Morocco

I would call myself a seasoned traveler. I would call myself experienced. I would even stretch so far as to say I could be an authority on navigating new places. However, nothing could prepare me for Marrakech. It wasn’t that we couldn’t handle the frenzy or manage the chaos, it was day after day of prayer horns, solicitation, marriage proposals, and shady propositions…. that I just needed my calm home in the west. To be fair, I had been traveling for 2 weeks, thus nearing exhaustion before I even set foot in North Africa. Had I arrived in the cacophony of Marrakech first, I might have looked upon it with more affection. I found it to be full of amazing color and contrasts, rich with wonderful foods and tastes, intriguing with the many mazes of souqs and street markets. However, the city, in its toast to tourism, has lost its charm. White robed snake charmers lined the square of the Jemma Al Fna touting “dangerous” cobras & pythons. In reality, they were a sad representation of a lost art, their masters having sewn their mouths shut ….allowing them to die a slow painful death of starvation. Monkeys were being thrown on passerbys as novelties, while tethered with heavy and painful metal collars. Henna artists would grab the arms of women walking by, painting their hands with no warning or permission. All these touts would then demand 10 Euros for their “services.” Having already wandered the streets of remote Rajasthan in India, with friendly (and free) monkeys skimming by at my feet and cobras a thing to be feared & respected, I was less than impressed with the exotic “show” in the “big square” of Marrakech. I was actually angered by the outrageous display of extortion by the natives onto the tourists. In my opinion, it was not a good marketing campaign.



I've never not been fond of a location before. I’m usually able to find something rare, beautiful and charming about a place I encounter. I don’t know if it was the constant noise, the relentless touts, or the incessant chaos, but I never was able to truly see Marrakech. I think this in of itself describes the very blood that feeds the city. A blur of disorder, bedlam and commotion, it is something in which to be absorbed in order to see. The challenges of immersion certainly rang true as we explored this hectic nation.

We agreed upon a desert “trek” to the edge of the Western Sahara…not to be confused with the country the state department will not allow us to visit. Upon reaching Zagora by car, we continued by camel for another hour into the desert where we spent the night. It was the coldest night of my life. The stars were astounding, but far outshone by the cold. Seeing the sun finally peek through the tent after a long night of shivering, my first thought not being light, but warmth.

I would never presume to think that my amazing experiences were ones to ever consider taking for granted. I love that I’ve seen stars from the Sahara. I love that I’ve traversed a desert oasis. I love that my world is so big. I would never want to convey that I don’t find my experiences rich and full of blessings. I can’t fault Marrakech. It truly is what it is. I just personally couldn’t find the corresponding beat. I was always out of rhythm and never heard the song that so many find fascinating and magnificent about Morocco. I won’t say the colors, the products, the beautiful ceramic tagines aren’t marvelous displays of Berber wares, I just found that our personalities don’t exactly click. I would be willing to go on another date, maybe to the calmer northern city of Fez, where the chaos of Morocco I’m told is lessened. I hope for another chance encounter, but for now, a distant memory of pandemonium will be my minds eye to the beautiful land of North Africa.