(142-146): The Marrakesh Express

So, I know I’ve renamed the blog once already, but do I have to rename it again to (195) Days of Europe if I spent four days in north Africa? (199) is a much nicer number…

CAST OF CHARACTERS (in order of appearance)
--Andy
--Kirill
--Zohra
--Mustapha
--John
--Sally
--Tony
--Mike
--Laura
--Elaine
--Annelies

And I guarantee you’ll have a better reading (or, vicarious living) experience if you’re looking at these pictures at the same time.

(142) is Friday, 28 May 2010.

Kirill and I landed in the sunny evening and had a ride waiting for us to Riad Massin. Yeah— one sentence into the narrative and I’ve already got a recommendation. Find them on Hostelworld.com. If you go to Marrakesh (and you should), stay at this Riad. It’s a traditional house designed such that the outside is very plain: basically a stone wall, unlike the relatively ornate outsides of European and North American buildings. On the inside, however, is a charming open-air courtyard with a fountain, a chair and tables, and all of the rooms—rather than opening to the outside—open onto this courtyard. You get a very communal feel and the courtyard is much cooler than the outside (VERY important this time of year in Marrakesh). Funny enough, I had a frame of reference for this type of architecture; Cat’s Hostel in Madrid was designed the same way.

But more importantly, it is at the riad that we met so many wonderful people: fellow travelers with whom exploring the city became an adventure and passing the afternoon’s hottest hours in the courtyard became a highlight. And all that’s to say nothing of the staff, who are also incredibly kind and personable and know how to have fun with their jobs.

So: we sat down in the courtyard to a cup of mint tea (something else I encountered in Madrid)… I’m not normally a tea drinker, but Kirill and I fairly guzzled this stuff during our stay. So sweet, so warm, and so good. And the hostel staff will get you a pitcher whenever you like, free of charge. We had a brief Q&A about Marrakesh with a member of staff before going up to the rooftop for a bit.

It is here we meet Zohra, one of the (attractive) trilingual staff members, who signed me and Kirill up for a day trip the following day to the Ourika Valley in the environs of Marrakesh.

For dinner, Kirill and I went to the center of town, Place Jemaa el Fna (which I confused with “Danny Elfman” several times). This place is crazy at night: performers, crowds watching, brightly lit stalls selling food and spices and who knows what else. There are lots of bright lights from the stalls and smoke from the ones cooking meat; together, the visual effect is very cool. We weren’t brave enough to venture into that yet, so we found a terrace restaurant to eat. If you do eat at one of those terrace places (they’re okay, not great), make sure you pick one closer to the lit-up stalls and open square; the view is better.

As for the title of this entry, it takes its name from “Marrakesh Express,” one of my favorite songs by Crosby, Stills, and Nash. I would link you to it, but I couldn’t find a decent studio version on YouTube. But here’s my counteroffer. As some of you know, I make a music video every year, and I’ve decided that this year’s will be that song and video footage I took in Marrakesh. So, stay tuned.

(143) is Saturday, 29 May 2010.

Today was a big day trip into the Ourika Valley and nearby waterfall outside of Marrakesh. We actually started at a Berber house. Berbers are the people who originally settled in Morocco, but who have since moved into the mountains and generally keep to themselves. They’re atheist and supposedly very shrewd hagglers; if you start haggling with a really low price, the seller will sometimes call you a Berber in good fun (hopefully). So, at the berber house, we watched them make bread and mint tea* and then consumed this very tasty breakfast. Their olive oil was about as good was what we had in the Greek islands.

Our tour guide, by the way, was the incomparable Mustapha, who constantly made jokes, pointed things out, and sang “Hotel California.” Wonderful human being. Speaking of wonderful human beings, it was on this tour that we also met a few fellow travelers staying with us at the riad: John, travelling from Philly, as well as Tony and Sally, two friends on a grand tour of Europe, originally from New Zealand. Anyway, After the Berber house, we stopped on the side of the road. There were saddled camels waiting for us.

Party like a rock star. The ride was about half an hour.

So, we drove through the Ourika Valley, along a river crossable by several rope bridges either from Indiana Jones or the lava scene in Shrek.** We made it to the base of the waterfall climb, which—by the way—neither of my parents would have opted to do. It’s steep and has many interesting challenges in terms of footing, but it’s mostly shaded by trees, and the whole route (about half an hour each way) is adorned with stands selling food, soft drinks, etc.

I wouldn’t mention these except that all of the bottles of soda and such are chilled with this ingenious system. We’re going up to a waterfall, right? So, that means there’s cold water coming down, and here there's a network of hoses channeling this water and pouring them over bottles to keep them cool. And the water doesn’t stop there; more hoses carry that water down to the next stand and their bottles in need of cooling. Brilliant system, really. On a similar note, there are also cool-looking (and I'm sure difficult to build) aqueducts built into the mountains carrying the water elsewhere.

So, the waterfall itself: very cold, very tall, very picturesque. I got my feet wet, and of course Kirill dove in. Most of the others did as well (except for Sally, the only other person on the tour as sensible as myself). After hanging out there for a while and taking some pictures with each other and the other people there that day, we made our way back to the bus and drove to a restaurant for late lunch. Couldn’t tell you the name, but I could tell you that the tajin and couscous were probably the best I’ve ever had. The fruit plate for dessert was also excellent (including some delicious oranges).

