2024 Morocco – Marakesh
Our flight to Marakesh was the first time we had flown Ryanair which charged almost the same for cabin baggage as for a seat. They did allow a small bag which had to be stored under the seat in front so we bought a couple of rucksacks sold especially for that purpose. It all sounds very mercenary but at least the prices were clearly laid out so we knew what to expect. I always found it frustrating when we never knew if they were going to be charged for excess baggage or not. Sometimes we would be five kilos overweight and they said nothing and another time we would be charged for two extra kilos, although it would at least be a reasonable charge. Now we know for sure that we will be robbed blind for anything over what we have paid for in advance so we are careful to keep within our allowance. One couple had to pay €90 because their underseat bags were a few centimetres too big. My only complaint with the plane was that they don’t have those little pockets in the backs of the seats and I hadn’t realised until then how useful they were. Apart from their convenience, what about sick bags? I had never had to use one but plenty of people do. If airlines are going to omit them they ought to include it as part of their sales pitch, “Fly Ryanair but bring your own sick bags.”
There was a bit of drama when we were on the ramp waiting to board the plane and a man was being led in handcuffs to the plane next to us owned by an airline called Flyone. Ironically, it looked like the plane was for the sole use of the prisoner.
It was a bumpy landing which you could hardly blame on Ryanair although Federika insisted on doing so. As vehicles were not allowed access into the main square after 1 pm, the taxi had to leave us quite a distance from our hotel but it wasn’t a problem as it was a warm, sunny day and the walk made a pleasant introduction to one of the liveliest places I had ever seen. 
Our hotel Art Place was tucked away in a corner of the main square and all that was visible was a large bronze door which was locked. We pressed a doorbell and someone came immediately to open it and show us to the reception. It was a Riad, which as far as I could make out, was just a small hotel. We were given a warm welcome with Moroccan tea in a small room with brightly coloured and elaborately upholstered furniture. It was once a private house owned by a rich family and in common with most such houses was built with windows on the inside of the property facing a courtyard. It was well decorated with so many beautifully designed seating areas that were probably hardly ever used. 
Our room was equally well-decorated and authentic while still having all the expected modern amenities.
By now we were very hungry so went in search of dinner. We stepped out of the hotel into a film set. The noise was overwhelming in an exciting way with live music playing everywhere and the sound of pungis, small trumpet-like instruments used to charm snakes. We were too hungry to look around so we went to a large restaurant called Hotel and Café France facing the square. We went to the third floor and sat on a table in the open with a spectacular view of all that was happening below but although the temperature was acceptable, the gusts of wind made it too uncomfortable to stay. We moved to the ground floor where it was still in the open but a little more sheltered. It was getting late and as we didn’t want a big meal we shared a vegetarian pizza. It took forever to be served and was one of the worst pizzas ever but at least we were no longer hungry.
We already felt stupid for ordering pizza on our first night in Marakesh but even more so when we walked through the middle of the square and found it full of great-looking street food. There were dozens of stalls offering various types of barbecues with everyone sitting on long benches.
The square that had been lively that afternoon had changed gear and was now heaving with activity. Groups of musicians sat cross-legged on the floor playing all kinds of strange instruments, many of which were handmade.
We stopped to listen to one group that had a man dancing in front of them. I took out my phone and started to record a video and within seconds someone came rushing over with a hat, demanding money. I would have been happy to donate a couple of euros but this man demanded €15. I thought he was joking so smiled and then he dropped his demand to ten euros in an aggressive manner. I walked away and noticed that no one was recording videos of any of the acts so I gathered that this was common practice. It was so stupid. If they accepted donations like every other place in the world, I was sure they would make a lot more money than by making exorbitant demands.
There were a lot of small stalls selling biscuits and little sweet pastries at €5 for a small box which was double the price as those sold in shops in the side streets. A lot of them looked like the same cheap biscuits sold in grocery stores. Federika bought a box and within seconds a woman stood in front of her with her hand out asking for one. It wasn’t done with a cheeky smile as you would expect but with a look that said “If you want to eat those on my street you have to give me one.” Of course, Federika was happy to share and if it had been young children asking she would probably have handed them the whole box but it was funny coming from this middle-aged woman.
I loved the haunting sound coming from the snake charmers but taking a closer look it was obvious that the snakes were mistreated. Some of them looked like cobras and were being provoked relentlessly by their owners. It is a fallacy that snakes are charmed by music as they can’t even hear it. It is vibration that they respond to although in this case, the response was not from the music but from being constantly whacked around the head. Assuming they weren’t nailed to the floor I couldn’t understand why the snakes didn’t just slither off and start biting people but from what I read, they were either too weak from lack of food or drugged. It was also hard to see monkeys being held with string to their owners but at least some of the monkeys did seem to show genuine affection towards their jailors.
