Morocco: Marrakesh, the Market, the Volkswagen

“To visit Morocco is still like turning the pages of some illuminated Persian manuscript all embroidered with bright shapes and subtle lines.”
—Edith Wharton

Driving opens a whole different world. When my daughter went to Morocco in 2017, it brought back memories of that completely different Moroccan adventure that Betty and I had taken over 30 years ago. Whereas Kim and her group traveled by air and stayed in nice hotels, our trip was made in a Volkswagen Pop-Top Van with a porta potty for the toilet and a black plastic bag we could hang on a tree limb to have a sun shower.

On the second day, we hired a slim, heavily mustached, 20-year-old dressed in blue jeans and a khaki shirt. His English was impeccable, and like almost all Moroccan guides his name was Mohammed. He took us to a local fair that was like visiting a different universe.

There were 20 horsemen in full tribal regalia mounted on magnificent Arabian horses on a field (approximately 250 yards long and 50 yards wide). They gathered at the end of the field and at some unknown signal charged en masse firing their rifles in the air all at once. It was spectacular![1]

After watching this performance repeated several times, we noticed several huge Arabian tents nearby, and with typical American audacity, asked Mohammed if we could see the inside of one. He opened the flap to reveal a group of 25 or 30 men sitting on cushions on a magnificently carpeted floor. Although they seemed to be engaged in a serious discussion, they stopped. They were as surprised to see us as we were to see them. There was absolutely no common language, but they let us know that we were welcome to a cup of tea, which we politely refused and exited.

Our trip had started in Paris, and we explored parts of France and Spain with our friends from Canada, the Bells. The two weeks the Bells were with us we stayed in hotels.

After we had dropped our friends off in Barcelona, the real adventure began. The crossing of the Straits of Gibraltar went smoothly, and Moroccan customs were slow but hassle-free. For the first two days, we were not even able to secure a map. Before we met Mohammed, we just headed south on the only road that seemed to be going that way.

Mohammed gave us a highway map and we proceeded without incident to Marrakesh and located a campground that was basically an open field with primitive toilet facilities. We were the only occupants, although there was space for at least 50 campers. In the week we spent there, only a few tent campers joined us and one day a huge double decker [k1] bus pulled in. We were never invited inside. Apparently, it consisted of sleeping cubicles on both levels and there must've been toilet facilities because they never used the primitive bathrooms and only stayed two nights.

The city of Marrakesh is as flat as a pancake, so I delighted in exploring it on the bicycle we carried on the back of the van. Twice we hired a driver to show us the local sights, which were interesting, but the most fascinating thing in town was Jemaa el-Fnaa, the central square, where there was action night and day. When I biked over in the morning the square would be full of colorful stands selling fruit juice and pastries. In the evening, Betty and I would return to the square, where the smell of a slow-cooked tagines, herbs and spices permeated the air.

Betty pointed, “Oh look, there’s a devil stick juggler, and a fire eater, and over there is a dentist actually pulling that poor man’s tooth! “

There are acrobats and contortionists and snake charmers. It is a mosaic of color, chaos, people, culture and history.

I was particularly fascinated by the water sellers, who each had a beautiful ornamental bag over their shoulder for selling what you hoped was pure water. Water sellers must have been essential in the days before bottled water, there was still a handful of them who seemed to be making a living. I thought the bags they sold the water in were so unique and beautiful I had to have one, so I started negotiating because, in Morocco, you negotiate for everything. I was willing to pay his asking price, but as soon as we started bargaining the other water sellers gathered around to kibitz and offer advice. We negotiated with gestures and sometimes we wrote numbers on a pad. It was all in great spirit and I was having so much fun I returned for three days in a row to continue the negotiation.

The Moroccon water purse I purchased.

Behind the square there is a maze of small shops selling everything imaginable, a surprise at every corner. Everyone wanted to bargain, and they especially wanted to make a deal for my bicycle. The day before we left for the coast, I bought my water bag[k2] . I cherish it to this day.

The road to the coast was two lanes and very windy. We were shocked when our left rear tire blew out. We could only get partially off the road, and I became very worried when the rather cheap lug wrench that came with the van would not move the lug nuts and, in fact, stripped one. A goat herdsman came along and offered assistance, but of course, could do nothing. I thought it was curious that as soon as he stopped his goats climbed a nearby tree to observe from the branches. Yes, a tree full of goats.

We were not unsafe where we were in daylight, but it was getting dark, and I knew we would be very vulnerable at night as there was no way we could get the van farther off the road. Then an expensively dressed man in a fancy Mercedes was kind enough to stop and offer help. We had no common language so after failing to get our lug bolt off, he indicated he would go for help. I had deep reservations, but less than a half hour later a tow truck arrived with the tools to change our tire and we were on our way. We camped on the street that night and went to the garage the next day to get a new tire and all our lug bolts lubricated.

The rest of our trip was anti-climactic and while we found the coastal area nice it could have been anywhere; it was not nearly as interesting as Marrakesh and the market.

[1] We later learned that the flurry of horses, riders, bright colors, dust and gunpowder smoke in a simulation of a cavalry-based military charge is the Moroccan tradition of Fantasia, also known as lab al baroud (Arabic for “gunpowder game”) or Tbourida,—a celebration of the region’s history and of the bond between horse and rider. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/destinations/africa/morocco/photos-fantasia-tbourida-equestrian-tradition/