The inflatable Santas struck a slightly discordant note among the monkey-tamers, snake charmers and henna-painters of the Djemaa el Fna. This 'square' is described in one of my guidebooks as the heart of traditional Marrakech, and certainly it is the place to which tourists endlessly return to get their bearings. There is always plenty of local colour. Admittedly it rather resembles a car park in which a rather half-hearted car boot sale-cum-fete is taking place by day, but it comes alive particularly at night, when the numbers of performers increases, and food stalls selling all sorts of Moroccan delicacies are set up. We were at something of a disadvantage on our first visit to the Djemma el Fna, as a constant supply of small change is needed to reward the entertainers or to purchase orange juice from one of the many stalls. Having sufficient small change was to be a constant problem during our trip, particularly as tipping is widespread and expected. Banks and hotels (there is a fixed exchange rate wherever money is changed) tend to issue only larger denomination notes (100 or 200 dirhams) and as prices are quite low, it can be difficult to get change for, say, two tickets to a museum costing 15 dirhams each (just under £1).
The holiday had been booked in an attempt to escape from Christmas, which so far had seemed to be succeeding. I was enjoying a café au lait at one of the many cafes adjoining the square when I noticed the aforementioned Santas being carried past. However, there were only two of them, and so there seemed no need for panic yet. I finished my coffee and set out to explore the medina.
Marrakech is very much a city of two halves. The old town, or medina, situated within the red city walls, is characterised by narrow streets, traditional buildings, and endless hassle from locals who want to act as guides or show you to their brother/cousin/uncle's shop "just to look, not to buy". In contrast, Gueliz, the new town, has wide tree-lined avenues, gardens and modern hotels. The two are linked by the Avenue Mohammed V, which runs from Gueliz down to the Kotoubia Mosque in the old town. My guidebook describes this as Marrakech's answer to the Eiffel Tower, which it is not, but it is certainly a useful landmark, or so I thought. The three golden balls on the top of the minaret were supposedly made from gold donated by a sultan's wife who melted down her jewellery as a penance for eating three grapes during Ramadan. It is a double mosque, as the first one built did not quite face in the direction of Mecca and so they built a second one to correct this error.
Wandering through the medina, we came to the Kasbah mosque, and realised that the Kotoubia minaret is not quite such a striking landmark as we had thought - the minaret of the Kasbah mosque is superficially similar in appearance from a distance, though not so tall. Not far from here is the El Badi Palace. Built in the sixteenth century, it is now a ruin, with all the marble and tiling gone, but the thick walls remain, providing a useful nesting site for storks. The contrast between the noise in the streets outside, and the calm of the courtyard within is striking.
We found a more intact version of a Moroccan palace, though dating from the nineteenth century, at the Dar Si Said Museum of Moroccan Arts. There are a few interesting exhibits, including a primitive wooden ancestor of the ferris wheel, but the building itself is beautiful, especially the reception room on the upper floor. The custodian was very assiduous and helpful in showing us round, and we were very happy to give him the customary tip at the end of our visit. The nearby Bahia Palace is built in the same style of decorative tiles and cool courtyards, and is home to a large number of cats.
Venturing to the north of the Djemaa el Fna, we eventually found the Marrakech Museum, housed in yet another palace. Exhibits included a display of traditional musical instruments and a temporary exhibition of modern photography. Also in the northern medina is the Medersa Ben Yousef, the old 'university'. The building, dating from the sixteenth century is also in the traditional style, but instead of palatial chambers, the courtyard is surrounded by cells where students used to study, three to a cell. The route to the museum and the Medersa lies through the souqs. These display a fascinating range of leather, metalwork and spices, amongst other things, but anyone wishing merely to pass through without buying should look straight ahead and keep going, as displaying momentary interest can initiate a bargaining ritual in which protestations of "just looking" are taken as tactics rather than the literal truth. Actually capitulating and buying something is also hazardous, as it can lead to an invitation to see the stallholder's brother's house - a beautiful house, admittedly, but full of items for sale.
