Marrakech (Morocco)
I think it would be fair to say that my first 30 minutes in Marrakech was an instruction manual in what not to do whilst travelling. All things I should have known,are all things that I had decided to disregard. Well, there's someone in Marrakech that now has a Snowpatrol ring tone, lol. So, as Mr MobileStolen made an exit stage left, 1st assistant to the manager of Dar One Riad picked me up from a dark doorway of the alleyway where I was duped. At this point in time I was pissed, partly because this was mobile number three that had left my grasp in the last 14 months, partly because, well, BECAUSE I WAS SO DUMB !!
When we got to the riad assistant #1, whom I'll call Michel because his name escapes me, sits me down and decides to run over events. Questions such as, 'Why did you give him the phone?' weren't really helping my cause and only upped my level of internal anger. Michel then decides to lay down the good news as his 'informants' tell him that the person of whom I speak is known in the area, apparently I had walked pretty close to the riad and some of the local crowd who act as a type of 'front door security' had seen me walk by. Then Michel drops me a line that goes something like this, 'I think from what we know you probably have a 65% chance of getting your phone back'. Really Michel ? 65%, wow, that's great news, with the powers of your supreme deductive reasoning and obvious Phd in statistics you were able to generate me a favourable recovery rate percentage of 65%. I so wanted to say 'Michel, that was complete bullshit wasn't ?' but I didn't and for the moment I have to say that it did kind of make me feel good.
In my first few moments within the confines of Dar One riad I was totally oblivious to the design, feel and look of the place, all I wanted to do was unpack and then organise what I needed to do in terms of getting the phone cancelled and getting out the necessary messages to the people that would be calling me on the phone. After about 90 mins I headed out of the riad in search of an internet/international dial centre so I could contact who I needed to. The first call I was completely dreading. My Aunty is, shall we say, stupid in a crazy 'old folk' type of way, coupled with the fact that she's also quite deaf, it proves to be a lethal cocktail for my nerves when I need to speak to her in an informative, no questions asked type of manner. I go into the international dial centre loaded with coins and pre-programme my head to put the right questions to her. I know not to say that my phone was stolen, this would inevitably lead to 100 questions as to why this happened and my coin count just wouldn't go the distance with her rambling on about how I shouldn't have gone to a 'bad country' such as Morocco. The conversation my dear friends travels along in a manner closely resembling the following;
'Hi, it's Henry'
'Where are you ?' (Stupid Aunt)
'In Morocco, listen to me, I have an important message' (Already irritated person, aka, me)
'You're in Egypt ?'
'Morocco, MOROCCO' - (thinking how the f*** did she get Egypt from Morocco)
'What's the weather like?'
Now internally I'm already fuming, I need to get a message across and she's talking to me about the weather ! The small bag of dirhams that I have are being eaten up wildly by this phone and my Aunt if about to give me a nervous breakdown.
'LISTEN !! Call Tanja and tell her I've lost my phone and that they'll not be able to contact me'
'OH, you lost your phone, where ?'
'Bloody hell, can you tell them that'
'Where did you lose it?'
'F***, listen to me' (she's deaf, she wouldn't have heard the 'f***')
The phone clicks out. I start smashing the handle of the phone against this dirham eating monster out of the sheer torture that I just had to endure because of a mostly insane relative. The shop owner and the only other client in the store look at me like perhaps I should have been locked up. I give them a smile and ask them where I can change more dirhams, he decides that he can help me out, perhaps out of fear, perhaps for his own sheer amusement.
I go through the process of calling again. I get my message across but only after I tell her a number of times to LISTEN ! , and really, I was screaming. I walk out with some of my nerves in tact and decide that perhaps that now I'm in Marrakech I should check out the place. I had already booked in to see the Marrakechi police the next day, not out of any hope that they may actually get my phone back but rather so I could have an incident report filled out for insurance purposes.
Initial perceptions of Marrakech were that it was unlike Fez in its make up. The sights, sounds and smells were there but somehow the touristic element was pervasive whereas in Fez it wasn't. That's not an overwhelmingly bad thing, just that you need to make mental adjustments to overlook the local grab for the tourist dirham. It always amazes me when people say that they don't like a place because it's 'very touristy'. Well if people like you and I didn't go there then it wouldn't be! They're only feeding of what we bring and provide for them in terms of currency. Usually it's accompanied by the lamented argument that they require a 'unique' experience or require that they experience something 'authentic' ! Bloody hell, what's classified as 'authentic' these days !? My take on it is that any experience that you have is unique in the way you , as an individual experience it, you reflect, have your own insights, investigate and experience with all your senses in a totally different way to anyone else. It's very, very, very rare to do things or to go places that no one else has been before, so just accept that and enjoy your environment for what it has to offer.
....hmmm, I haven't touched on the 'Dream Police as yet', will mention them in my next update.
