So you know how I have absolutely no sense
of direction? You remember my first day here, when I got lost, frantically
trying to find my apartment, right outside my apartment. Well, it turns out
that when I’m not looking for something, I’m really good at finding it.
The day started off as usual, woke up, looked
at my watch, Holy Crap! How is it possibly that late?!?! You know the drill.
Determined that this would be the day I would finally master my neighbourhood,
I boldly got up and took a long, leisurely shower, courageously poured myself
some Frosted Flakes and intrepidly procrastinated on Facebook. Then my internet
died and I actually left the house.
To begin my great adventure, I wandered
down Blvd Mohammed VI (turns out that the touristy shopping street has a name, I
know this now thanks to Google Maps, not to any kind of actual of actual
signage!!!), to the centre commercial (outdoor mall type thing) which is apparently
home to brands with which I’m familiar: Zara, Mango, Etam…etc. Super expensive.
Comfortingly familiar. Unlikely to be patronised. Next!
I staggered onwards, the sun starting to set
my hair on fire, in search of the Guéliz open market. For reference, a brief
overview of my diet thus far: bread, cheese, water. Seriously, that’s it. I
desperately need some source of protein and vitamins, but the meat at the supermarket
has caused me to spontaneously become vegetarian and the fruit and veg are
either obviously rotting or have been turned into their respective raisin
equivalents. Thus, I was on the hunt for fresher produce and animal flesh. I
walked to the corner where Google Maps said the market would be. It was not
there. I have since learned that once you leave the US, Google Maps is wrong. Do
not listen to Google Maps. It will get you lost. Also, do not ask other people
for directions. They will also get you lost. They’re probably basing their
directions on Google Maps. Anyway...I thought, it’s a big market, it’s
difficult to misplace, keep walking, you’ll find it eventually.
So I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And
I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked.
And I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I walked. And I
walked. You get the idea. On the way, I passed 14,000 hotels, 6 bars and a
Pizza Hut. Then I came across a wall. You might even call it a great wall. It
gave off a very distinct aura of wallness, very fortressy. That is to say, that
it seemed to be very intent on separating 2 sections of the city, both
physically and idealistically. Then it hit me: I had found the medina.
[Short geographical interlude: Guéliz,
which I have referred to a few times, is the newer part of the city, built by
the French exactly 100 years ago when Morocco was a colony. It has larger roads,
European shops and expats (in theory. I haven’t met any of them). This is where
I live. The medina is the walled off older section of the city. This is the city
that existed before the French invaded and has remained largely the same,
despite the French influence. This is where most of the interesting, typically
Moroccan things, buildings and people happen. It’s a World Heritage Site and is
thus swarming with tourists.]
I crawled onwards, blinded by the sun,
brought to my knees by thirst, until I found...What? I thought this place was
impossible to find...Jemma el-Fna: the single most talked about tourist
attraction in Marrakech. A notoriously difficult to find square, packed with vendors
selling every imaginable food, animal and trinket. Surrounded by a maze of
trolleys and shops. Home to acrobats, snake charmers, and musicians of every
kind. Or so I’m told. It was almost 6pm by the time I got there, so everyone
had either packed up and left or was packing up and leaving. But that’s ok. Now
I know how to get there. And I’m going back tomorrow.
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