Thursday the 15: I wake up and decide not to shower. I’m in Marrakech – really, what’s the point? I head outside the walls and on the way start to notice a number of unusual feelings coming from my stomach. But I’m heading toward nice parts of town, perhaps even with toilets with seats and toilet paper, so I decide to persevere.
On the way, I pass through King Abdullah’s Cyber Parc, a beautiful park with free WiFi and internet terminals. I try to use one, but it seems to be out of service.
I walk along the outside of Marrakesh’s ancient walls to Bab Jdid, supposedly the city’s best preserved gate. I think I may have been misinformed, as I am less than impressed. I still get stopped by a policeman who maybe makes me delete some of my photos.
I see my first camels, parked behind some cars.
The weather in Morocco is so perfect that the streets are lined with orange trees, loaded with fruit.
Get to nice part of town and am forced to pay 20 dirham for two scoops of ice cream so I can use their bathroom. I continue on, get a gyro (served in a baguette, how unusual. And still not as good as the one by Djemma el Fna) and use the cafe’s bathroom. I continue on to the Jardin Majorelle. Recently purchased and renovated by Yves St. Laurent, this is the most beautiful garden in Marrakesh. I wander around, walk through a museum of Arabic art, begin experiencing severe stomach cramps, and use the bathroom again.
On the bright side, I also take one of my best photos ever. I only had one chance to take this, as I feel a little weird about standing around snapping photos of strangers without asking, particularly in an Arabic country. I’m very happy with the result.
After the garden, I want to see the tanneries, but it is getting late and they’re on the other side of town. So I get a taxi. Despite bargaining him down to half his original price, I’m pretty sure I got ripped off since I paid 30 dirham and the driver offered to wait for 30 mins to pick me up afterwards and take me back for just another 10 dirham. Oh, that and the fact that as we pull out he grins at his friend, slaps me on the arm, and gives his friend a big thumbs up.
I still end up lost because my driver drops me off at the wrong gate trying to set me up with a friend of his who offers to show me the tanneries. I refuse on principle, though this may have been a mistake as this friend was the only guide I saw all day who actually had sprigs of mint to plug my nose.
The tanneries in Marrakesh still tan their hides in the old tradition. Which means using a lot of pigeon poop.
My understanding is that you can just wander right into the tanneries and start snapping photos, and so locals line the street offering to “show you the tanneries” for just a few dirham. To get someone who actually knows something, I was told to ignore them and walk into the tannery, at which point the owner would show me around, for a tip.
Unfortunately, it was nearly 4pm and the tanneries had already closed for the day for prayer. So after walking up and down the street three times, I paid a random guy 20 dirham to show me around two tanneries. Negotiated 10, but I actually really enjoyed it so when he popped the extra 10 at the end I happily gave the extra $1.50.
Getting a guide was actually more complicated than I thought. One guy who spoke fairly good English told me he’d show me around for 20 dirham. I told him 10 and said I’d come back. On the way back, I was accosted by a tiny old man who spoke no English whom I sent away, but he kept following me from about 50 feet away, presumably to collect a commission if I went into a tannery and bought something. Upon coming back to my first guide, the two of them them got into an argument over who I belonged to.
I tried to negotiate my first guy down to five dirham but he played his trump card and told me to go with the other guy. Damn! 10 dirham it is. But he dropped me off at a tannery and told me to go explore, I told him no, I wanted to understand what I was seeing and he and found he the guide I liked.
I saw an Arabic tannery, specializing in sheep and cow hides. The hides are soaked in lime to take off the hair, then pigeon poop so the ammonia can tan the hide, then a flour mixture to lighten them, and a few various other steps. Each soak takes week with the entire process taking months.
I also saw a Berber tannery, specializing in tougher camel and horse hides.
There are piles of fat trimmings that must be removed in the beginning of the process.
On way home, decided I wanted a jellaba, the traditional hooded robe of the Berber desert nomads. A heavy wool robe will be just the thing to curl up under on a chilly Seattle night. The first store I stopped at was a tiny hole in the wya far from the souks. The shopkeeper proposed 350 dirham, so I offered 75. Another guy came in while we were bargaining and I got them down to 320 before I gave up and left, following which it was back to the hostel to use the bathroom again.
Traffic jams in Morocco are a little different from traffic jams in America. Cars, donkeys, motorbikes, pedestrians – it’s all here.
On my way back, I walked through Djemma el Fna, again filled with the usual snake charmers, monkey handlers, and so forth. The “performers” here take panhandling to a new level, from harassment to straight-up intimidation. I met a few girls in the hostel who took a picture of a performer and were immediately surrounded by larger Arabic men yelling inches away from their face and demanding money for taking the photo. Like the old “windshield cleaners” in New York who would wipe your windshield and then demand money or threaten to break it, women will grab your hand and start a henna tattoo, then demand hundreds of dirham in payment.
So on my way back to the hostel I walked through Djemma el Fna taking pictures of everyone in sight, but without paying a cent. Turnabout’s fair play.
For every performer, there’s about five large men with him who scan the crowd, looking for the slightest hint of anyone taking a picture. By the time I got through the square I was followed by quite a few very loud angry men. To simply matters I only spoke back in Norwegian. One guy gave me very passionate “Fuck you!”
You can see him coming for me in the last photo.
I felt quite a bit better after that, and after emptying my insides in the hostel I was ready to get back out and bargain for a jellaba.
I decided I was willing to pay 150 dirham for a djellaba (about $20). Many locals wore them, and knew there was no possible way they were paying 150 dirham for them, so I was sure I’d find someone somewhere who would sell for 150.
The first few stores in the souks offered to sell at 500 or 600 dirham and laughed at my counteroffer of 75. One guy did offer one made from a much cheaper material for 150, but I wanted heavy wool.
Finally, one guy gave me a first offer of 200 dirham, which told me I was on the right track. I couldn’t get him under 180 dirham for a color I didn’t really want, but the next shop had the exact size and color I wanted and I walked out with a 150 dirham jellaba. Awesome. I’m getting this bargaining thing down.
The cool thing about Morocco is that every day gets a little bit cheaper as you figure what things are supposed to cost.
Afterwards I went looking for some mix to make the ginseng tea (hunja). I had one guy fill a bag with mix for me (street price several hundred dirham). I asked him how much tea it would make, he told me 20 cups, so I offered him 20 dirham, the price I’d pay for those 20 cups in Djemma el Fna. He wasn’t expecting that and told me to get out.
But the next shopkeeper agreed, quite quickly actually. I feel much better about my deals if my price gets declined a few times first. (Though I’m mildly concerned that the spice mixture may have been cut with something cheaper.) But I’ve got hunja, and that’s what matters…
Malcolm Gladwell writes about the difference between maximizers and satistiers. Maximizers will search for the absolute best product for their needs, or the absolute best deal on that product. Satisfiers just think, “Well, this is good enough,” and go ahead and buy. In the long run, maximizers do come out ahead utility-wise (slightly better products, slightly lower prices) but the satisfiers are actually happier.
One explanation is that if you’re a maximizer, all it takes is one person to find a better deal to ruin your day. All of a sudden you regret your purchase. But a satisfier isn’t affected in the same way. They bought because the product met their needs at an acceptable price, and that still holds.
I’m very much a maximizer, but I’m working on becoming more of a satisfier.
Markets like those in Marrakech are a maximizer’s hell. But the experience has been good for me. I’m very happy with my jellaba purchase and that’s not going to change, even if someone else buys one for 50 dirham.