Anybody here feel like this entry is too much blatant description and not enough clever? Yeah? Well, at least I'm not the only one who thought so.

So, we got back to the riad around 6, where Mustapha and the other staff members decide it’s the perfect time for a belly dance party. ‘Cause, you know, that’s just what they do. So, we all danced. Mustapha put on a burqa at one point.

(144) is Sunday, 30 May 2010.

Today, we met Laura and Elaine, two friends traveling together who had met on a French program this past semester. The four of us went to find the Tanneries, which is where they make leather.*** This sounded a lot cooler than it actually turned out to be… first of all, it was hot that day, so the smelly tanneries were even worse than usual. On our way there, we met a tanner whose colleague showed us around the place and gave us mint leaves to hold to our noses to fight the smell. It helped, but we basically looked like we were doing lines of menthol the whole time. Of course, there are worse things for your hands to smell like all afternoon than mint.

Anyway, after a brief walk-around, the guy ushered us into his friend’s shop where Kirill was persuaded to bargain for a pair of sandals. When we left, the guy who showed us around the tanneries wanted a tip, so we gave him 5 euro for the two of us. Laura and Elaine had left before the tour because the latter wasn’t feeling well, so on our way to find them, the first guy wanted a tip for guiding us to the tanneries. We ignored him; we had our map and were one block away from the entrance when he offered to guide us. We didn't need his help, and he didn't have to offer it without consideration for contract. So there.

Oh, and Kirill later discovered that his sandals smelled like the tanneries.

It was hot, we wanted to meet up again with the girls, and we were feeling a little crummy about having been hassled like that, so we headed back to the hostel for a bit. On the way, Kirill decided to buy a huge freaking watermelon, which the whole hostel ended up sharing. At the hostel, we met Mike (travelling from the states) and Annelies (taking a few days off before her exams in Spain, although she’s Belgian).

We eventually got dinner with basically everybody we’d met so far and a few other girls at the hostel. Mike and Kirill fought over the rotisserie chicken they shared. I had front row seats to that deathmatch. Oh, and somewhere in here, we got delicious orange juice from a stand in Jemaa el Fna (25 and 28 were both good)... fresh-squeezed, so cold, and so sweet that even the pulp was welcome. We made it back to the hostel around 1 or so and hung out in the tent on the roof for a while. It was, in a word, idyllic. And it was, in a few more words, exactly what I had imagined the Marrakesh experience to be.

(145) is Monday, 31 May 2010.

Today, it was all about the Souks. This is the center of all wheeling-and-dealing in Marrakesh, and it is awesome. Not only are these winding streets covered and thus out of the blazing sun all day (we stayed out from noon to 7 without a siesta), but it's an experience all its own. Shops and vendors are everywhere on the delightfully boggling network of passages between old buildings, and haggling is a must. I had been a bit nervous about this before we got started, but once I took my first swing at it, I really got into it. I'll narrate. Oh, and the following interaction was all in French, by the way.

After Kirill and Mike both bargained for letter openers (their grandmothers collect them or something) at this one shop, I took my shot at an Aladdin lamp for a souvenir. Nothing fancy, and I'd seen several, but this one had an opening-closing lid, so what the hell. Guy's first price: 100 dirham (10-12 US Dollars).

Oh, HELL no. For a little souvenir?? I counter with 15. He insists it's worth at least 85. "Look at the workmanship!" he insists.

It's tin, dude. Just like all the others on this street. 15.

He puts it at 75.

Nope.

He can't stand it! "Last price!" he insists. This is a favorite saying in these parts: it’s part of the ceremony. You’re supposed to give the absolute highest you will go on it, even if that’s not always what actually happens. The real point is that it’s keeping things interesting, the part where the stakes are up and the chips are down. Again he insists, "Dernier prix!"

I feel like I've answered this one already, haven't I? Any guesses on what I say next? Stick to your guns, kids; only way to hit your target.

"15! 15! Always 15!" he comments with the all-important exaggeration in his exasperated tone, "Make SOME concession here! This is how it works."

Possibly the first fair point he's made. Fine. 20.

"OK."

We shake on it. We shake on one fifth of his asking price. I am a shark.

And I don't mean to sound contemptuous or condescending toward that shopkeeper. On the contrary: I had a firm respect for him almost as soon as we got started. You see, thanks to the whole bargaining culture, shopping is like a game. In the best games, the two opponents are worthy and well-matched and each, recognizing this, respects the other for it. Moreover, in a sport where victory is measured by whether or not you’re happy with your final score—a sport where your attitude determines whether you win or lose—it really is how you play the game that counts. I smiled at the guy and thanked him as he handed me the lamp for my 20-dirham note.

