Here's a typical scene of the Chisholm family in Marrakech to the right: Brad seriously testing his navigational skills (we'll go into this later), Owen wondering what in the hell his parents were thinking when they said it would be a "wonderful" birthday present to wake up in Marrakech and looking at his papa wondering if he's going to get us out of this mess, Myles daydreaming about motoring like the nearly out-of-control Moroccans on motorbikes and me getting into trouble on the periphery. Our first experiences in Marrakech were those of true over stimulation; that being too many external stimulii experienced by the senses: sights, sounds, smells and taste (oh the spices!). Some folks do just fine with external stimulation (bring it on I say!)...and others, well, let's just say it leads to anxiety issues. This photo looks like we're in a tranquil environment but now take a look at this clip which is filmed across the street.
The clip is taken about 11am but already there is movement, sounds, smells and all kinds of distractions going on in the main plaza of Marrakech, the Djemaa el Fna. You want action? Come to the Djemaa el Fna at any time of day because it never sleeps. You will see snake charmers, Shilha dancers from the Atlas Mountains, drink fresh-squeezed orange juice, have a cup of mint tea, get yourself a new set of teeth, listen to tales being told in Arabic or Tamazight (Berber-the indigenous high mountain language) and even though you can't understand a word, it's entertaining. You know that the story has to be thrilling because all the locals' eyes are intensely wide. In the past the Djemaa el Fna was just that; a place for locals to meet family and friends and enjoy local flavors and tales of old. Who doesn't love to sit and listen to someone tell them a story of adventure and heart? Why are we moving away from that tradition? Maybe we think the stories we tell our children that begin with "Well, son, when I was a child...and, yes, I walked uphill to school both ways and in 5 feet of snow and we ate lentils for 6 months!" are our way of carrying on these traditions. It doesn't seem as though the indigenous folktales are quite the same. Capturing our children's imaginations is where it's at, don't you agree? My apologies for the monologue...
The clip is taken about 11am but already there is movement, sounds, smells and all kinds of distractions going on in the main plaza of Marrakech, the Djemaa el Fna. You want action? Come to the Djemaa el Fna at any time of day because it never sleeps. You will see snake charmers, Shilha dancers from the Atlas Mountains, drink fresh-squeezed orange juice, have a cup of mint tea, get yourself a new set of teeth, listen to tales being told in Arabic or Tamazight (Berber-the indigenous high mountain language) and even though you can't understand a word, it's entertaining. You know that the story has to be thrilling because all the locals' eyes are intensely wide. In the past the Djemaa el Fna was just that; a place for locals to meet family and friends and enjoy local flavors and tales of old. Who doesn't love to sit and listen to someone tell them a story of adventure and heart? Why are we moving away from that tradition? Maybe we think the stories we tell our children that begin with "Well, son, when I was a child...and, yes, I walked uphill to school both ways and in 5 feet of snow and we ate lentils for 6 months!" are our way of carrying on these traditions. It doesn't seem as though the indigenous folktales are quite the same. Capturing our children's imaginations is where it's at, don't you agree? My apologies for the monologue...After you your ears start to ring from hearing non-stop drumming and the resonating sounds of the double reed, instrument called a Mizmar; shown above (it's that sound that can either soothe you into a meditative state or drive you crazy, like the sound of a bee trapped in a bottle) you will throw the guide book away and wander into the Souks. Aaahhh, the Souks of Marrakech; we had a love/hate relationship with the maze of the medina where they were located. I was in love with them and transfixed, never wanting to find my way out of the maze only wanting to go deeper into the maze (which I did one day and got into heaps of trouble). Brad, after a couple days of haggling with the natives, assuring them we were not going to buy a silk scarf or metal door knocker, steered us into the outskirts of Marrakech where we could breathe a little better, well, marginally, as the moped and car exhaust left us thinking Morocco has virtually non-existent emissions controls. To this day, I wish to go back because there are still a few intricate passage ways I wasn't able to investigate! If I disappear someday you'll know where to find me. Here's a little slide show of some of the pleasures of the Souks.
Night seemed to arrive quickly while we wandered around Marrakech. After seeing the Saadian Sultan Ahmed el-Mansour ed-Dahbi's (say that fast 10 times) 16th century tombs (man has he got the Midas touch, as they say...), the Ali ben Youssef Mosque and the Cyber Park we decide to eat a bite at the eateries in the Djemaa el Fna. During the day, the plaza is open with the henna women and shoe-shiners and around 4pm the transformation begins to take place. Nearly dilapidated metal push carts are wheeled into the center, assembled and within a short amount of time (record time of 1hr) they are full on restaurants with multilingual waiters putting on their best show to sway you into eating at their stall. Our favorite was Omar's stall. He hooked Brad on his initial sales pitch: "What's up my homey?" "Hey my homey, come eat with me." "It's no problem, we make you good price." While his buddy cornered the boys and I with: "You so skinny!" "You have two children and so skinny!" "You eat good here!" "Does he not feed you?" Within seconds they had us laughing and seated next to the pig head stall nibbling on scrumptious olives and bread. Check out the movies below to get a little sense of the Djemaa el Fna at night. My apologies for the second clip moving so fast at times. Note to self: be more careful with what you eat next time you travel to Morocco. Try to remember that long night in the bathroom a week later even though the food looks incredibly tantalizing.
We had to catch the 19:45 bus back to our guest house, Dar Najét some 30 minutes outside of Marrakech; again another adventure. The outer city buses begin to fill up at 16h when all the kids are going home from school and continue to be packed, and I mean packed, chuck full of primarily men traveling home from work. We wanted to maximize our day and night so tried to catch the last bus. This was not a good idea. One, because it's so full and two, because there are no road side signs or bus stops so you have absolutely no idea of where to get off. Luckily our bus driver knew of our guest house and was able to yell at us to get off so we wouldn't have to use our fists to bang on the metal walls of the bus to request a stop like everyone else.
We needed our headlamps when the bus dropped us off in the middle of the farmlands beneath the Atlas Mountains. Once our eyes adjusted to the night sky we began to slowly make our way back down the windy dirt road. It was so quiet and smelled like fertile dirt; such a contrast to what we had just experienced for the past 10 hours in the city. The straw/earth home we slept in was owned by Narjét, the absolutely lovely Moroccan woman in this photo. We all slept like babies until the rooster crowed the following morning at the break of dawn (we didn't get up when he crowed just fell back asleep).
Chisholm quotes to end this blog...I'm having such a difficult time writing these past few days. A little distracted I suppose with life in Granada. I will try to get out the Morroco post #3 sooner. Please read the request after the quotes. THANKS!
"I'll stand the whole way if it means I don't have to sit on a lady's lap." (Myles and Owen both say this as we board a cramped bus into Marrakech. They had just spent the previous bus ride on women's laps who upon seeing them not having a place to sit, grabbed and pulled them to sit with them and proceeded to touch their hair, cheeks and arms as well as kiss them all the way into Marrakech).
"Why do they have to be so mean to the snakes?"
"Here comes the man shaking the coins selling cigarettes again."
"What year/make/model camel do you think we'll get?"
"Only the men are meditating, mom."
"Oh, there they go again....it's prayer time."
"This bus is doing really good. It only has one crack in the windshield."
"...Este es Africa." (sung in chorus by Owen, Myles and Mom trying to sound like Shakira)
"I wish they had pogo-sticking in the X-games."
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I have a question for those of you reading our blogs. I'm considering switching to another avenue for our "glob" of adventures and would love to hear your thoughts on any experience you've had with iWeb, wordpress, tumblr, livejournal, xanga or the one we use: blogspot.
THANKS!