Plus ça change

by Tim Grimes


“The children are both away; where can we go to get some sunshine for a few days?” asked my wife. Of several offers on lastminute.com, Marrakech was the cheapest. On the way out, she asked: “Did you buy a guidebook for Marrakech?” I had forgotten, so I grabbed a Cook’s Traveller’s Handbook to North Africa and answered that we already had one. That was the extent of our foreknowledge of Marrakech.


Aboard the plane, my wife asked to see the guide book. It wasn’t looking good for me as soon as I noticed the price was 7/6d. The publication date confirmed my fate. It would be interesting to see how much had changed since 1933.

I should have preferred to have left London at midday by Imperial Airways or Air France. The passenger reaches Paris in the afternoon and entrains in the early evening for Toulouse. Hence a machine of Air France departs early next morning for Casablanca (10 hours) for onward road transport to Marrakech. OK, our plane from Gatwick took only 3 1/2 hours, but I suspect Imperial Airways et al offered a less disgusting experience than the scruffy Atlas Blue flight (advertised as 'Royal Air Maroc') with slow service, stale food and no safety demonstration or seat instructions.


I was not well prepared: Cook’s recommends that quinine should be carried and taken on any suggestion of febrile disorder, although I had remembered my pair of tinted spectacles.


Once arrived, I was proud to negotiate the price of the taxi fare to the hotel down from 300% of the price recommended by lastminute.com, to a mere 200%, and negotiation was to be the order of the day with taxis, and I became more successful as time wore on. It is worth noting that, even though a lower price has been agreed, the drivers can still be reluctant to give all the change, so I would work out, in advance, what combination of coins I should expect back. But taxis are still cheap and the tour bus is a bit pointless (even at only £8 per head) as it doesn't go to the more interesting places, and the rest can be done more cheaply by taxi.


Marrakech is divided between Gueliz, the European (new) town built during the French protectorate (1912 to 1956); and the Medina or old town.

Gueliz is devoid of buildings of importance says Cook’s; even the French-inspired PTT and municipal buildings of the 1920s appear to have been replaced, in the past 20 years, with undistinguished modern terracotta-washed lowish-rise built from the Gueliz quarry up the road. That disposes of the new town, although the Theatre Royal is worth a quick look for free i.e. Dh10 each to the 'guide' who will emerge e.g. from a ladder, paint pot still in hand

Djemaa el Fna is the centre of the old town. It is a large open space just within the walls of the old town, where old and new civilisations meet; once a place of execution, it is now a market and playground. Rather nondescript by day, after the trade of the market is ended, a gala begins, with dancers, conjurers, snake charmers, native gymnasts and musicians, around whom is a mixed crowd which includes transient visitors from the hills, the Sahara and the north.

Roads and alleyways radiate from the Djemaa el Fna, particularly becoming an extensive, and really scruffy, souk to the north east. The market traders irritate by approaching with remarks like "Asda price" to describe their wares; the sales pitch is in French or English and we soon learned to tell them that we were Polish. (That also works for the irritating 'guides' who appear from the shadows whenever the tourist slows to a reasonable walking pace, or consults a map.) There was some quite attractive leather luggage on offer, in the souk, but I just couldn't be bothered, so their approach proved counterproductive. Unsurprisingly therefore, the stalls seemed to sell about as much stuff as an antique shop in Warwick, leaving us to wonder how the stallholders fed their children.


In 1933 it was impossible for non-Moslems to enter mosques in Marrakech; that remains so today, and there was little point in trying. But beyond the souks, further north, is the Ben Yussef madrassa, rebuilt in the 1560s by the Saadian dynasty and which is open. The mosaics and plasterwork are notable and the courtyard is a beautifully modelled fountain - well, pond, now. The architecture in the madrassa, which was renovated in 2000, is very attractive, interestingly using a lot of cedar wood both ornamentally and structurally.


We avoided the Bad Doukkala, a massive square gate of note, like the plague, as it was adjacent (without the walls) to the leper colony.


There are 19 gates in the integral city walls, up to 6 feet thick. In the south of the Medina, the Bad Aguenaou (the Portuguese Gate) is of particular merit. A massive arched gateway, wrongly attributed to the Portuguese and carrying very good inscriptions. Perhaps whilst renovating the adjacent walls, with what appears to be a plentiful supply of labour, they will make the inscriptions even better, to more accurately describe who built the thing.


The tower at the Koutoubia Mosque (the mosque of writings), had been massive but rather dilapidated, at one time completely decorated with blue tiling and mosaics. The tower, one of the great monuments of Morocco, and now symbol of Marrakech, stands 230 ft high and was built in the 12th century for the Almohad sultan El Mansur by Spanish prisoners. The place has just been renovated - probably without the aid of Spanish prisoners, and the tower now looks magnificent.


I read that Summer is very hot. July, August and September being particularly exacting. We went in July and it was very exacting - temperatures were consistently above 45C (hot even for Marrakech) and one day soared above 50C. After the first day, we left the mid-day sun to the mad dogs and departed our hotel at 8.30am to see as many sights as possible before the heat became unbearable. This gave us most of the afternoon to laze at the hotel pool and bar. Visiting graves sounded a rather specialised pursuit, but the 16th century Saadian Tombs are supposed to be seen.