One of the highlights of the new town, Gueliz, is the Majorelle garden. Created by the artist Jacques Majorelle in the first half of the twentieth century, the garden has now been bought and restored by Yves Saint Laurent. The garden is not large, but contains botanical specimens and cacti, wonderfully set off by the deep blue paint of the architecture. A pavilion in the centre of the garden contains a small exhibition of Islamic art. A very different garden is the Menara, adjacent to the airport, which consists of a large olive grove with a huge pool in the centre, overlooked by a pavilion. This pavilion also had a custodian who was very happy to show us around in exchange for the usual acknowledgement.
We took a couple of trips out of Marrakech during our stay. The first was to Essaouria, on the Atlantic coast. Our journey took us through different types of terrain, from the olive and orange groves on the outskirts of Marrakech, through an area of infertile, stony soil, to plantations of argan trees, a distant relative of the olive. This area is home to goats that climb trees (allegedly). A goat may well have climbed an argan tree in the past in order to escape from some perceived threat, but the tree-climbing goats are now so famous, they have no need to go to the effort of actually climbing. I am not sure who is the more exploited - the goats, who are unceremoniously thrust up into the trees by the goatherds, or the tourists, who present a captive market for the lucrative photo-opportunities as their tour buses halt by the roadside. I do not think that the goats suffer as a result of the practice. They just looked very bored. Argan trees eventually gave way to a 'forest' of Thuja trees, whose wood is used for carving by craftsmen in the town.
We strolled through the medina of Essaouria and were struck by the relative lack of hassle we experienced. It was even possible to go into a shop, look around and leave without buying anything, something that is virtually impossible in Marrakech. Orson Welles came to Essaouria to film Othello. We saw a small park that commemorates this fact, and went up to one of the gun batteries that were used in the film. Nowadays, Essaouria is particularly popular with surfers, because of the perpetual wind that blows off the Atlantic, but it was not particularly strong on the day we visited. Just outside the wall of the medina, I noticed some more, but smaller, inflatable Santas, but there still seemed no need for alarm.
Our other trip was into the Atlas mountains, to the Ourika valley. We went on Christmas Eve, which was a Monday, the day of the weekly Berber souk. Approaching the souk, we first noticed the parking provision - a field for the donkeys. Parking for four-wheeled transport was in shorter supply, as there were a number of tourist minibuses and cars. On leaving, our driver had great difficulty in reversing among the vehicles, donkeys and sheep. As well as providing a weekly retail opportunity, the souk includes refreshment stalls, necessary because of the long journey to and from the villages in the mountains, and Berber barbers. From the goods on sale and the majority of those attending, it was an authentic Berber market, but it is also popular with tourists, and some of the stall holders were keen to be photographed in exchange for dirhams.
After a traditional lunch accompanied by Berber musicians we were taken round a traditional Berber house. It used to be the case that no visitors were allowed inside a Berber house until the man of the house came home, and that if he arrived home and found visitors inside he would kill them, or so we were told, but times have changed. I felt rather uncomfortable about looking around someone's home in this way, but our guide insisted that the family had decided to open their house to visitors in order to supplement the declining income from their milling business following the death of the head of the family. The house had a central courtyard, on one side of which and open to the courtyard, was the kitchen, where couscous would slowly cook all day over the fire. On the other side of the courtyard was a narrow rectangular room with thick stone walls, that served as the larder/refrigerator. I cannot say how effective this is in summer, but it certainly kept food cool in December and I have felt the tomatoes to prove it.
Returning to the hotel after the Atlas mountain trip, we were perturbed to discover that two slices of what must have been the world's largest yule log had been left in our room. Downstairs in the dining room, the blackboard proudly announced that the day's special was roast turkey, a delicacy that we managed to resist. Until then the nearest we had come to Christmas fayre was the traditional Moroccan pastilla, a filo pie filled with pigeon meat and spices and topped with sugar and cinnamon that was perhaps a little like the original mince pies. Oh well, at least the inflatable Santas had not established a bridgehead in reception.
First published in VISA issue 45 (spring 2002)
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