You want to know what to expect when you arrive in Marrakech. Based upon my experience, it will go something like this:
You will have made a reservation at a “riad” inside the Marrakech medina. The riad will send you an email with its address. Because you are highly skilled with Google Maps, the world’s greatest invention, you will have no trouble finding the riad.
God will have laughed at your stupid trust in Google! Ha Ha Ha! God will have nearly split a gut from rolling on the floor and laughing so hard!
You will plug the address into Google Maps and give it to your taxi driver. The cab driver, who cannot speak English, will drive to the medina. Once there he will say something in French and point at a gate. You eventually will understand that you must enter the medina and fend for yourself. You will have to navigate 1700 acres of impossibly narrow streets,
dark alleys,
and what appear to be underground tunnels.
Google will send you through the spider web of streets, alleys, and tunnels. It will direct you to one dead end after another. It will have you walking in circles. It will tell you that you have arrived when you clearly have NOT arrived. Google Maps will become like Johnny Knoxville in those Jackass movies, always playing cruel pranks. God will still be laughing. Ha ha ha! God probably loves those Jackass movies.
You will not encounter automobiles. However, bicycles and motorcycles will approach you from behind and they will come at you head-on. Sound from the motorcycles will bounce off the brick and concrete surfaces so you will have plenty of time to hug the wall and not be bowled over. The bicyclists, those sneaky bastards, will come racing around corners without any warning whatsoever. But there is nothing one can do about the bicyclists. You will need to take your chances, just as they are taking theirs.
It might not have been so bad had your plane not landed at midnight. The sky will be overcast. It will be pitch black outside. You will be carrying a backpack. It will be heavy because it has your computer and a Kindle and a lot of other crap. You will worry about suitcase wheels as you pull your luggage over centuries-old cobblestones. Across your free arm, the one holding your phone, will be the coat you brought in case it got cold. You will look at your phone as you follow Google into dead-ends. Your wife will sometimes say, “We have already been here. That’s a dead end.” You will at first doubt her, and trust Google.
That will be a mistake, on many levels.
Moroccan people will see your distress and they will offer to help you. But you know what they really want is your money. You will not want to give them your money.
Frugality is not the problem. The problem is that you are a human man. You would rather walk until daybreak than ask another man for directions.
Ultimately one of the Moroccans will be more insistent than the others. He won’t speak English, but he will sign that you should show him your phone. He will see your riad’s name and nod knowingly. He will lead the way, walking quickly because time is money. Your wife, who has bad feet and bad knees and has not slept for about 20 hours, will find it hard to keep up. “Madame, Madame,” the man will often say while waving a hand by his knee, like he is encouraging a reluctant collie to pick up the pace on their way to a vet’s office.
You will find yourself stopped in a dark and dismal tunnel. Your guide will point to a sign. You will squint through the dim light and see your raid’s name and logo. The Moroccan will push a doorbell and hold out a hand. “Five euros,” he will say. You just paid the cab driver ten euros for a twenty minute ride from the airport, and that included a generous tip. You will not give this man five euros for a five minute walk.
You will remember exchanging money at the airport. The clerk gave you mostly bills, but also some coins. You know that one euro is worth ten Moroccan dirhams. The coins cannot be worth much. You will reach into your pocket and give him the silver. He will look up to protest but then look again at the money and scurry off as though he has just robbed a bank. You then will realize that you gave him substantially more than five euros.
Because the riad is accessed through a dark and narrow tunnel, one that looks like it may have been used as a bomb shelter during an especially devastating war, you are sure that this riad will be your worst hotel experience, ever, and that is saying a lot. You will be surprised by how little you care. You need a bed. You will hope only that the vermin are small because you are too tired to wrestle them into submission.
You will check into the riad and be pleasantly surprised. It will be well maintained, nicely appointed, and quite comfortable.
You will sit on the bed and formulate a plan.
When next you reserve a room, you will ask the riad to tell you which medina gate is closest to that establishment. You will insist that they give explicit directions from the gate to the riad.
The next day you will have breakfast, which is included with the room. It is not what you would choose for breakfast, but that is because you are not a Moroccan. It is served with charm and elegance.
After breakfast you will make a reservation with a riad in Essaouira.
When you arrive in Essaouira you will realize that you forgot to get directions. You will refer to yourself in unflattering terms. Your wife will say that you should be nicer to yourself. You will remember why you married her.
You will repeat the earlier ill-fated effort to find your way with Google Maps. This time you will not resist the first Moroccan’s importunes. He will take you around a corner and show you your hotel. He will hold out a palm. You give him a coin worth $2. The cab ride to this location cost $5 so you are sure $2 is plenty.
The man will not be satisfied. He will be at your side holding out a palm. You will ignore him. He will sidle closer and mime his displeasure.
A woman will open the riad door and let you in. She will not allow the Moroccan ingress. Once again, the rough and primitive paths to the riad will cause you to underestimate its comfort and elegance.
* * *
That, my friends, describes your first day in a Moroccan medina. Once ensconced there you will want to explore the medina, and travel to other cities by train, bus, or cab. Sometimes you will have to walk across busy streets. That may sound benign, but it’s not.
If you are in Morocco more than a week, and if you travel outside the medinas, you will have at least two or three near-death experiences. I will tell you about ours in the next installment, “More Rockin’ in Morocco”!