Marrakech

Marrakech (Morocco)

Thus far the little phone drama that I had played a lead role in had been the 'highlight' of my authentic Marrakechi experience and in its eventful afterglow I had walked the smoke filled streets in a kind of a haze, oblivious to calls by various vendors asking me to come into their shop and check out their wares, 'Hola amigo', 'No mate, I'm Australian'. You know, I was going to have to make a little more of that Spanish look that I apparently had going. In any case I strolled back to Dar One, headed upstairs to my terrace room and just crashed out for the evening, tomorrow was just going to be another opportunity for me to be able to take it all in again.
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Day two in Marrakech, it was going to be a new day but first it was going to involve a stop off at the local police station for over two hours of nothingness.There I waited, outside the office of the Chief of Police, waiting to have my details taken down and the loss of my phone recorded, more than anything for insurance purposes. I've got to say, it was lesson in Moroccan bureaucracy, people wondering in and about, no order, no queues, not structure and there I stood, with my mate from the riad,waiting, and waiting and waiting. It sucked. I could go further into the utter stupidity of having to take my signed statement across the road to get it photocopied in one store and then stamped in another before bringing it back to the police to have it signed by them, a ludicrous authentication process if ever I witnessed one but stuff it, recounting the complete idiocy of having to do that would bore me also.

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Finally, police stop over, the streets of Marrakech were mine to own and check out for a few days. Considering that I was unable to make D'jemma El Fna the day before I made my way in the heat of the day to check out what was going on. It must be said, the square is enormous but the day crowd is basically made up of orange juice carts, snake charmers and the occasional henna artist also seeking to dupe you, which again, happened to me! Damn, these Moroccans seemed to be getting me at every freakin turn! And before I continue on with my henna tattoo story I'd like to say this. My first couple of days in Marrakech sound like they were awful and in some ways they were but on reflection, the sight, smells, great food etc, made this one of my favourite places of the trip, go figure! In any case, a Moroccan lady pulls me over to a small plastic chair and says, 'I give you tattoo for free'. You can see it unfolding already can't you, when do you ever get offered something for free? Before I have time to pull my hand away she starts drawing a design on it., and so she continues, up my arm and I start thinking to myself, 'Hmmm, that's quite a large free tattoo Ms Henna Artist of the Square'. As the lady finishes off, looking rather pleased with her work (or pleased with the fact that her scam was in motion) she says to me, 50 dirhams ! 'Oh f*** you', 'What for' ? 'Wasn't that for free' ? She points to a small couple of circles on my hand telling me that 'this part of the tattoo was free, the rest was 50 dirhams'. My blood is boiling, after giving my phone away, spending time in the sun at a Moroccan police station and being totally ignored, having to scream down the phone to my dumb ass aunty and now being duped by some freakin' Berber, I was starting to flip out. So I cut loose. I gave her my seriously pissed look and told her that thus far I'd only experienced bad things of Marrakech and she was contributing to the the view provided by several tourists that I'd spoken to telling me that Marrakechi's are the greatest of scam artists. There was just no way that I was going to pay her the 50 dirhams, I threw her 10 and walked away thoroughly pissed at being duped by this masters yet again ! So I headed into the markets to check out what was on offer, again ignoring anyone that may have been calling my name or referring to me as señor but as I walked and as my mind cleared I thankfully calmed myself down and really chilled the hell out. This was in fact their culture and being duped or negotiating a democratic price or having personal items stolen was all part of the deal and all part of being a tourist in their city. These are the things you remember from your journey and the elements that you end up laughing about and remembering with strange fondness months or years down the track. Once I accepted that I knew I had arrived  at a turning point and it was at that exact moment that I realised that Marrakech had really started to grow on me.
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After two hours getting lost within the markets and taking turn after turn, going deeper and deeper into a seemingly endless row of small shops I finally found what seemed to be the light, an exit back to the square. This is when I encountered a brazen young Marrakechi pulling off his best pick pocketing moves on two young unsuspecting English females. This guy was walking about 5mtrs in front of me, in a lane that had quite a few people and shops. He walked right up beside one of the girls and appeared to touch her elbow. At this point I'm walking just a couple of metres behind them thinking 'Oh, he must be their guide'. He unzips part of their pack and pulls out something like 50 dirhams, equivalent to $14-$15 dollars, he then casually starts making an exit stage left. For a few seconds my brain doesn't quite equate the act to being pick pocketed and I somehow try and rationalise the act but in the end I can't. I call out to the girls and ask if they had any money in their bags, they confirm that they did. After checking their pockets the person whom I saw getting pick pocketed realises that their money has well and truly travelled on the S-train to Copperfield world and they won't ever be seeing it again. Now this thief is only 50mtrs away and I'm more than happy to point him out to his victims. All three of us have a bit of a chuckle at the audacity of this guy and start following him knowing full well that the money is not coming back but more to press the point that he's been busted. It was from this point on that I realised that Marrakech was going to be a game of wits, a challenge of sorts and I was more than happy to accept the challenge and take these guys on. This is where the fun began.
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As the heat of the afternoon grew I checked out one of the many orange juice cart stands that surrounded the square. Most of these places charge 5 dirhams for a glass or you can simply have your empty water bottled filled when you feel the need. Now, I don't know if it was the supreme heat of the day  but damn, it's got to be some of the best orange juice I've ever had. Supremely cold, tasty and refreshing, I don't know how many glasses or bottles of orange juice I had in my time there but on each occasion, two or three glasses never ever seemed to be enough. As early afternoon came on I headed back to Dar One to cool my feet in their splash pool and lay out in my room for a while until I headed back to the square in the evening, because that apparently is when the real fun begins and when the square just bursts into life.