Marrakech - The giveaway

 Marrakech (Morocco)

The train from Fez to Marrakech was approximately seven hours and some change worth of travel, not highly stimulating but not uninteresting either. The countryside as we journeyed south, progressively became more and more arid, turning into a full landscape of Moroccan desert an hour or so  south of Casablanca, basically it was what I expected to see in Morocco. Whilst my journey wasn't particularly eventful the people around me constantly kept me amused, especially the older Moroccan guy sitting across from me that was checking out both females in the compartment, BIG TIME. He wasn't even being discreet, he'd take his opportunity to stop and stare,catch the gaze of the woman who was the object of his affections for that 30 second period, smile and hey, that was it. He was obviously getting his rocks off but no real harm was being done. That's the one thing that surprised me in Morocco, although I'm not female so I couldn't say with absolute assurance but of all the articles I've read about Moroccan men being overtly sexual or crass, I saw not of that. This is coming from a totally male perspective, so really, what do I know? Not much, right!

The last hour into Marrakech was quite the challenge. The comfort level in the compartment was made challenging by the fact that the air conditioning was virtually not existent. There was air being pumped into the cabin but it certainly wasn't cool and I'd say the 40 plus degree temperatures hitting the carriages on the outside weren't assisting anyone. Needless to say, the food and beverage carts were doing a roaring trade and the cashiers must have been the most overworked people on that ride, at least for the later part of the journey. In any case, once we were on the outskirts of Marrakech I felt the nerves of my companions settle, I think we were all dreaming of a cold shower and a cold beer (or mint tea as the case may be), depending on what continent you came from and which God you felt inclined to pray to.

I jumped off the carriage and out into the scorching North African sun, ready to make a b-line for my riad and my evening date with Mr Heineken and his 3 or 4 relatives. Sometimes at this point I like to partake in a little bit of a game of cat and mouse, usually whilst at an airport or train station. A lot of the time you'll have drivers hawking their services and getting in your face from the moment you cross that invisible line from 'port exit' and enter their turf of private enterprise and city knowledge. Usually I deliberately set out to dodge the first five or six 'pretenders to the crown' and act as if I'm waiting for a 'local ride' before turning my eyes to the most honest looking driver I can find, usually some dude reading the paper or looking forlornly into the distance. On this occasion however I  did the complete opposite to my usual arrival set-up and took the first guy that was in my face when he yelled out 'Taxi ?', 'Sure mate, let's go for a spin'. I jumped in his cab, gave him the address details of my riad and we were off.

The first question I put to Mr Marrakechi taxi driver was how much the trip was going to be. I think he said something like 60 dirhams and my response was 'what, for a five minute drive' ? Why oh why did I decide to give my driver shit ? Why do I ever decide to do that? Does it really make any sense at all ? I mean he obviously has the upper hand in this transaction and could take me any which way to the riad, I wouldn't know any better. I mean, I had my authentic Lonely Planet map of Marrakech with me and to tell you the truth it didn't look like any sort of a hike but the driver assured me it was going to be a 25 min drive........so, just over five minutes later, we were at my destination (.....I knew I shouldn't have given the driver shit), and sure enough, the charge was 60 dirhams. The driver had driven me as close to the start of a one way street as he could get and now it was going to be my turn to use my internal GPS in order to find where it was that I should be heading. Now who do you supposed I called to my rescue? Why Mr Marrakechi taxi driver of course, and his response was to yell out something in Arabic and point me down the one way street that had a barrel load of traffic coming our way. 'Oh cool, thanks mate, I'll find it', knowing full well that at this point in time I was slightly stuffed. It's was over 40 degrees, I'm  feeling pretty weary, I'm carrying a 20kg bag that's weighing a lot more than that and I'm surrounded by enough sounds, smells and sights to make my head spin in an instant. Looking back at it now, it's a pretty fond memory to tell you the truth but at the time  I was just looking for a place to crash. So in an instant I randomly select another guy that's walking down the street and show him the pathetic map that 'should' be getting me to the Dar One riad. He virtually does the same thing as the taxi driver, points me down the street but this time says something in French that all my eight weeks at the Alliance de Francaise could not decipher.....'Man, perdu au Marrakech !!mtrs down this one way street and then turned a corner, this as they say in the classics is where the fun began !

 

There I stood, on a relatively busy street in Marrakech, looking around with map in hand, being scorched by the blazing sun and looking like the eternal Western tourist clichè of a lost dingbat, and yes, at this stage I admit that I was. The problem with Fez and Marrakech is that you really need a detailed map in certain areas otherwise you WILL NOT find your way anywhere - at this point I've got to say that Lonely Planet was about as useful as a packet of matches in the given situation. In any case a young Moroccan guy walked up to me and asked in his best broken English something equivalent to 'what's going on', I showed him the address I had written and said something like 'I go here'. So we walk about 50 mtrs before he turns to me and says that he doesn't know where it is, he then asks if I have the number of the riad, of which I responded that I do. I take the number out and give it a call, it rings through to the riad and I ask my 'Moroccan mate' to get clued in on where I should be going. After a few seconds he seems enlightened, we move on.

We take a turn down an alleyway and then another. There are groups of young guys watching me as I move past them, for some reason I'm starting to feel that this area is slightly shady. We take another turn onto another alleyway, even smaller that the last and on this occasion its one with nobody else on it. Now my brain starts critically analysing the situation, 'One westerner with $X amount of dollars, one dark alleyway in Marrakech, one tallish now dodgy looking Moroccan dude by my side, getting jumped for being a dumb ass....PRICELESS'. This was starting to become an authentic Moroccan experience and at that moment I was kind of preparing myself to be jumped by three or four other guys. We now stop and he says ' to me 'We need taxi', I question him on his desired mode of transport, 'Taxi ?', and then he mouths it like I was the biggest moron on earth, 'T-a-x-i'. Did I stuff up so badly that I could have possibly ended up on the other side of town ? I don't think so. He then asks me for dirhams and mouths in that same mocking way, 'soixante', for some reason it clicked in my head that this equalled sixteen dirhams when really it was sixty, so I pull out 100. So I know, I know, it's now starting to sound like a horror movie where the girl always runs up the stairs to the bedroom and locks herself in, or perhaps that car crash that you can't avert your eyes from, this was one continuous brain explosion for me. He now pushes me into a side door, looks me straight in the eyes and says 'wait', I follow him out and again he pushes me in and tell me to wait once again. I stop for a second as he walks down the alleyway and makes a left hand turn - it was at that precise moment, basically as I was seeing his back, that I realised the bastard had pocketed my phone much earlier in this jaunt and now I'd paid him 100 dirhams for the privilege - F***, you absolute DUMBASS !!! I don't know where my head had been for those few minutes but the guy  had virtually doubled me over in broad daylight and I had happily cheered him on! As the seconds and then minutes passed I grew more infuriated for the sheer fact that I could actually have been so stupid. Just as I was about to pick up my bag and try and make my way out of the Marrakechi maze a French guy walked past and asked what was wrong. I explained the story and told him I was staying at 'Dar One' riad, it just so happened that this guy was from 'Dar One' riad and it seems that in a moment that was tainted by audacity and opportunism that this little Moroccan thief had called my place of accommodation post flight in order to advise them of my whereabouts...lol....'thankyou kind Moroccan thief'! I guess that's a unique Welcome to Marrakech if ever there was one!