Marrakech: A Strange, Strange Place

Hello, all.

Sorry for the big gap in the blog updates. As some of you know, we had a family emergency (my beloved niece Justice experiencing toxic shock syndrome), and I was also in Egypt last weekend. Luckily, after some very scary moments, Justice is now on the path to recovery, and will be able to leave the hospital in a week or so.

So, back to my report on our Moroccan adventures. Two weekends ago, we journeyed five hours southwest, to the city of Marrakech. Most of you have heard of Marrakech, if not from history, then from the Simon and Garfunkel song! It is where the name "Morocco" came from, is a Berber (rather than Arab) city, and was the seat of various Moroccan empires for several hundred years. It's an oasis, large and flat, with lots of palm trees and big red ramparts, with the backdrop of the high Atlas mountains.

It's also a city that's even a bigger tourist attraction than Fes, and desperately seeking status as an international destination. Yves St. Laurent made his home in Marrakesh, as have lots of other celebrities and runaway hippie types. They have international film festivals, and Hillary Clinton was there when we were there, to meet with King Mohammed VI about the situation in Israel/Palestine. So, the crafts are high quality, prices are exorbitant, and the salesmanship is aggressive beyond belief.

Here's your first clue. These strange dudes, dressed in traditional Berber costumes, hang out in the city's giant main square, Place Jemaa el Fna, selling water. If you so much as point your camera at them, they lunge at you, demanding money. This photograph shows the exact moment that I was "busted" after trying to surreptiously photograph them.

It's just the start. There are "snake charmers" who run at you, draping small cobras around your neck, grabbing your camera to take pictures and then refusing to take the snake off you until you pay lots of money.

There are also henna ladies from the countryside, who will begin to draw a henna tatoo on you if you hesitate anywhere near them, whether you want it or not. I had to run away from several, yelling "la!" ("no!").
Finally, there are the hooded men who handle the Barbary Apes (or more properly, macaques; see previous blog), who will also drape them on you and then demand money.

Place Jemaa el Fna is quite famous, and supposed to be a thrill, but I found it rather awful!

There WERE some wonderful places in Marrakech. The first standout was the Jardin Marjorelle, which was an artist's home and garden purchased by Yves St. Laurent and his partner, and then donated to the city when Yves died. The picture doesn't do it justice, but it's a fabulous deep blue home surrounded by acres of bamboo, cactus and flowers. It provided a much-needed break for me to go there and to wander alone taking photos.

Another place that was fabulous was the Palais Bahia, an elaborate palace created to house an obese vizier and his many concubines, in the 1800's. The marble and tile courtyard pictured here was where the ladies hung out to share advice and gossip. Around the courtyard are reception rooms with elaborately painted ceilings, giant tiled fireplaces and beautiful archways and columns.

Typical of Morocco, to get to this sumptuous palace, we walked down a number of dumpy, dirty little streets with pathetic shops and parked donkeys, that would make any but intrepid travelers turn back. It's hard to describe how strange it is to see a country with so many assets not know how to maximize them, even when it intends to have a vibrant tourist industry!

To summarize, Marrakech was filled with freaky sights, obnoxious shopkeepers, underdressed and sunburned tourists, and lots of very devout Muslims, rushing in to the street corner mosques to pray. I'm glad I saw it, but it was my least favorite place so far in Morocco.

Well, it's late here, and I have to get some rest. Later this week I will update everyone on our whirlwind trip to Cairo and the Pyramids.

Until then, b'salaamah.