Never did it occur to me as we took our first tentative steps (you try navigating around the medina) out into Marrakech that only just over 48 hours later I would be careering around it on the back of a motorbike with a bag full of cash, most of it not mine.
But anyway, something must have happened to my sense of reserve and awareness of danger to get to that point. A slow drip, drip, drip, I see now..
We headed for Djemma El Fna. But on the way there were shops. Lots of them. Selling everything. And this wasn’t even the souk. The one selling sinks caught my eye first. I have never seen such an array of beatuful sinks. Gold ones, white ones, peach ones, ones with mosaics, shiney ones, all apparently glistening in the morning sunlight. I wanted one. I didn’t need one. I have all the sinks I need. I have never impulse bought a sink in my life….but, but..they were sooo pretty. It was as if the snake in The Jungle Book was being channelled through the sinks, singing “trust in me…..buy this sink…”
THANK GOD my friend spotted a shop selling scarves. And THANK GOD I am easily distracted. Off we went..and the scarves were sooooo pretty tooo…I wanted them…and I have actually impulse bought a scarf…but no. LOOK EVERYBODY. A SHOP SELLING TEAPOTS.
And they were soooo..etc etc….
Looking back, I realise now that I was being slowly hypnotised.
Sensual I’d call it. Marrakech, that is. Sensual. Full of beautiful things. Full of delicious aromas. Full of life and colours and sounds and something, Something you can’t put can’t quite see, but you can feel it. Just something in the air.
But, I digress.
I wanted a teapot for my mum. A gorgeous tiny silver teapot. But of course, this being Morocco, you don’t just pick it up and pay for it. You have to barter. And I just like picking things up and paying for them. Job done. Out of the door. I don’t even like taking things back when they don’t fit.
So, bartering….ok. Deep breath. I didn’t half get in a state about it. To be honest, the price seemed very reasonable to me, but I knew that protocol meant I had to negotiate. But what to? I was on HOLIDAY, why was I so stressed? So against all my British reserve I picked a random number. He picked another slightly higher random number, I picked a slightly lower number. He picked a very very slightly higher number. I said yes. I just wanted the teapot.
My friends seemed much more relaxed about it. I obviously had a lot to learn. nThey were busy buying this and that, and I was still on a teapot. However, finally, teapot bought, and me no longer a bartering virgin, we headed to the big square at the centre of the city. Djemma El Fna. Look it up, it’s in all the guidebooks. But some of them imply that its a little frightening. It isn’t..a little overwhelming at night, perhaps. But once you are used to that it’s like a magnet. You just keep going back. Well we did.
We emerged from the narrow, shaded, intertwining streets into a vast wide open sunlit space. And it was chaos. Just in a bigger space. Cars and vans were driving across it in a fairly random way, weaving around people and stalls, snake charmers and men with monkeys on the shoulders, ladies in burkhas selling henna tatooes, disorientated tourists (us).
Wow. Just. Wow.
We adjourned for coffee in one of the many terraced restaurants overlooking the square and planned our day.
We decided that we wanted to go to the Islamic School first. But we also wanted to go on a horse and carriage ride. Well, three of us did. One of our number had to be “persuaded”..To save time it was decided that we would ask for the horse and carriage not to take its normal route but to take us to the school.
Really, we should know better. Anyway, it was eventful.
Next. A Fairly unforgettable horse and carriage ride. Ooh the traffic!
