28 – 29 August, 2014
At 9.00am on Thursday 28
August I was ready to hit the road with Hami, into the great unknown,
or 90 km down the road to El Jadida according to the itinerary. Not
the scenic coastal drive I’d been expecting but a swift trip along
the nearest thing to a freeway that I’ve seen here.
El Jadida’s claim to fame,
from a tourist perspective, is its walled fort area. So I walked the
ramparts that the Portuguese built to protect themselves a few
centuries ago and looked down on the small fishing boats that sail
those waters today.
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| El Jadida - secure for the Portuguese ... for a while |
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| Fishing boats at El Jadida |
It was a short-ish drive to
El Jadida then a long-ish drive to Marrakech, through some pretty
inhospitable countryside which I was assured would grow wheat in due
season.
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| On the road to Marrakech |
Contrary to expectations,
the traffic in Marrakech was not quite as bad as in El Jadida where
it was scarily chaotic. All the same, it was warm and I was glad to
take a dip in the rooftop pool at the riad where I was to spend the
next two nights.
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| Arriving in Marrakech - Koutoubia mosque in the distance. And remarkably organised traffic! |
Next morning it was time to
meet my local guide for the day. Mohammed was good company as well as
being informative. First stop was the Koutoubia mosque (old
demolished, new built next door with a change of regime way back
when) and the gardens opposite for a bit of a history lesson, which
obviously didn’t lodge in the brain for very long. Then into the
medina and a walk around the districts until we came to Palais Bahia,
built only 120 years ago, used as a family home, then offices for the
French when in power, now a museum piece.
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| Palais Bahia - intricate plasterwork in the archway, painted roof above |
Next up was the historic
mosque at Place Moulay El Yazid, dating back to the 12thC, restored
several times over the years, noted now for it’s 16thC
necropolises.
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| Necropolis of the 12 columns |
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| More tombs and mosaic tiles |
Meanwhile out in the garden
…..
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| .... Pollination |
But the fun really started
when we hit the souks. First it was the herbalist, alternative
medicine in other words. Who knows if it works? It’s hard to resist
the hard sell so I try for cheap and possibly useful, in this case
some cream for eczema for my daughter which came with (or did I miss
the up-selling?!) a small block of soap. It was all very colourful!
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| Colourful alternative medicines |
The next hard sell, which I
almost resisted, was at the scarf seller’s. Talk about a sob story.
I kept saying ‘No’ but finally there was a price I couldn’t
resist for a ‘silk’ scarf made of cactus fibre! Sale made, the
show was over and I was of no further interest.
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With scarf, Moroccan style - not the scarf I bought, mine is red and black |
Having been nicely softened up, it was off to the carpet seller – but he was never going to win this one. I simply don’t have that sort of money. First there was the tea to drink. While sipping, carpet after carpet was produced: which did I like best – well, I picked three; could I see it in my home – not one of them, even if I had the necessary dollars. “But Madame you are my first customer today and you bring me good luck.” Where had I heard that before? And no I didn’t, hopefully others, later, had bulging wallets for him.
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| Magic carpets |
Truth be told, if I had had
the money, I’d have gone for the leathergoods, some gorgeous
handbags!!
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| Wrought iron work, made on the spot |
The souks still house
working artisans but most were still on summer holidays. And there’s lots
of food, of course!
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| Dates and more |
One thing I learned ….
I’ve admired studded doors since my visit to Tunisia ten or so
years ago. I hadn’t realised that the patterns had meaning – this
pattern for my place, that for yours, much as people identified homes
in England by the patterns or pictures in fanlights above their
doors, in the days before street addresses and postcodes.
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| Studded door |
And one thing I know but
keep learning anew: for all our differences, there is so much we have
in common, wherever we live, whatever our race, religion, colour ….
Traipsing around for hours,
lunch on the run (a genuine kebab rather than the Aussie version) and
I was glad to get back to the rooftop pool!
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| Rooftop pool at the Marrakech riad |
Marrakech had moved on since
Evelyn Waugh and Brideshead Revisited and the mystique I’d imagined
wasn’t there. Instead there was a mix of old and new, souks and
still mysterious alleyways but also a bustling metropolis. Illusions
not exactly shattered, rather, readjusted …. all fascinating, and
to be here ….. so hard to believe, so lucky.
