Marrakesh, Beauty and the Beast - A city with two very different faces

Before we went to Morocco, we had heard that Marrakesh was one of the country’s finest cities. Upon landing, as we saw the city’s brand new design airport, it seemed true. Yet, we had also heard another rumor on Marrakesh, one that was much less appealing. The city was known for lighting up all scam warnings in the book. Its nickname, Arnakech, which was a pun between the city’s name and the French word for scam, said no less. That rumor was true too.

Bargaining with taxi drivers had never been our forte so we had decided to get to the city by public transportation. We had just spotted a worn-out but comfy-looking bus waiting near the arrival hall and headed to it. All signs around us advertised a cheap ticket, costing 30 dirham. Our guide book advertised this cheap ticket too.

When we got into the bus though, the driver asked for 10 extra dirham. Uncertain of what to do and too tired to bargain, we just paid on the spot. The extra cost didn’t seem much but we should have known better.

The bus took us to the infamous Jemaa al Fna Square but our traditional riad was a long way from the city centre and we decided to skip the square to walk through the medina, all the way to our accommodation. On paper, finding our way through the medina didn’t look like a piece of cake. To be fair, we knew it would be like walking into a maze but it tickled our sense of adventure into taking up the challenge nonetheless.

Up to a certain point, we were fine. Walking through the medina was definitely like entering an alternate universe. Around us were craftsmen working with old-fashioned tools we thought had completely disappeared from the map, strapped donkeys were waiting for their owners down barely lit back alleys, conveying an aura of mystery. Eventually, and as expected, we still got lost.

I tried to urge Hedi not to stay stuck in one place, for I could see many eyes staring at us in the vicinity, only eager to offer their help, which would turn out into yet another scam attempt. Our GPS wouldn’t listen though, as disorientated as we both were. A group of youngsters approached us boldly, asking repeatedly for the name of our riad until we gave up and just gave it to them.
It turned out we were a mere five minutes away from the hotel, which was why we were stunned when our improvised guide asked us for 30 bucks. The bargain we had sworn to avoid was upon us and it was an angry bargain, even aggressive. Yet again, we gave up and lost 15 bucks in the process, along with some of our enthusiasm.

When night fell, we didn’t feel like facing the hustle of the medina again and just stayed at our riad to indulge in an overpriced lamb tagine with a teapot full of mint tea. Sure, it was as cliché as a 19th-century Orientalist picture but cliché has a certain reassuring way we definitely needed.

The medina was quieter when we left our riad the next morning. Hustlers didn’t seem up yet and the only people we saw were locals going to work, until we reached the touristy side of the medina and just blended with the herd of foreign tourists.

We visited all the right places to discover how truly beautiful Marrakesh could be. The Bahia Palace blew us away with its intricacy. The El Badi Palace, which looked like a fortress in the desert, was a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the city. So were the Saadi Tombs, whose magnificence left us speechless. Near the tombs, we stopped at a nice restaurant overlooking a mosque to taste a delicacy called pastilla, with the sound of storks croaking in the background.

Some of the museums we visited were devoid of tourists entirely, just like the House of Photography exhibiting ancient pictures which brought back the Marrakesh of yore. On the museum’s roof awaited a panoramic view on the city, its numerous minarets and enticing doors closing into traditional private houses, keeping their secrets from the crowd. Beyond the city, we could even see the mountains.

Just as we thought we had managed to escape the annoying side of the city, we made one mistake. Hours of wandering within the city walls had taken us back to the Jemaa el Fna square. What looked authentic and inviting on picture back at the House of Photography now looked soulless and even slightly gloomy. Snake charmers played their flutes out of tune. Monkey tamers trained chained, famished-looking monkeys. Street food smelled greasy while most stalls’ catchphrase was that we wouldn’t be sick after eating there. Quite engaging, wasn’t it ?

Eventually, we found an unassuming stall selling harira, a soup made of lentils. There were only locals sitting at our table. One of them started talking to us when he heard us speak French, without expecting anything in return but a friendly conversation. It was therefore an obnoxious change of pace when a woman came to me a couple minutes later, as I was waiting for Hedi to be served a lemon juice, and she offered to do some henna on my hand.

I refused once, then twice. On my third rebuttal, she took my hand in a commanding way and started drawing henna on it without the slightest care in the world. I froze, afraid that moving my hand away would make this mess even messier. When she was done with her drawing, she asked for 50 bucks. Not taking no for an answer, she got away with 5 and we got away from this place as an angry kid started yelling at us to make us surrender our lemon juice to him. On top of it all, the henna was so itchy that I had to wash it away with water. Its pattern stayed on my hand for a full week anyway.

The next day was scam-free. Yet, that wasn’t enough for us to want to stay in Marrakesh any longer. We had been warned. Marrakesh was both beautiful and exhausting. It had its bright sides, being an architectural feast on the eyes, but the atmosphere didn’t sit right with us.

Fortunately, that wasn’t all Morocco was about and the cities of Rabat and Fez had a more definitive way of winning our hearts later on our Moroccan journey.