Marrakesh

The sensorial cacophony of Marrakesh is all at once overwhelming and pleasing. Riotous with color, in the souks, sellers hawk everything from pottery bowls, bolts of cloth, lanterns, trinkets, shoes, tagine pots, baskets, and anything else a tourist might desire.

Apparently it is Moroccan custom to avoid showing any outward signs of wealth. So a simple green doorway with a fatima’s hand knocker gave way to a our extraordinarily beautiful riad on the outskirts of the medina. Many of these riads have an open-air central courtyard with a rainwater pool and sitting rooms off to the side while the bedrooms are situated on the second floor and overlook the courtyard from above. Traditionally Moroccan in style, it is yet another oasis for us to relax in our downtime. Waking to sound of roosters and the call to prayer during Ramadan was a reminder of where we were even before opening our eyes. Abdou and Sena were our hosts, making us traditional Moroccan mint tea and delicious morning breakfasts before setting out on our adventures.

While navigating the tiny alleyways and winding streets of the souks, you must keep your head on a constant swivel, especially with four kids (one of whom walks in zig zags), for mopeds that zip by, bikes, and donkey carts carrying produce. Price tags are not a thing here so unless you're willing to barter and negotiate a price, you say "la, shukran" (no, thank you in Arabic) and move along.

These last two years have been incredibly difficult for the the people in the souks. The lack of tourism and the desperation to sell something, anything is quite apparent, whether it's a photo opp for money or a trinket. In fact, Liam was a bit uncomfortable when a man draped a snake on his shoulder for a photo opportunity. That's where I draw the line!

As we made our way to the Jemaa El Fna square, snake charmers sit on blankets, playing a type of flute called a ghaita, while their cobras, sedated, sway and half-heartedly strike.

Monkeys on chained leashes clamber on the shoulders of tourists. I don't remember saying "Yes" to this monkey on my shoulder and yet, there he was. You can't help but laugh at the absurdity of your situation. Onora and Gaelan were surprisingly game but my older two, more acutely aware of the “injustice” of seeing a monkey on a chain, stood far enough away, in a show of monkey solidarity. Leaving the square, the smell of pee still fresh on my only sweatshirt for the trip, I hoped it would air out a bit.

However, our next stop was the chicken and fish market so I just traded one smell for another. In America, I'm used to seeing chicken in Harris Teeter, packaged in saran wrap and neatly labeled, really giving no indication of the "source" of my food. In Marrakesh, white chickens are tied by their feet, weighed and then promptly beheaded. It really brings new meaning to the word, "fresh." Carefully avoiding scattered chicken feet on the ground, we moved through the market, breathing through our mouths and sometimes not at all, if we could help it, while a wide assortment of feral cats waited patiently at the foot of the butchers for any scraps to fall.

We wound our way into the sunlight for fresh air past butchers weighing entire sides of beef, fresh fruit, roses, vendors making phyllo dough, cookies for Ramadan, herbalists shops, spices organized artfully in tall cones, pet birds in cages, and breads.

In America, we are a throw away society. If we don't like something, we donate it or chuck it. It's called "perceived obsolescence." We tire of things easily, those pants aren't in style anymore, the car isn't as shiny as it once was, there's a new model of dishwasher that has more bells and whistles. It's really quite shameful. In Marrakech, lines form outside of repair shops, to fix what is broken, and to upcycle what is salvageable. Our guide called these shops Marrakesh's version of "Home Depot."

As we neared the end of the souks and markets, we entered an old gate. As if by magic, the roar of motorcycles and voices died, replaced by the faint sound of birds and trees blowing in the breeze. My exhausted ears thanked me. Down a lane flanked by Seville orange trees, we entered the gates to the Bahia Palace meaning "Brilliance." Built in the late 19th century, it features lush symmetrical gardens, intricate mosaics and ceiling work, archways, and fountains. It is a place of respite in the middle of the medina to walk, think and take in the beauty of the architecture. Leaving this little bit of paradise, our lovely guide, Mohamed, led us back through the streets and dropped us off in the middle of everything, wishing us safe travels, good luck and loose directions back to our riad.

In the evening, we strolled along the streets, somehow finding our way to our intended destination: Le Jardin restaurant. Like walking into a tropical rainforest with palms, birds, and rain coming down from the open roof, we were tucked away in an alcove to protect us from the rain for delicious tagine (a dish named for the clay pot it is slow cooked in), couscous, keftka, and zucchini fritters. It was so good, we came back the second night. We warmed up with our mint tea and enjoyed out last night in Marrakesh before getting lost on our way back to the riad in the dark, witnessing a “cat duel” in an alley over some food scraps.

Up and out on our last morning in Marrakesh we bid “adieu”. of to see Sahara desert!