Sound Theory :: La Calidad Since 2005

Sunday 4th April 2010 - Comments (0) - Add A Comment
Morocco: Part One



Or: How I Stopped Worrying About Buying Beer and Learned to Love Morocco



So yer man Hayes and I recently paid a 6 day visit to Morocco and, aside from an unsavoury three hours on the final day, the trip was such a success I thought I'd give it a short-ish review.

Arriving in any new country can be a disorienting experience, so getting dropped off in the kasbah part of Marrakesh's old town at half ten at night, in an underlit backstreet with people seemingly just hanging about*, was a slightly intimidating arrival. A poor sense of direction at the best of times, I was reduced to aimlessly wandering around the tunnel like maze*, armed with big tourist back-pack, hopelessly looking for the guest-house we had booked, and one which Neil, having arrived a few hours earlier, had assured me existed.

Eventually some kind soul took pity and guided me in. Still not sure if I offended him by offering a few coins for this kindness, or by the paltryness of the few coins offered. Anyway, I was in and that was generally the last of any feelings of unease for the week.

Day two was spent ticking off the two big-hitters of things to do in Marrakesh, at least in my opinion, I mean there are mosques and museums and things, but those sort of places rarely do it for me. As if to prove a point, we did actually visit some ruins – which were just that, ruins. So the big square El Fnaa is where all the action is: snake charmers, angry chained up monkeys, tired looking musicians and lots of stalls selling oranges. After walking round for a bit, we took the Poirot option and headed to a tourist cafe to overlook the madness from a terrace, sipping a refreshingly cold soft drink as we did.



We were back into the action for dinner though, having been told to experience the real-deal by eating at one of the food stalls in the square. Don't bother. Probably the most stressful experience of the week, with an army of waiters waiting to coax you onto their particular, numbered, wobbly picnic bench (“67 takes you to heaven. Luvvly Jubbly” - yeah pal). Pretty average food, expensive and waiters looking like they were going to fight each other at any moment – couldn't wait to get it over with.



Anyway, before all this we had spent a good few hours in the Souk, the covered market, mental...



(tbc)



*it turned out that hanging out in tunnel like maze back streets is a pretty popular past time in Morocco.