A woman wearing a hijab came up to Federika and grabbed her hand asking if she wanted henna put on it. Federika said no but the woman was insistent and said “Just a little, for luck.” Federika reluctantly agreed and the next thing she knew her hand looked like it had been scribbled on by a child with a magic marker. Then the woman demanded €30. Federika only had €20 so the woman got angry but accepted it when she saw there was no chance of getting any more from me.
Under the bright light of our bathroom mirror, Federika could see how ugly the ink marks were and spent half an hour trying to scrub them off but to no avail. She had to accept she would be stuck with them for three weeks until they faded. I read that the black henna used by the woman contained a toxic substance which was banned in the EU as it was carcinogenic. Federika also saw that her new purse had ink stains on it from when she paid the woman so she would have to buy a new one. She knew she had been ripped off but quite rightly just shrugged it off as one of those things that happens on holidays that you can laugh about afterwards.
I had forgotten that when we first decided to go to Morocco I read a lot of online posts that warned of the many ways locals had of getting tourists to part with their money. Of course, this happens in most countries but it was the amount of money demanded and the aggression that was different. People warned about asking for directions from locals as they often demanded money for the service and got angry if you didn’t pay up. Now that it had happened to us in the first half hour we were better prepared for it in the future.
Next morning we were booked to go on a walking tour so made our way to the meeting point outside the café we had eaten the night before. It was supposed to be a “small group” so I was concerned when I saw dozens of people waiting around but it turned out it was the official meeting place for all the tours. There were around ten people in our group and our guide was called Hassan. He was very friendly with effeminate mannerisms and informed us instantly that he “loved this group” so of course we all warmed to him straight away.
Our first stop was the Bahai Palace built at the end of the 19th century by a rich Sultan for one of his wives. We went from room to room which were all empty of furniture and Hassan explained the purpose of each room. At one point we lost Federika and as the place was like a maze it was difficult for her to find her way back to us. I called her and she said she was “In the courtyard with the fountain in the middle.” There must have been 15 such courtyards so it took several attempts to meet up which we eventually managed but purely by luck.
Hassan seemed to know everyone and was continually stopped and greeted by friends. One man in particular with a similar effeminate manner gave him a big hug and announced to us “This is a great man. Very kind and honest and you couldn’t get a better guide, but I have to tell you he behaves very badly with me.” Hassan shrugged him off and we knew it was all very light-hearted. We were waiting for further details when he continued,
“He promised to give me haemorrhoids.” At that point, I was too confused to absorb the rest of the sentence. My medical knowledge was very limited but I was pretty sure haemorrhoids weren’t catching so I assumed the promise must have been for haemorrhoid cream but even that sounded unlikely. I asked Federika and she confirmed that she definitely heard the word “haemorrhoids.” Fortunately, there was a young couple from Tunisia in our group who lived in England so when I asked them if they had heard the same as us they laughed and understood the confusion. As they spoke Arabic and were familiar with the men’s accents they told us that the man had said something like “He is very bad because he always avoids meeting up with me.”
Next stop was the Saadian Tombs where a lot of kings, queens and various other big knobs were buried. They did their best to keep the location secret and it was buried under sand for years but now it was a fully-fledged tourist attraction although as part of a tour, it was a rip-off. We paid seven euros each to get in but our guide never told us that if we wanted to see the tombs we would have to queue for at least an hour so even if we were prepared to queue, we would miss the rest of the tour. None of our group chose to queue so we all paid the entrance fee for nothing. From there we went to a large herbalist shop where we were given a demonstration of herbs and their uses and most of us bought stuff. I was particularly impressed with these little crystals of eucalyptus. Just the tiniest piece put in hot water was enough to give an excellent steam inhalation experience and although I hadn’t had a cold for a few years I had no doubt I was due for one so I would be well prepared.
At the end of the tour, we went to lunch with the Tunisian couple who were able to talk to the waiter in Arabic and get some recommendations. We shared a first course which was something I had never had before and liked a lot called Pastillas. There was a chicken and a fish pastilla which were a bit like fried rissoles with some unusual spices. For the main course, we had the traditional dish, Tajim. It sounds exotic but it was really just meat and veg cooked in a special dish with a lid on. In my case I went for beef with prunes which sounded so exotic I thought there must be some other things with it but that was exactly what I got. No veg or surprise accompaniment, just beef and prunes although in a tasty sauce. There was some nice-looking bread but I was told the offputting taste was from not having any salt in it. Federika’s chicken tajin was excellent though and came with some veg. The couple were very good company and we exchanged phone numbers as they were determined to visit us in Croatia but I don’t ever remember exchanging numbers on holiday resulting in any further contact.
