click to enlarge the photos.

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Koutoubia Minaret Marrakech

The Koutoubia Minaret and surrounding gardens is one of those must-see tourist attractions in Marrakech. The minaret itself is beautiful, but I found the area around it to be fascinating.

Right across from Koutoubia is what I would deem the world’s most insane street crossing. There is also a couple of interesting café’s to sit at and rest your feet outside the madness of the Jemaa El Fna market square. Just beware the shoeshine kids. It is so hard to turn them down as they are very pushy, but needy looking, however, they are often part of a more elaborate child labour scheme.

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Wandering the Souks at Night

Wandering the Souks of the Medina in Marrakech at night was an interesting experience. Shadowy figures pass in the night showing only as silhouettes against the glow of the yellowy sodium vapour street lamps.

I wouldn’t advocate wandering the streets of any place alone at night, but somehow in the Medina I never felt unsafe. I always felt just a mere bystander to the daily life of Moroccans in the Medina.

Besides, even late at night, there seems to be enough people walking around or streaming by on their noisy 70′s motorcycle.

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Jemaa El Fna Market Marrakech

The sights, sounds and smells of the Jemaa El Fna market (pronounced Jem-ah el fenna) are one of the great treats of a trip to the desert city of Marrakech in Morocco. If you enter the giant square from the west you’ll play “human Frogger” to cross the many lanes of traffic to get to the square. Enter the park area, pass all of the tour buses, the Club Med hotel, work your way through the crowd and you’ll find a world of snake charmers, street hustlers, vendors, and food stalls. It’s like going back in time.

This is a place where mothers ride motorbikes carrying three other people and a load of supplies, where donkeys still pull carts, where snakes are still charmed, and where if you’re not careful you’ll end up with a monkey on your back.

The high pitched whine of the snake charmer’s pipe drones on in the background as I walk through the food stalls in search of something delectable. Everyone here is your friend, and the hosts for each food stall can be extremely pushy and annoyingly charming. They’ll call out to you in every language thinkable to try and get your attention — particularly if you ignore them. On numerous occasions at different carts I was told that their chef was Jamie Oliver. These guys must have all gone to the same sales school!

Picking a place to eat can be rather daunting, and on my first night in the square I had a great time, but likely chose the wrong cart. My meal was less than a few dollars American, but I have a feeling I still paid too much. There were a few other tourists at my table, which was basically just a long collapsible wooden table like you’d find in a school gymnasium, but there were not very many locals.

Across the way I notice that one stall’s host is arguing with the neighbouring stall’s host. It appears that the first stall doesn’t like the second one’s pushy sales tactics, and thinks that he is driving away his customers. I observe for a while and he’s kind of right. The first stall is cooking up some type of potato dish in a tagine, and the people at this smaller stall all seem to be Moroccan. Virtually every seat is taken and everyone is sitting at a bar like square around the chef. The stall next door looks like the one I’m sitting in and is mostly empty with the exception of a few tourists.

My advice for people looking to eat at Jemaa El Fna is to seek out the busy small food stalls that are packed with locals. There is an added level of assurance in this that indicates a high level of quality and food turnover. I look at my stall and there is a large stack of unrefrigerated meat kabobs sitting out in the plain air. They look fresh enough, but it is tough to say what will happen to these if nobody eats them tonight.

While I’m not one for tourist attractions, the Jemaa El Fna market is a truly special place. Unlike the Eiffel Tower or the Empire State Building this place is brimming with culture and it’s here that the locals and tourists congregate in the evenings. The scents and sounds of this place are of another time, and though it can be intimidating, this is probably one of the safest places to be in the evening.

Eating in Morocco is a treat and the Jemaa El Fna is a great place to start. Nearby to the square are a bunch of coffee shops including the Glacier Café. From a few of these places you can get access to a rooftop patio and take the ubiquitous picture of this market — not unlike that shot of the Eiffel Tower that everyone takes.

There were perhaps some more authentic things to be seen around Marrakech, but I seemed to always end up back at the Jemaa El Fna. There is something a bit magical about it that will keep you coming back over the course of your trip.

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Boutouil Bab Doukkala Marrakech

On my recent trip to Marrakech in Morocco I stumbled on a great spot by staying at the Riad Clementine. Located just inside the walls of the Medina, the food souk known as Bab Doukkala was a great place to call home for a handful of days.

The area is an authentic and not-so-touristy part of the Medina and offers up a local culture that is just very true to its roots. The streets are lined with produce, chicken coop shops, bread makers, butchers, and other merchants — all in the name of food.

The area was also a bit of a respite from the constant badgering by shopkeepers closer to the Jemaa El Fna market where things tend to get quite touristy. If you have a chance to stay in Marrakech I would highly suggest the Riad Clementine in the Bab Doukkala.

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Straight Shave and the Art of the Hustle

Shaving is one of those moments that a man should take to himself. A manly ritual.

For that reason one of the top things on my mind when I arrived in Marrakech was getting a straight shave. The kind where the barber uses an old fashioned single-bladed razor to give you a close shave. It feels like the kind of thing a real man should have done at least once in his life.

After three days in Marrakech I finally work up the balls to go into a barber shop. I’m not sure why it was so tough, but a barber shop can be an intimidating place. I found the same thing in Brooklyn. There are certain neighbourhoods where the barber shop is a bit of a social hub kind of like in the old movies. Marrakech was no exception.

I walk in, interrupt the barber’s conversation with a local who is hanging out shooting the breeze. I do my best to ask for a shave in French. The guy knows what I mean. I get sat in the barber chair.

Please don’t cut my jugular. That’s all I ask.

