It’s cold here in Washington, D.C.! So what better way to get my mind off the chill here than to reminisce about Morocco?
November 11: First day in Marrakesh, or I get schooled
Marrakesh has bit of an interesting airport. Maybe it’s because there’s a lot of construction going on, but as it is, I just picked up my bag, walked out the door and discovered myself in the middle of an unmarked tarmac. Essentially, I walked out a door and just like that I was in Morocco.
Eventually I found my way to the taxi stands, where there is a large posted sign saying “50 dirham to Djemma el Fna” (Marrakesh’s main square). I wasn’t prepared for how hard I would have to bargain to get that price, though. I was immediately grabbed by a driver who told me 150 dirham so I took my bag back and walked away but he followed after me yelling in Arabic so the next driver I talked to just quoted the same price and sent me back to the first guy.
Twenty minutes later, my driver stopped and said, “You get out here.” I looked around. No hostel in sight, just a huge mass of people and donkeys and motorcycles everywhere. He pointed to a kid with a wheelbarrow and said, “He take you.” I tried to argue, saying that I paid him to take me to my hostel, but his English and my French weren’t good enough.
Later I’ll come to understand that the taxis simply can’t get into the narrow streets where the hostels are, but at the time I was really frustrated. Thirty minutes in Morocco and I’m already getting screwed?
But the kid with the wheelbarrow said he’d take me for 15 dirham (about $2), so I figured, what the heck. I threw my bag in his wheelbarrow and we walked to my hostel, at which point I gave him 15 dirham. And he says, “No, FIFTY dirham.” Do I have a sign on me that says sucker? He looks about 12, so I just give it to him. Really, what else am I going to do?
Of this three week trip to Munich, Madrid, Marrakesh, London, and Paris, Marrakesh was the only city where I actually had to pay for lodging. Which makes you think I would have taken care of this long in advance, but no. So this first night is being spent in a hostel with some of the worst reviews I’ve ever seen. On the bright side, it only costs 8 euros a night and I get a free cup of traditional ridiculously sweet mint tea while waiting to be shown to my room. It’s really good. (The mint tea, not the room.)
My bed is literally a block of foam with a sheet on it.
The bathroom is a closet with a hole in the ground, a faucet, and a bucket. There’s no light in the bathroom, so if you shut the door you’re in pitch black darkness. I take a leak and am disturbed by the fact that despite being on the second floor of the building, the water level is about an inch below the surface of the hole. Am I really standing directly above two stories of raw sewage?
I take a picture of the shithole in my shithole.
I hide my computer as best I can (no lockers, no lock on room door, no lock on the outside door of the hostel, which I think doesn’t even close), write down the information for tomorrow’s hostel in case my computer gets stolen, and head out to the square.
It’s full of lights and smoke and stink and noise. Every few seconds a motor scooter flies past you at 20 miles an hour, inches away. Walls are falling down, exposed wires and plumbing and dirt everywhere. I feel like I’m on a movie set. This is great.
I see a crowd gathered to watch a couple kids boxing. I stop to watch, and a guy immediately passes me a hat, I throw in 1 dirham and he stops the whole match and makes fun of me. I throw in 1 dirham more (Why did I do that? Damn, these guys are good.) and leave.
I go to the street vendor to buy dinner and am told 13 dh for 6 lamb skewers. I say 10 dirham (look at me, bargaining already!), and he says ok. When they come, I give him 10, he looks confused, shows me menu which says 30. We “compromise” and he takes 3 skewers back off my plate. I do get another free cup of sugary mint tea at the end, though, and head back to my hostel for a fresh start tomorrow.