That morning at breakfast I broke a tooth on of all things, a slice of bread and it was really bothering me as it was cutting into my tongue. I was tempted to go to a dentist to get a temporary filling but was afraid that the outrageous opportunism in the market might extend into the dentist surgery and I would end up with a bill for a complete set of implants so I decided to put up with it.
The rest of the day was spent walking around the countless lanes and shops. It was a real battle doing business. I expected shopkeepers to inflate the price a bit and bargain but if someone offered me something at €50 and then dropped it to €10, as far as I was concerned, his first price was an attempt to cheat me and I won’t deal with someone dishonest. For Federika it was all part of the game and she was happy to go along with it. Leather seemed to be a big thing so we bought quite a few pairs of shoes for ourselves and friends and a much-needed new pouffe that Federika bargained down from 65 euros to 30. It was very pleasant walking around the small, never-ending alleys which were so full of people that we often came to a standstill and there was no question of walking side by side. Despite being small pedestrian alleys, the constant stream of motorbikes and scooters spoilt the experience. Imagine a narrow pavement in your high street at the busiest time of day packed with people but with bikes and scooters pushing their way through and sometimes going quite fast. A lot of the alleys were covered so the only place for the exhaust fumes to go was in our lungs.
That evening we went to the street food area that we missed the night before. There was certainly no shortage of choices and every few yards someone tried to pressure us into sitting in their area, even if it was full. We decided on a place and sat down on a long bench with paper tablecloths. 
There were lots of things to choose from on a large sign on the wall but we couldn’t see it from our table so it was a relief when the waiter asked if we wanted meat or fish and we were happy to leave it to him. I liked this option as you usually get the house speciality and it saves having to make a choice. We both ordered fish and a few minutes later it was served to us. It started with a small bowl of vegetables and then kept coming. A small plate of fish, some cous cous, some smoked herring and a few other things. None of it was very good but it was fun and I assumed it would be very cheap so we couldn’t expect much. When it came time to pay there was no bill, I was just shown some numbers added up on a mobile phone which came to €45. That was more expensive than at some of the best restaurants in Marakesh so yet again we had been ripped-off.
Next day we went to the Jardine Majorelle which was bought in a state of ruin in 1966 by Pierre Bergé who renovated it to save it from being turned into a hotel. He lived there with his business and life partner Yves San Lauren and what an amazing place it must have been to live in. It was offered as a package with the museum and the Yves San Lauren exhibition and I had booked the 11 am time slot. I was impressed at how well-organised it all was. Outside there were signs showing the half-hour time slots and people queued behind them. There was quite a long queue for our time slot but it went down very quickly and it didn’t feel at all crowded inside the grounds. The gardens were laid for us to follow a route and guides were there to ensure we followed the correct path. It was a beautiful setting with a wide variety of impressive-looking cactuses and a small memorial of Yves San Lauren and Pierre Bergé.
We had lunch in the gardens and then made our way down to the Yves San Lauren exhibition which showed a selection of the dresses he designed over the years. I am sure they were very good but they were lost on me. There was also a short black and white film which showed his life which I enjoyed although some of the dresses shown on the catwalk looked more like they were made to be worn for a bet.
Towards the end of the day, Federika felt like she was coming down with something so we limited our evening to dinner and a short walk before returning to our hotel. The Dinner was in a restaurant recommended by Trip Advisor and was not only excellent but it was the first place we went to that served alcohol. The first floor was for snacks and drinks and was packed while the second floor was a more formal restaurant. It was still early so we were able to get a table by the window overlooking the main square. We ordered and had just been served our first course when I smelt the old familiar and unwelcomed smell of cigarette smoke. I turned around and saw a woman puffing away, filling the room with her smoke. I had taken it for granted that there was nowhere left in the world that allowed smoking in restaurants but the waiter confirmed it was still allowed in Morocco. He was very understanding and moved us to the other end of the restaurant, promising that if any other smokers came he wouldn’t put them near us. The meal was great even though it wasn’t at our chosen location and I hoped that the smoker saw how much her habit bothered us but I don’t suppose she cared. It is amazing what we used to put up with in the past. Cinema screens you could hardly see through the smoke. Getting off a long-haul flight with a sore throat after sitting near the last five rows. Waiting half an hour for a bus that you can’t get on because there were only places upstairs with the smokers where it was impossible to breathe. Pub gigs where the smoke was so bad my eyes would sting until tears ran down my cheek. Clothes stinking so badly that even my underpants smelt.
By the time we went to bed, it was obvious that Federika was coming down with a cold and I woke up in the middle of the night with a panic attack so neither of us felt like waking at 6 am for our flight to Fez but we soldiered on. I often felt anxious for no reason but rarely had a panic attack which was ten times worse and happened for no apparent reason. Maybe it was because the room was very stuffy. I took a diazepam but it was still a while before it passed.
2024 Barcelona and Morocco
