First Impressions of Morocco

MARRAKECH, MOROCCO -- March 27, 2006

I have arrived! After a grueling day of transport from London to Gatwick Airport and then all the way to Marrakech a continent away, I am not quite sure what to expect.

From the plane I look out over an arid landscape peppered with boxy buildings colored the warm tones of earth colored by the setting sun. Palm trees dot the horizon, and the air is strikingly warm in contrast to the damp and dismal cool of London. I ask around until I find a group of travelers to share a taxi with me into the city. I have a small knot in my stomach, as this is where the finality of my Moroccan travel agenda ends.

We pile into the grande taxi, normally held until a group of 6 have congregated for the same destination. As we are not locals, the taxi driver will simply double, triple, or quadruple his normal fare and call it even. We drive along the dusty road leading to the center of all Marrakechi action from sunup until far past sundown, Djemaa el F'na.

It is here that the street vendors set up their stands for freshly squeezed jus d'orange, piping hot tajine, and a whole range of fried, dried, and otherwise prepared food for the masses. It is here that the entertainers set up their stage with a small umbrella during the daytime to offer shade from the sweltering sun, and with a small floodlamp at night to attract the meandering crowds. Snakecharmers, tambourine players, belly dancers, singers -- all congregate here on a scale which is unmatched anywhere else in Morocco.

Djemaa el F'na is what gives Marrakech its identity. So, from a distance, you hear the rapt of dozens of performers, all overlapping into some caucophany of sound. You see the dull glow of lights from the carts of the street vendors, diffused by the billowi ng smoke from the foods on offer. You smell the spices that waft through the air, tempting you to linger.

So here I begin my Moroccan journey. I thumb through my guidebook for a map to orient me, but feel too conspicuous, so I simply begin the wander. I soon find a friend, who is eager to show me to a better, cheaper guesthouse. Expecting that this is some kind of tout only after a meager commission, I follow half-heartedly as he guides me to Hotel Salama, where, after a look at the simple accomodations that can be mine for 50dH (a mere USD6), I agree.

He offers to take me to a nearby cafe for mint tea, which he claims is lovingly referred to as Moroccan whisky (Muslim religion forbids imbibing). I am surprised at how delicious it tastes -- freshly brewed mint sprigs in a bath of boiling tea-steeped water, with just enough sugar to make it taste perfectly sweet. From the cafe terrace, I look out over the bustling street below, which at 9:00 PM is still in full swing. After a brief walking tour of the vicinity, my new friend, Monir, introduces me to his sister who works just down the street, and then I am off for a night of peaceful sleep.

~Melanie