Marrakech, Morocco: Myth or Magic

Arriving in Marrakech

Arriving at Menara airport that serves Marrakech (or Marrakesh), I was delayed by one and half hours for passports to be manually checked. Be prepared to stand in line patiently – not easily done after an early morning start and the heat of midday heat.

I was lucky to have the patient chauffeur of my riad the Ana Yela waiting. I quickly changed currency into local Dirhams, which you have to buy once in the country. ‘Like the old days in Malta’, I thought.

A Step Back in Time

Into the sun and through buzzing lunchtime traffic we barged before taking the outer road around the 12 miles of red walls of the Medina. The many ornate ‘babs’ or gateways that protected the city from many attack flashed past.

We squeezed through one of the gates and suddenly I stepped back into biblical times. The donkey carts were the transport system - a moped for the wealthier. Parking, we walked the ever-narrowing alleys to the riad’s massive wooden door. My driver’s best piece of advice and please heed it ‘Walk close to the wall so you will not be squashed’.

The people are clean and so are the cobbled alleys but the poverty is tenable everywhere. Young children beg for sweets and the scavenger folk rummaged through the dumpsters.

Stepping into the luxuriously converted palace, Riad Ana Yela is a complete and utter contrast. The calm white oasis is quiet and cool. Greeted by white robed staff, who offered me refreshing warm towels and the traditional Moroccan welcome of milk and dates. The romantic honeymooners that stay here may not care for what is outside the door of number 28 but this is a place of love. Yela was a 16 year old who hid letters to her sweetheart that were rediscovered by the current owners, the Kolbs, during the year long renovation. Now a member of the Design Hotel Group it is an award winner.

After a short revival, I stepped outside to get my bearings: take a compass with you! The local children wanted to guide me for a few cents. However, I like to discover a new place under my own guidance. The dark alleys were not threatening and I felt quite safe at all times. I visited the local hole in the wall shops selling anything that would make them a few cents. I ventured into a donkey stable yard. There were bike repairers, tea vendors on bikes laden with a copper tea urn, strapped akimbo. I visited the local wood burning bakery and purchased warm flat bread for just two Dirhams (about 25 US cents).

At The Intersection of Myth and Reality

Finding my way safely back I rested before taking a petite taxi to the famous Place Jemaa El Fna as the sun died above the minaret of La Koutoubia, while the call for prayers sang out. The square is a UNESCO preserved site of culture. I cannot see why at all. It is a poor parody of town square life and I found not one genuine local that was happy to chat. I felt as though I was at Disneyworld and they were characters in costume wanting money for photos. The gaily-painted Berbers were aggressive but the night food market at the souk end was more orderly. The food was good and plentiful and they offered their menu and were very polite.

The next day to get over my disappointment I returned. The food stalls were gone and a few henna painters, one camera shy snake charmer and a miss mash of not too culturally correct Berbers. The horse carriages were waiting patiently for clients and they are good value if you haggle. It is one big tourist trap.

The shopping and the sights

The myth that things are cheap is like a mirage in the desert. With an experienced haggler like me, there was no joy in the experience and even at the best price; the deal was not good enough to tempt me. I went along to the local supermarket close to the rail station to bag a few bargains for my cooking lessons at the riad. I did purchase spices from the Kasbah were the locals shopped. The souk is for tourists and their attending guides.

Go for the experience and get out. There seems little cultural depth and mosques are off limits to me, a mere female. The site worth visiting is the Saadiens tombs that are so well preserved due to the fact they were bricked up until only recently.

I did wander alleys off the beaten track and found the foul smelling tanneries area. Not for the squeamish for sure.

Outside the Medina Walls, the Gardens of the red city are great to visit. With a pavilion and Lake Menara Gardens are ideal for sunset walks. The Majorelle Garden and home of the French designer is now a busy tourist spot. Go early to beat the crowd and have the enchanting space alone. The vibrant blue, yellow and orange pots clash with his verdant cactus garden.

The Berber villages in the high Atlas Mountains are the place to stay. Marrakech is only good for one day or two. Visit Fez or Casablanca or Safi for the real Morocco. And for winter sun and relaxation take the road to Agadir.

If it had not been for the wonderful stay at the Ana Yela, with the attentive and patient staff, Marrakech would have been a great disappointment. The cookery lessons by the Khadija in Ana Yela’s kitchen will stay in my memory for a long time. The recipes I shall recreate at home, as I try to recover from the myth that is Marrakech.

It seems the only way to do the red city is in the style of the 70’s stars.