I lean back and put a lot of trust in this man.

He proceeds to butter my face up in a way that I didn’t know was possible. Using a brush he lathers the shaving cream up into my whiskers and makes sure not to miss a spot. I’m feeling pretty pampered at this point.

The barber says little and goes about shaving my face with efficiency, but great care.

The barber shop is borderline third world. It’s dingy, narrow, and lit by the terrible kind of overhead neon light tubes that casts a greenish glow. In North America you would be hard pressed to find lights like this now anywhere except maybe a roadside taco stand in the middle of El Paso.

I hadn’t shaved in over a week which means this process is needlessly painful, but still as the barber cuts a swath through my coarse facial hair I can’t help but think how great this is. This is what men used to do, but all of this in my culture has been replaced with disposable or electric razors. We rush through this process now. It’s no longer a part of the day to enjoy, it’s just another thing to get done.

The razor cuts very close. It feels dangerous and manly. I bet this is how Clint Eastwood or Paul Newman would shave back in the day.

After the barber is done he wipes my face applies after shave that stings like no American after shave could, and then applies salve to the little cuts that are now all over my face.

I look prepubescent. I keep touching my face as it literally has not been this smooth in probably 20 years. Wow.

The barber thanks me and charges 3 Dirhams. If my math is correct that is about 35 cents Canadian. I insist on giving him 10 Dirhams. That is a generous tip by their standards, but really not very much considering the service I received.

I exit the barber shop feeling like a new man.

Upon leaving, Random Street Hustler guy approaches me. I politely blew him off on my way into the barber shop hoping he would have better things to do than to wait for me.

Apparently he did not.

He wants me to come to his brother’s shop across the street. There is a great view from the roof to take photos. This is my last day in Morocco, so despite Hustler’s craggy old face and terrible teeth that indicate some level of suspicion, I decide to live a little. I know this is going to cost me some money, but hey, I really haven’t spent much here.

I go into the shop across the street where Hustler introduces me to his brother. Brother is less craggy looking, actually, he looks pretty good, like maybe he has been living a pretty good life. I recognize quickly that these guys are not brothers.

I go up to the roof to take a photo. The view is actually really lame. I snap a picture anyway of the most interesting angle I can get of the street through some barbwire.

I am invited for some mint tea. This will become the most expensive mint tea I have ever had.

Moroccan Mint Tea is basically hot water, sugar, and muddled mint leaves in a small glass. I like it so much I have seconds, and it’s at this time that I’m semi-obliged to give in to Brother’s pushy offers to try on some garb.

He’s telling me of his people, the Berber people, and his trip down from the Atlas mountains to run this shop. I’m thinking that this guy probably travelled down from the mountains by Land Rover, but I try to be polite.

I try on some Berber garments. Indeed, the loose fitting full coverage outfit would be great if I was herding sheep in the middle ages, or if I were wandering the dessert like Lawrence of Arabia, but for me it’s not really practical.

I’m not sure how I went from thinking that to getting forced into bargaining with Brother for how much I was going to pay for these. My blood is boiling a little. I think of bolting for the door, but the Canadian in me decides to be polite.

He opens the bidding at 1500 Dirhams. Instinctively I have no idea how much that is. I write my counter offer on the pad of paper while I am still trying to process the figures. He laughs, tells me how great the quality of the outfit is, and then counters at 1250.

I’m trying to put it all in perspective. How much was the taxi I took from the airport? 100 Dirhams which is about $12 CAD. How much is a taxi in North America. How much would I pay for a pair of jeans? I am thoroughly confused.

In the end I walk out paying 500 Dirhams for this Berber outfit that I have no idea what I will do with. I have a feeling I just got fleeced, but have no idea to what extent. I work out that I’ve payed about $60-70 Canadian for this outfit. I try not to let it get me down. In perspective it’s not a terribly large amount of money, but it continues to irk me.

I walk by a fabric shop a couple hours later and see that you can buy a yard of fabric that looks exactly like my new outfit for about 35 Dirhams — less than $6.

That night I’m back at the Riad Clementine chatting with the owner and ask him what a typical wage for someone working in the Medina would be. He tells me minimum wage is about 50 Dirhams and that is fairly common.

“50 Dirhams per week?”

“No, 50 Dirhams per month.”

Crazy. These people make about $6 per month, and to top it off I basically paid ten times the amount of a normal worker’s monthly wage for a piece of cloth. I feel very stupid, but chock it up to a lesson in the school of hard knocks. Before travelling to new regions in the future I will be sure to get an idea about the typical costs and incomes of the locals. Without this information you are a sitting duck.

I don’t feel Marrakech was unsafe despite travelling alone. It is not the type of place where somebody would have mugged me, but there are plenty of street hustlers looking to make a buck, and they will squeeze you hard. If you are dumb enough to give them your money, they absolutely will take it. It’s not robbery, just stupidity on my part.

At the end of the day this experience did not taint my view of Marrakech. I loved being there and all of this was part of the adventure. The only thing that continues to bother me about overpaying a petty con artist who obviously preys on ignorant tourists, is that I gave him a substantial sum of money for being a crook, but I gave the barber who makes an honest living next to nothing. If I was going to throw my money around I would rather have given it to the guy who was running a legitimate business. Unfortunately this is sometimes how the world is.

Before leaving the Riad Clementine on my way to the airport I decide to leave my remaining Dirhams as a tip for the 8 staff that work at the Riad. They were all so fantastic that I didn’t feel it was enough, but it would amount to about a half months extra pay for each of them. I guess that is one way to make a wrong into a right.

The barber shop at night.