While teaching in Prague for two years, I took the opportunity to travel to places that would have been much more of a journey from my home in Colorado. In 2008, my travels took me to Marrakech, Morocco. Rather than explore the more modern city, I stayed in the medina.

The taxi brought me to the edge of the medina, the ancient inner city where cars cannot enter. I moved through the narrow streets searching the walls in vain for street names. An old bearded man in a long brown djellaba or robe approached me and beckoned for me to follow. At the door of my riad, an old-style small hotel built around a courtyard, he put his hand out. I didn’t have any coins yet, so he gave me change and disappeared back into the maze of streets.

Unbearably hot in Marrakech in July, the riad was a lovely oasis in between outings. The courtyard garden was dense with orange and fig trees, thin hanging vines swayed like a curtain of beads in a doorway. Yellow leaves broke loose and floated lazily to the ground, scattered on floor tiles, couches and chairs, as if they were part of the decor. Birds chattered outside my second-floor French doors. A red rose petal appeared on my pillow each day. I indulged in a massage in the hammam one afternoon.

In the medina, men sat on the ground or on small stools calling out to shoppers, instantly engaging them in friendly informative chatter. The walls along the streets reeked of urine, perhaps more so than in other developing countries because there was no rain in this dry land to wash it away. Women were reluctant to make eye contact with strangers. I crossed Jemaa El Fnaa, the big square, to the souks, a labyrinth of tiny little streets packed with narrow vendor stalls, sometimes just wide enough to stand in. You go in and get lost; when needed, someone will point the way back to the main square.

Henna artists
In the souks
Closed shops

Once you stop to look and chat, you are offered a cup of mint tea and they charm you until you buy something, however small. Several vendors asked me to come back for tea just to talk. The herbalist called me sister, and added “Insallah” (God willing) after any discussion of plans or future. Said, the jeweler, introduced me to his father, who sat on a carpet on the floor, unseen behind the counter, polishing silver. We talked about our countries, some politics and compared cultures. He called me an ambassador of peace from America and wrote my name in Arabic.

I bought a small rug from Abdul, a young man who had studied at an English School and believes in the importance of education. “At the Arabic school,” he explained, “sometimes the teacher doesn’t even show up for a week. How can you learn?” He described how traditional Moroccan women, confined to their home unless escorted, put their lives into their weaving. I was invited to come for tajine with his family the next day. Lamb, vegetables, and lentils were cooked in a clay pot. We sat around in a circle in a little room above the carpet souk and all ate from the same bowl with the right hand (always an effort for me as a lefty). His father and brother were shy to speak and just asked questions.

Carpet souk
Abdul, carpet vendor

On my third day in Marrakech, I visited the three vendors I had come to know and shared another cup of tea and conversation. In Greg Mortensen’s book, Three Cups of Tea, he describes becoming friends with Pakistanis after a third visit. Perhaps three cups of tea (for women) was also a magic number here; I was propositioned by each of them. I was probably getting too friendly, compared with the behavior of women of the culture, who were careful not to socialize with men outside their family.

As the shadows lengthened, Jemaa El Fnaa turned into a night market. The cluster of fresh orange juice carts in the middle was joined by food stalls. Said had advised me not to stay late if I was going alone. I had coffee and desert just off the square and watched the commotion.

The snake charmers played music frantically. A handler yelled at one monkey who chattered disobediently. Some herbalists, who may be more like witch doctors, shamans or hucksters, called out from a crowd of spectators as they mixed potions for love, cures, luck, whatever you might be looking for. Groups of men gathered in tight circles; I suspected a con game was in progress but was reluctant to press in to look. A dancer performed to a percussion band. The smoke from grills hung in the air giving the landscape an eerie haze. It seemed like a weird scene from a Hieronymus Bosch painting.

Mosques were not open to visitors here, so Medersa Ben Youssef, the old school, was the next best thing. On the way out I thanked the attendants who asked, laughing, if I wanted to book one of the students’ rooms for next year? I protested that I would need a bed and pillow. “Ah but you will have a carpet. You must live like a student!” they joked.

Medersa Ben Youssef door
Medersa student room

I toured the section of the ruined Badii Palace that was intact, and the Musee de Marrakech, with its modern Moroccan paintings and sculpture and some historic artifacts. (I generally make it a practice not to photograph inside museums and historic buildings.)

Badii Palace door
In Badii gardens

More to come. Morocco series: Marrakech, Essaouira, Tangier, Chefchaoen

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Published by rkrontheroad

Writer, photographer, traveler

43 thoughts on “Marrakech

  1. Lovely to see and read about your adventures in Marrakech, Ruth. I was also there in 2008, in October to be precise. When was your visit? Some of those wonderfully flaky alleyways feel so familiar, I’m sure we must have shared a few footsteps here and there. Like you I look back on the herbal shops, snake charmers and drinking mint tea with a smile. Love your shot of the carpet vendor, it makes me wonder how the years that followed this photograph have treated him.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I wouldn’t be surprised if we almost crossed paths, although I didn’t see many tourists there, or at least that looked European, Asian, or North American. I was there in July of 2008, after school ended at Caledonian. 😊 Interesting to think of what Abdul’s life might be like now, a bright young man.

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  2. Love this! Your time in Marrakech brought back memories of my whirlwind 10-day trip throughout Morocco in 2017. Such a beautiful country, although for a Westerner like myself, the culture and environment were definitely overwhelming at first (with the traffic, people, etc). All the same, the architecture is incredible, the cuisine phenomenal, and the locals friendly (even if a bit pushy…). Can’t wait to read about your other adventures in the country soon!

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  3. The way of life is so different to a Westerner’s eye, the word “exotic” comes to mind. My favorite photo is of the elegant “keyhole” passageways above the tile floor – never seen the look before. By coincidence I was just reading about Harrison Ford and another installment of the Indiana Jones movies coming out next year. Admittedly, scenes from the films are my only association with Morocco (and were probably Hollywood sets at best).

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    1. I did love those movies, although now, not that many years later, the idea of snatching relics and removing them to “Western” museums is not condoned. Marrakech did feel exotic to me.


  4. Your images and text really convey the atmosphere of this amazing city and brought back lots of memories for me. I’m always wary of engaging with the stall-holders in the souks as I hate to give the impression I might buy something, so I admire the way you were able to make friends with some. The Jemaa El Fnaa at night is a magical experience and again you describe it so well. Looking forward to your other Morocco posts especially Tangier and Chefchaoen which I haven’t visited.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Those were shops where I actually did buy something. It opens the door to conversation, and then I felt welcome to visit again. I went to Tangier and Chef. more recently and didn’t take extensive notes (although lots of photos), so it will be a challenge to put that together.

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      1. The thing I find most difficult is browsing! As soon as I pause to look they are pressing me to buy and I feel guilty if I linger too long and raise their hopes. So I move on without looking properly and consequently buy less than if I had the leisure of a lengthy look around 🙂

        Just to see your photos of Tangier and Chefchaoen would be lovely, but I know what you mean about the lack of notes. I have some photos of places I can barely recall now, unfortunately.

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  5. So fabulous! I was there with you in the Medina, in Marrakech. And at the same time wishing to have this kine of experience in real life, even though I’ve spent time in the Medina in Fez. This brought back some good memories. Story telling and photos both quite wonderful.

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  6. It must have been a wonderful experience to enjoy that meal with the local family. I like the colourful tiles, oh and those doors – it’s unusual, but pretty. Marrakech seems like a place with endless opportunities of new discoveries!

    Liked by 1 person

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