The land of spicy hookahs

From Madrid we flew air Maroc to Marrakech, the plane was slightly scary being covered in arabic art and writing.

When we finally arrived, even the airport is distinctly Morrocan:

As we made our way over to the taxis, they were nearly jostling with each other to get the stupid tourists fare - we paid him 170 dirhams to be dropped off in the middle of a road with cars and bikes coming from all directions to be handed over to a man with a wheelbarrow. We found out later a taxi should be no more than 60 dirhams.

The man with the wheelbarrow took our bags and proceeded to walk in front of all the traffic out towards the main square the djeema al fna. This square is busy day or night but quite hard to take pictures of because if you take out your camera people are over to you straight away trying to get money out of you or drag you off somewhere.

In the middle of the mayhem are storytellers, men with monkeys, snake charmers, women sitting under umbrellas doing henna, people selling everything from dead hedgehogs and ostrich eggs to hats and wallets that looked like they had been stolen from tourists. It is also the main area for food stalls and huge carts selling fresh orange juice for 3 dirhams which is about 25 cents.

When we finally got to our riad which was down tiny dark winding streets, the man with the wheelbarrow also decided to rip us off, asking for 100 dirhams.

After paying him we were pleasantly surprised; stepping into the riad off the street is like another world. It was decorated in traditional Moroccan style with a pool outside, we were also served a breakfast the next day which for 18€ each a night is not bad.

On the seond night we ventured back out to the square:

Again, in Morocco, apart from the lady in our riad, the people were not too friendly. Everyone was always trying to get something from you which if you ignored, would shout abuse after you! Otherwise they were trying to nearly knock you down with their bikes which they race around on even down they tiny narrow streets with no rhyme or reason, people just drive wherever they feel like going.

The food though was an affair to remember; even cheap cous cous was delicious. On the last night we went to a restaurant that was obviously marketed towards foreigners, it would have been probably too expensive for locals, judging by the prices. The atmosphere was dark and secretive with mosaic-ed walls and service was provided by a waiter in a Fes hat. You could imagine it being a haunt for American expats a là Casablanca. I had a tajine there that was just the right blend of spicy and sweet served in the traditional dish.