Marrakech Express

It’s 6:15PM and a man is thoroughly--but calmly--beating his carpet on a rooftop, while below, chaos ensues. Snakes dance to the sweet hums of various wind instruments and the gentle beating of drums. An old man, dressed to the nines, clutches his finest red hat while deeply carved wrinkles exaggerate an already animated face. He tells stories to enthused crowds of children, adults, and tourists--complete with cameras slung low off of their necks (the only time they aren’t firmly in their hands). All the while, smells and aromas of spice, roasted animal flesh, and oranges waft throughout the marketplace as people sit down for dinner.



I took a bus, boat, and train in order to get here. I think it’s the only time I’ve used those three forms of transportation during a single day in my entire life. Though a tiring day full of constant waiting, changes, and no food, it was a relief to find myself in Morocco, and ultimately in something completely different than anything I have ever experienced in my life--aside from a short stint in Northern Ghana. I chose to head to Meknes first, the religious capital of Morocco, in order to be somewhere further from my comfort zone. That’s not to say that I thought I would even be uncomfortable. It’s just that in a town like Meknes you’ll find less opportunities to run into a tourist, and therefore less touts (hustlers), less Westernized restaurants, and a population more firm in their Islamic beliefs. And honestly, I know very little about the Islamic religion, and the culture surrounding it in Morocco. Plus, I can’t speak any French at all, nor do I know any Arabic. Anyway, after a couple of days I feel right at home--aside from being unable to communicate without intensely exaggerated hand movements.


There is nothing like sitting in the back of a train, feeling the wind fly through your sandals, while you hope they don't fall off...


Yesterday, I took the Marrakech Express (it was actually just a train to Marrakech, but it makes me feel cooler to call it the Marrakech Express) to, you guessed it, Marrakech. I think that one would find it incredibly hard to not be enchanted with this city. After all, it has all of my favorite things: parks, markets, hustlers, bad drivers, beautiful mosaic tile work, fantastic buildings, cheap food, yard-by-yard of cloth, cheap sunglasses, and the list goes on... After only a couple of hours, I completely understood why so many hippies would migrate here in droves during the late 60s and early 70s. It just has that vibe.

Sidebar: I’ve noticed that a lot of the older people that speak English here in Morocco speak with an interesting English accent, using a lot of “hey man’s,” “it’s cool’s,” and an airy, lightheaded tone. I wonder why...

So the first paragraph pretty much described my first night and day here. I was consumed by the market and everything it had to offer. It’s so easy to get lost and to find everything you could possibly dream of in the same turn. Cheesy, I know. However, definitely honest.