Marrakesh, Morocco

I’m looking out upon dusty pink buildings, seperated by concrete walkways and chunky palm trees. In the distance the glow of floodlights attracts groups of teenage boys as they sing merrily in loud voices. I later find out Marrakesh are playing Casablanca at the city stadium.

So far Morocco has been a lot easier than I expected. The airport resembled the chaos sampled at The Queen Alia, in Jordan, with disorderly queues and hours of not much happening with little explanation, but this should be considered normal when visiting such places. A while later I found myself outside the airport trying to suss out the best option of getting to the hotel. I was a little wary of the taxi hustlers, mostly due to my experiences of trying to get a taxi just about anywhere in Bangkok, to which the drivers had their own agendas.

Here the price agreed at the start of the journey was not only fair but stuck to. The driver also knew where the hotel was and took me straight there, which is always a bonus! He also made jokes about ‘un cadeau pour moi’ which he recieved due to my relief at not having to suffer any scams. And with the most dreaded part of my journey over I arrived at Hotel de la Minara, with its beautiful Moorish decor and tranquil courtyard.

Still feeling a little apprehensive, I wandered down the main street looking for somewhere to have dinner. I stopped to ask a white couple who turned out to be French and they pointed me in the direction of a Pizza hut. Ironically it isn’t somewhere I would normally go at home and as much as I laugh at English people who go abroad and eat at McDonalds, the prices were cheap and it was starting to get dark.

The familiarity of the French language is comforting, as I am able to communicate on a basic level. It is a lot less scary than being in remote parts of Asia where no common language is shared. I like the Moroccan people. So far they have been warm friendly, and show definate humour.

I have barely encountered any of the hastle I read about, as a single female. It is difficult not to respond to a friendly bonjour in the street, but with the knowledge that once conversation is started it is very difficult to escape, I just keep walking. I have been careful to adopt the mannerisms of Moroccan women and in many ways I look quite similar with my dark hair and long floating kaftan. Here the men would never approach a woman on the streets if they respected her, yet tourists in their inappropriate tank tops seem fair game. I try to walk purposely, which is always difficult when you are lost, as not to attract hastle, but so far it’s working and I feel that I am starting to gain an insight into Moroccan culture.

***

This morning I had breakfast at the hotel and started talking to a group of travellers who are at the end of their Intrepid tour, and gave me lots of tips on bargaining, the various places they visited and seemed to have thouroughly enjoy it. I headed out and in the general direction of the main square, walking alongside noisy roads and sandy pavements, spotting my first internet cafe. I am told there are many. Anyway I shall continue exploring, and post again soon, with hopefully many exciting tales…