Written in the lovely air-conditioned hip Kechmara.
I left Azrou for Meknes last Sunday, spent Sunday and Monday nights again soaking up as much time in the RhoSho home as possible, then set out with the RhoSho clan and their summer volunteer helper Amanda for Rabat, where we stayed in the Hotel Berlin (not especially worth of recommendation, but context is everything, and it does have running water and toilets in most of its rooms). We wandered around near the shore (Atlantic, just in case you don’t have a map handy) Tuesday night and Wednesday until I carted to the train station my now rather onerous baggage (before it was just unwieldy and seemed heavier than it ought considering the frugality of my pre-trip packing; now it’s barely possible for one guy to walk any distance with it as I’ve added a crate of souvenirs – mine and Nat/Rod’s. I can’t wait to show off the authentic Berber carpets and impressive woodwork.)
My five hour train ride took me from Rabat to Marrakech, one of Morocco’s largest cities and known both by its less conservative culture and as a tourist magnet. Neither is something that pulls particularly strongly on me – far more enticing would have been a trek to the desert, or another few days in Azrou – but given the constraints of time and luggage, and the train which connects it both to Rabat, and Casablanca (where I end my trip in a just a few days), it seemed like an okay destination, all things considered. Plus I got a cheap (but not painfully uncomfortable) hotel.
I’ve done minimal roaming in my first two days here. The idea of a yet another market, and one known for its aggressive sellers at that, sounds rather off-putting. And I could tell right away getting off the train that Marrakech lives up to its hurly-burly reputation when I asked the taxi driver to use his meter (something I didn’t have to ask anywhere in Morocco) and he unabashedly told me, “No meter,” and then suggested a price that I knew was inflated by at least two or three times what the route ought to cost. But given that it was 9:30PM, and that even calling his bluff and moving on to another taxi meant carting my luggage like an oxen pulling a too-full wagon behind him, I paid the 50 dirham and didn’t lose any sleep over it. But at least I knew from the get-go that I was back I’d left “regular” Morocco behind.
Besides the travel-weariness that has contributed to my lack of exploration, Marrakech is hotter than just about anywhere else on this trek. Cairo would be a close competitor, but the nights there were a bit cooler I think than here. It’s not so bad as that I can’t sleep at all, or that I’d contemplate upgrading to a hotel with a ceiling fan or air-conditioning, but the heat is certainly oppressive.
Still, I’ve only got four days left on this trip, including the rest of today, so I want to make the most them. Tonight or tomorrow I plan to venture forth into the heart of Marrakech’s old city, and hopefully take in a hammam.
Hopefully, too, I’ll find some time to catch up on posts that I’ve been composing mentally for weeks but not managed to get typed and uploaded. And there are more pics and vids to upload, but that takes a more reliable wi-fi feed than I’ve currently got.
And now, my lunch of endive salad with walnuts, apples, tomatoes and parmesan calls to me.
