A simple concept:
“I’m going to find a little store to pick up some water and snacks,” I casually mention as I head downstairs to the front door.
“Really? You? Are Going? Out? There? Alone?” Lisa skeptically calls, as I leave the front door of the Riad.
We arrived in Marrakech from Lisbon just a few hours before. I was anxious to explore the neighborhood and we were in need to supplies. Sure, the ride from the airport into The Medina, Marrakech’s ancient, walled labyrinth, was unlike any I’ve experienced. Our taxi oozed its way through impassable and impossibly narrow streets crammed with robe-clad men, veiled women, donkeys, carts, street vendors, street-side workshops, hanging carcasses of various animals and motorbikes, leaving us dizzily disoriented as we stumbled into our Oasis, Riad Sekkat. But I’ve navigated Katmandu, Chang Mai and Istanbul, so how hard could it be? Just 30 minutes later, with about $20 less in my pocket and no groceries to show for it, I realized it was harder than first contemplated! Welcome to Africa!
About 60 seconds after leaving the Riad and randomly deciding to go right, I was yelled at by a guy in his early twenties: “Mister, you’re going the wrong way! Where are you going?” The day’s light is yellowing and getting heavier as dusk sulks closer, and there’s a thick haze making every passage way before me appear dark, foreboding and unpromising. “Where you want to go?”
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“I’m looking for a market,” I naively state.
That lead to a 10 minute, fast paced walk through several very small alleys and streets that lead to a tiny store that sold… I don’t even know what. He hit me up for money, so I gave him 20 dirhams ($2.50 ish), to which he demanded more, I said no way, and he disappeared! I have absolutely NO concept where “home” is, I don’t have my cell phone, and there are no westerners or Europeans to be found anywhere. As if on queue, a new man appears, telling me I’m going the wrong way. I ask which direction a landmark is that adjoins our Riad, and he quickly beckons me to follow along… Back I wind through smokey passageways, low arches, past steaming street carts filled with snails, weaving past motorbikes and end up in front of my Riad once again. I pull out another 20 dirhams and he yells “150!!” I say no way, which, again as if on queue, 2 more guys appear at my shoulder and yell “100 dirhams for him!” I throw the 100 dirham note his way and they leave in a huff as I stumble with the key and fall back into the safety of Riad Sekkat.
Not the best introduction to the city, admittedly, however I found out the next day that these boys stalk on people like me every day. Pretty harmless, but completely tuned to the disorientation we foreigners can have initially to this particularly crumbly, ancient section of the Medina, they’re just making a buck. In the light of the next day, we quickly get the hang of the streets, learn who to ignore politely and who is genuinely interested in talking and helping, thus beginning what will most likely be a lifelong love affair with the most fascinating, vibrant, multicultural city of Marrakech.
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