Onward we went to the heart of the souks. Mike had bought a Moroccan style cotton shirt the previous day for 120 dirham (about 12€), which everybody agreed looked good on him, and the look of which I sort of wanted to emulate. I found a similar shirt and a pair of cotton pants (with pockets, no less!) to go with it, both in white, for 200 dirham (about $25 USD). Best pajamas (or Matrix attire, if you add sunglasses) ever. Kirill copied me and, because we got the same thing, he got to copy my bargain, too.

My last deal of the day may have been my finest, but unfortunately, certain readers of this blog named Roger Weiner won't have the requisite security clearance to know what I got until his birthday in late July. But I'm sure he will be tickled that the quality of the product is good and that I—my father's son—got it down to 50% of the starting price. Here’s how:

See, it’s all about the story. It was the end of the day and I told the guy that, after a day in the Souks, I didn’t have much cash on me. It was true, but with that much conviction, the strategy would have worked even if I was lying. So, I just talked up how much I liked what I was holding but said I physically could not pay more than _____ dirham, which, to be fair, wasn’t much. He dismisses my offer as crazy talk and drops the price a little, but I stick to my story: “I agree; it’s well-made, and my father will love it, but _____ really is all I have on me. Oh, well. Thanks just the same, though.”

I put the belt back and go. This is the crucial moment.

For those of you who’ve never heard of low-balling, it’s when you’re in the car salesperson’s office and they give you an attractive price on the car you want: $28,000, for sake of example. Everybody in the room is on board. But, the salesperson says, they have to check with their manager first. Then, they go outside the office, come back a few minutes later, and say, “I’m sorry, but my manager says the lowest we can go is $30,500.”

Chances are they spent those few minutes outside the office talking to their manager about the finale of Lost. And chances are that you spent those few minutes feeling pretty jazzed about that good deal and great car you were about to get. When you get that invested in a product and/or the process of buying it, you’re a lot less likely to say “Forget it,” walk away, and give up this opportunity. That’s how they make an extra $2,500.

The great thing about bargaining in Marrakesh, as opposed to the Acura dealership in Bethesda, is that this works both ways. The merchants get really into the process as well, so when you talk up their products for a while, make them think they’ll make a sale, and then make it seem like you’re going to leave, they accept some losses to bring you back, and you low-ball them. And damn, does it feel good!

So, as I put the belt back and go see what Kirill’s buying for Liz, the guy says, “Look, if you can borrow a few dirham from your friends, I’ll drop it to 60 dirham.”

“Mike, can I borrow a few dirham?”

“Yeah, man!”

I turn back to the shopkeeper. “Deal.”

After Kirill got some more souvenirs, the three of us found our way out to Jemaa el Fna and stand #28, home to more delicious orange juice. One glass in basically any juice stand in Jemaa el Fna is 30 dirhams (in USD, that’s about a hell of a lot less than it's worth).

Somewhere in here, I decided that Marrakesh is actually a lot like Las Vegas. There's a unique culture to it (though Vegas’s is painfully hard to find) and the big draw is anticipated return on your money. The big difference, though, is that I love Marrakesh and hate Vegas.

We got back to the hostel to show off our purchases. Kirill and Mike were buying like crazy for their respective significant others. Laura and several others commented that they're "worse than girls." We hung out for a bit, during which time we decided to explore the new city (outside the medina walls) for dinner.

That decision that sets me up to explain a little (operative word) of Marrakesh's historical background.**** Morocco was a French colony for a long time (which is why they speak it and I used it to get probably slightly better starting prices while haggling). French and Arabic are the two big languages (as in most places, English comes in close behind). There are also two parts to the city. The medina is the center, including the Souks where we haggled, Jemaa el Fna, the central mosque tower nearby, the tanneries, and the riad. It's encircled by a tall stone wall with an arch entrance every so often. The other half is the 'new city', the European sector, established more when France moved in and which is — big shock — built more after the fashion of a less awesome and less culturally rich modern city.

So, we left the medina and wandered until we found Le Charlot, a classy little sit-down restaurant with patio seating and a smart Charlie Chaplin theme to the decoration. The food was quite good, and I cannot stress enough how good a value it was. I had the most expensive item on the menu—a very good steak-frites with mushroom sauce—for 110 dirham (about 11€ or $14 USD). The location is-- as best I can tell on Google Maps-- here.

And after dinner and an epic photo-shoot on the Medina wall, I watched, for the first time, the Surfing Bird episode of Family Guy.

(146) is Tuesday, 1 June 2010.

I’ve really suffered you through a long one, so you’ll be glad to know we spent today back in the souks and Jemaa el Fna… just more of the same great experience. Tony and Sally left, so we had lunch (at Le Charlot again, because it was that good) and said our goodbyes. It was Marrakesh. It was great.

That is, it was great until early (147), when Kirill and his Russian passport weren’t allowed to fly to London.

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Footnotes

* They call the tea “Moroccan Whiskey” because everybody drinks it, but nobody, being muslim, actually drinks whiskey or any other alcohol.

** They better be serious about Shrek 4 being the last one, by the way.

*** Been a while since you’ve had a French lesson, I reckon… Tanneur is the French word for a craftsperson who works with leather. Thus, tannerie is the place where they work. Come to think of it, English may have borrowed this word.

**** Because, of course, you haven’t read enough of me explaining things recently.