The approach is though a narrow and uninviting alleyway to a small but beautiful courtyard, beyond which is the Hall of the Tombs. Here the slender marble columns, the gilded cedarwood roof and the fine stone- and plasterwork should be carefully inspected; workmanship and general effect are splendid.

Well, fine, if tombs turn you on. I was rather underwhelmed, especially by the tombs of the, presumably lesser, immortals lying outside in rough grass. Apparently the tombs had been concealed by Sultan Moulay of the subsequent Alaouite dynasty and were walled off to prevent their discovery by intruders; they were located by accident, in 1917 by an aerial French archaeological survey.


We then saw the remains of the nearby Al Badi Palace, built by the Saadian sultan Ahmed al Mansour in the 16th century and based on the Alhambra Palace in Granada. It was ‘destructed’ only 100 years later, by the subsequent Alaouites, when the Moroccan capital moved to Meknes – together with the building materials used in the Al Badi. Like many other buildings in the city, the ruins had now been covered in a terracotta render. Ponds built into the ruins were all empty or stagnant, but it didn't put off the storks whose nests offered a bit of a photo opportunity, perched on the ruined walls.


Next door (more or less) is the rather more impressive Bahia Palace with its traditional riad courtyards (the palace of the Resident-General, in whose absence it may be visited, by permission, in company with an official guide). This is a rambling modern building, whose grounds include a Botanical Garden 1/4 mile square. The Court of Ceremonies is a splendid example of Moorish architecture and decoration, and the Rooms of the Favourite are noteworthy.

Built in the 1860s, for the then chief minister, it was extended 30 years later by his son and regent and subsequently looted. The wooden ceilings are particularly attractive, providing a chance to take pictures of the place without having to wait for the other tourists to get out of the way.


An impressive modern hotel now commands the Mamounia Gardens, The hotel may be visited and a particularly fine view is to be and from the balcony. Sadly, however, Marrakech's ‘Raffles’ and its gardens were closed for renovation on our visit.


We learned that native cooking is original and as a rule not distasteful to the European palate. Whilst that remained so, the heated-up pizzas and pastas were so distasteful that they didn't get near my palate. For safety (and some of the stuff offered in restaurants looked very dodgy), we ate largely in our 2 1/2 star hotel (i.e. where the rep sells tours on Tuesdays and the lady bathers wear tattoos just above the bikini line) not recommended here.


Cook’s suggests that at least two days are needed in which to visit the various points of interest, and a guide is advisable. I should say two days was enough; guides are superfluous, but appeared, unsummoned, wherever we went. We learned not to give money to anyone, especially children, offering to guide us – it simply attracted more of the same and I had no ambition to become the pied piper of Marrakech.


So, old Marrakech hasn't changed a lot in the past 74 years; the ancient stuff has just got a bit more ancient. The new town is even more devoid of buildings of note and the old town is probably even scruffier. I would say the pictures in today’s guide books are selective and flattering.


On our last day, we took the obligatory trip to the Atlas Mountains - obligatory inter alia because the temperature, now in the 50s, and not previously experienced by our young driver, drove us out of the city.


We were taken to the verdant Ourika Valley, through Oulmes to Aghbalou which had all the charm and traffic congestion of Cheddar Gorge on a bank holiday (except there are fewer buckets full of bleeding goats' heads outside Somerset butchers) and on to a mountain climb at Sti Fadma (the guide wanted Dh400; we settled on Dh100) where the riverside had an element of the Ganges on washing day. On that Sunday (Morocco keeps the western weekend), Marrakech was on holiday.


On the way, the incongruity of the dung-built walls and TV of the Berber house which we visited reminded us again that we were in underdeveloped Africa. Our embarrassment at taking photographs of someone's private hovel was relieved by an overpayment to the tenant because of the perennial shortage of small change.


We were taken to a hut where exceptionally versatile argan nut oil (cures heart failure and diabetes, can be washed with and keeps flies away etc.) was produced by a co-operative of single women. None could read or write. Apparently these automata passed the time in gossip and song as they cracked open argan nuts by hand and piled the kernels into a can. We were told that the fruit grows on high branches and is eaten by co-operative tree-climbing goats which spit out the nuts for collection by co-operative peasants and shelling by the co-operative women. Good story, but we wondered whether the versatility of the argan nut included hallucinatory properties.


At the next stop, a carpet warehouse, I was offered some quite impressive carpets for £80. Probably the best value of the trip, and I am sure there was still room to negotiate, but the cabin baggage restrictions saved me from an impulse purchase.


Our previous short break was to Istanbul. For a putative islamist, as my wife now thinks I am, would I recommend Marrakech? No. For general and historical interest and moslem architecture, try Istanbul instead: you can get in to see all their fabulous mosques, the people are less surly and avaricious, and their economic development is already a couple of notches above Athens.


First published in VISA issue 78 (Apr 2008)