It’s been nearly a year since we started our travels. After two days in Madrid, we boarded a plane for Marrakesh full of anticipation and slight hangovers last October.
As the plane landed, and after the momentary panic when Hugo said he’d forgotten to check visa requirements for Mexicans (there aren’t any, thank god), I steeled myself for the taxi haggle I’d read about. We couldn’t fathom trying to figure out a cheaper public transportation option. I hadn’t even been able to figure out if one existed.
We managed to get a very slightly cheaper fare through vigorous hand gestures and a dubious act of walking away. (“Oh really, well we’ll just, um, get back on the plane? Sleep in the airport? Walk through what looks like flat desert in all directions? The Marrakesh airport does not leave you with the strongest negotiating hand.”) And soon found ourselves careening down a road wide enough for one lane in each direction, that was being used for at two to three lanes in each direction. Our old beat up taxi was swerving in and out of motorbikes, wagons, luxury cars, buses, trucks, and animals, for a good 30 minutes. Then we entered the city walls.
Jemaa el Fna (ساحة جامع الفناء) is one of the most haunting, exciting, delicious markets I've seen
It was like no place I’d ever been and we were enthralled. There were cafes lining all the streets full of only men, women shopping, kids darting all over the place. So much chaotic traffic. So many new sounds. A medieval city with narrow winding alleys and a huge market square, with aggressive captive monkeys and snake charmers, and story tellers and herbalists.
A year out, those first impressions of landing somewhere truly foreign are still with me. How we stuck out with our backpacks, trying to find a cheap but comfortable place to sleep. How our desperate cravings for Western food after a mere week in the country led to a horrible and ridiculously expensive pasta dinner one night. How completely amazing we found the fresh pressed orange juice available all over the city for pennies – and the hot, flaky breakfast crepes with liquid honey dripping off them, sold to take away wrapped in a thin paper plate, ensuring you will find sticky spots on your arms and down your front hours later.
Moroccan breakfast.
I’m also still happy about how we planned it. We met others later on our desert tour who raved about the resort-style hostel with a pool. But I’m glad we decided to stay the first night in one of our guidebook’s top budget picks, and set out early the next morning to find a small riad. We ended up making great friends with the owner of a tiny place, with a beautiful courtyard full of trees and brutally loud birds in the morning. It was magic – and actually far cheaper than the hostel, for a couple.
Hotel Chellah is tough to find, but we loved it.
The souks in Marrakesh are great to get lost in, and easy to navigate, compared to Fez. And the hawkers and touts are much mellower as well. It’s a fascinating city to start a round-the-world trip in. And did I mention delicious?
Now don’t get me wrong. I know we weren’t there long enough to scratch the surface. And I know these observations are fairly cliche and woefully superficial. But can you ever really get to know a city when just visiting? I had read Tahir Shah’s wonderful books Dar Khalifa and In Arabian Nights before going, and was captivated by my first experience in North Africa.
So we ended up spending more time in Marrakesh than we had planned, and we still didn’t make it to any of the big nightclubs, casinos, or shisha lounges in the more modern part of the city.
We just loved wandering aimlessly, getting scrubbed to death in the baths, eating tagines and splurging on a bottle of wine at a fancy rooftop restaurant in the medina. But mostly, we loved the people we met. I know we’ll be back.
Another favorite - Moroccan sweets.
Top 5 of our budget food finds around the world -- the potato, egg, onion, spice and chili sandwich at the night market.
The riad (or courtyard) of our hotel.
