Two days in Marrakech is enough for me.
Our sojourn in the mountains continued as we made our way to Marrakech, probably Morocco’s most famous city. The drive through the High Atlas was out of this world, full of elevated hairpin turns that were simultaneously enthralling and sickening. We descended the range and rolled into the “Red City.”
Without fear of sounding absolutely, ridiculously American, I’ll be unashamedly honest. As we drove in, the most exciting sights were the bare legs of women and the Starbucks. It’s clear Marrakech is a cultural departure from most major cities in Morocco due both to the exponential number of tourists and large permanent population of French retirees and expats. This is manifested in the clothing and stores you see, and the interactions you have with Marrakchi Moroccans.
But I’ll be unashamedly frank again when I say that Marrakech kind of disappointed me.
Whether it’s because I’ve been romanticizing the city since the moment I knew it existed, or because I’ve been continuously exposed to a less cultivated version of Morocco until now, I found Marrakech to be overwhelming in all the bad ways and underwhelming in all the good ways. Marrakech’s medina begins in a large square called Jemaa el-Fnaa, an open arena filled with various vendors and cafes. The medina and souk were aggressively chaotic, the street vendors much more pervasive than in Rabat, the snake charmers and monkey trainers a bit revolting, the harassers more blunt and crass than others we’ve had the pleasure of interacting with. I’m sure much of this can be attributed to Marrakech’s reputation as a haven for tourists seeking the exotic. Indeed we crossed paths with huge groups of European and American tourists milling through the souk, fending off eager shopkeepers.
Jemaa el-Fnaa at night is apparently a must-see, so we went back the next evening. I will admit that the square was a unique experience after dark. Circles of people around musical storytellers with various hilarious props, clusters of Gnaawa musicians, new and different shops that popped up in place of those that had been their earlier in the day. However we weren’t truly able to wander the way we wanted, as anytime we stopped to hear a story or listen to a small concert, we were immediately spotted and approached for money. This targeted aggression forced us to spend less than half an hour in the square.
On the upside are Marrakech’s historical sites. There’s an abundance of museums, ruins, and old palaces to see. We did, however, face a lot of difficulty in finding these sites. Other than the occasional street sign, there were no indicators as to where any of these places actually were in the city. We had to ask for directions multiple times, and essentially wander aimlessly until something looked like it could be a historical site of interest. The entrance to one of the most beautiful old palace ruins I’ve seen (Palais El Badii), was tucked away behind a huge collection of cafes in an alley. Ditto for a mausoleum with sixty members of the Saadi dynasty interred there.
It’s difficult to figure out why this is the case. We pondered the question quite a bit, both out of frustration and curiosity. Clearly people want to see these places - their beauty and historical relevance match Roman ruins in Italy, Delhi’s Red Fort, Alhambra. The Ministry of Culture states proudly that it has purview over all the sites. Yet while it would cost six Euros or more to get into the Parthenon, entrance to all the museums was ten dirhams, less than two dollars. In the palace, we walked freely on the original 16th century steps with nobody stopping us - something that would have most definitely been prohibited elsewhere.
I find that I’m making Marrakech seem pretty awful, and this is not the case. Plenty of people really adore the city and there are lovely things to see and experiences to have. The Majorelle Gardens for example. Bought and rehabilitated by Yves Saint Laurent and his partner, the gardens are a lush respite from the crowd and chaos of the city. There’s an Amazigh museum in the gardens, but it was regrettably closed for the curation of new exhibits (something we were all really miffed about, actually).
The most fun I had in Marrakech was not an experience unique to being in Marrakech. It was my friend Madison’s 21st birthday, so naturally we went out. The night began with sushi (don’t judge, I’ve had tagine literally every night for the past month). Then the lounge Gossip (“p” is emphasized, written in purple) brought her sparklers and flaming shots at midnight. We followed this up with ladies night at another club. Only damper was arguing with the taxi drivers who assumed we were tourists and therefore unfamiliar with the rates for taxis. We got in and out of two cabs creating a ruckus as we insisted on thalaatheen dirham (30) and they shot back saba’aiin dirham (70). In retrospect, pretty funny, but at the time, annoying as hell.
At the moment we’re heading to Essaouria, a beach town just two hours from Marrakech. It’s the last stop on the southern excursion.
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