Escaping the Tourism

Marrakech, Morocco

Taking a deep breath... I feel pretty relaxed although there's still a tiny bit of tension in my stomach. I arrived in Marrakech the night before last. I entered the main sqare with an Italian guy I met on the bus. It was totally crowded with people with a huge cloud of smoke floating from the center. Upon closer inspection, however, I was very disappointed. There were tons of identical food, orange juice and dried fruit carts and stands. And bustling about in and around the stands were tons and tons of tourists. The area with the snake charmers and story-tellers were nothing more than a person sitting near a battery-operated lamp doing their thing, with people standing around. After paying a tourist price for a meager amount of food, I felt very upset that I had left beautiful, peaceful Essouira for this large African tourist attraction. And I missed the Moroccan friends I'd made in Essouira. However before going to bed, I journalled and decided I would keep myself open to having a great experience.
So yesterday morning, I went around from hotel to hotel in search of a single room, as the Italian guy had left early for a flight. I found one, put my stuff down and set off into the winding medina. Part of the Moroccan tradition is to barter for items, however this can be irritating as in most places, the first price they say is insanely high. Several times I felt very discouraged from even attempting to barter and I walked away. If they start high then even if you start relatively low, you bargain to the middle and you're still paying more than it's worth. I bought things, including some babush - the Moroccan pointed slippers. Eventually, when I was perhaps near the heart of the medina, I asked two little boys, one of whom wanted my watch, where I could find some food, the kind that locals ate. They showed me to a smokey, little intersection filled with holes-in-the-walls that had a stove or vat of soup. I approached one and ordered a little bowl of beans and bread. I then sat on my small, plastic stool and ate, alongside Moroccans. That is truly my favorite kind of dining experience. I continued meandering through the medina until I stumbled upon an area that wasn't filled with shops or tourists. Instead there were lots of locals working away at creating the things sold in the shops. I passed a man in an archway that I had seen earlier near the two little boys. He brought me back to the "studio." The room reaked of glue and it was a bit intoxicating upon entry. One of the guys offered me a seat and I watched as the four, later five, guys in the room cut, glued, hammered and sewed together babush. It was a little babush factory. I stayed for awhile, journalling and then shooting some video, with their permission of course. I decided to do a little act of abundance, so I went out and bought some pastries, one for each of them and me, and brought them back. They were very pleased and they had big smiles on their faces as they gnoshed on their treats. Later, I bought a scarf from a suit-wearing man whose shop was classy and clean, unlike others in the souks, thus making bartering a bit foreign. I realized that I overpaid, but I was okay with it. It was a pleasant shopping experience for once. I was glancing at some postcards, when a man inside the shop of the postcards offered me a glass of tea. My initial instinct was to decline, as that's often a tactic to sell things. However, I looked inside the classy ceramic store and saw four guys sitting around enjoying tea. So I agreed. I sat down and talked with them for awhile. They were extremely friendly and one of the guys spoke English very well. I showed them all the things I bought and they gave me the least amount that each would sell for... overall, I came out ahead. Although, I learned that my babush are not of very good quality and I must have better soles put on them in the US before I wear them. We continued talking for awhile and I asked about hammam, the Moroccan bathhouse thing. They wrote down directions for me and gave me a postcard with a picture of an archway nearby the hammam place. I agreed to meet Abdouaziz and he would take me there. So this morning around 10:30, I met Abdouaziz. I bought a bar of soap, a little bag of black, squishy soap, and a green scrubbing mit. Then I headed into the hammam house. I stripped down to my shorts and was lead into the hot room by my washer, Muhammed. He lathered me with soap and I sat on this insanely hot floor. I literally had to stand up every few minutes because it burnt my bum so. Then my feet would hurt, so I had to sit back down. Eventually, we went into the medium temperature room, where it was bareable to sit on the floor. He poured water over me and then proceeded to scrub me thoroughly with a previously purchased scrubbing mit. It was very abrasive though refreshing, as I laid there. I tried to stay present in the moment, but my thoughts kept wandering towards tiny bits of fear and regret. I'm really grateful to have met so many nice people and to be making friends in Morocco. I think the fact that I came here after being away almost two and a half months made it a bit more challenging... not to mention that I don't speak French or Arabic. However, this has been a very positive experience. I have been provided the opportunity to look at myself and examine some of my fears that have come up. Now I can release them. Although painful at times, it will be beneficial in the long run. And who knows, I may be living in Essouira at some point in the future.