bonjourolahellowhereyoufrom?

// the common cry of the moroccan salesman

Morocco is indeed fresh air for the jaded traveller. Even Marrakech, where tourists abound, the magic of being in a vastly different culture washes across you, in the texture of everything you touch and in the timbre of every sound.

This post goes on forever so I'll break it up into sections.

people
Moroccans are cheeky, they smile their toothless smiles a lot and they all say hello, to everyone, all the time.

My first real encounter with Moroccans was on the train. I chose a compartment with two young girls in it. They spoke only French and Arabic so we didn't talk, but they smiled a lot and seemed friendly. Soon we were joined by others, eventually there were three women and five young men in the compartment. One of the guys spoke English and he became the translator, asking me questions on behalf of the others. They were all interested to know where I was from, what I thought of their country and a lot of other very random questions. The girls said that they wished I could speak French so they could talk to me. I was congratulated by one man on my choice of water, apparently I had chosen the best quality brand so I was obviously very intelligent. I was invited by three of them to stay at various uncles' riads or to go on this or that tour.

At the same station they all left and my compartment was immediately filled with a small family of 6. The father was a maths teacher and spoke excellent English, so once again there were questions to be answered. The kids ranged in ages from 2 to 11 and they looked at me and giggled a lot. The little girl was very excited to be the one who sat next to me. They taught me to count in Arabic (I only remember one and two) and then to say various words, all of which I have forgotten except for "Shokran" which means thank you. They shared their meal with me and all tried some vegemite, which was hilarious. The kids screwed up their faces and asked if I was joking about eating that stuff in Australia, and the father politely ate his piece but laughed when I said that no foreigners ever like it. They were happy, interested, kind and amusing. At one point I passed my camera around and the kids were in stitches taking photos of themselves and me. It really was a lot of fun.

Moroccans everywhere seem to be like this, they remind me of the Malaysians and Vietnamese in their mannner, but with perhaps a little less 'cuteness' about them.

The women seem on much more equal footing than we are led to believe. They laugh with their boyfriends, beat up their little brothers and wear what they like in the new town (but wear their hajibs in the old town where it's more traditional). Generally they seem happy enough.

accommodation
I am staying in a beautiful riad, a traditional Moroccan dwelling. My bedroom is large, with high ceilings and white walls decorated with lamps, silks, sumptuous cushions and colourful tiles. The bed is fit for a princess, complete with romantic white netting hanging from the ceiling; I've always wanted to sleep under one. Like all riads, the house is built around a central courtyard which opens to the sky. There are many many different tiles on the floors and walls, the bathrooms are plaster and there are lamps, lamps, lamps everywhere. It's run by a French expat who breaks every stereotype of his countrymen and is incredibly funny, helpful and willing to speak any language you ask for. It's a beautiful, peaceful place in a residential area, close to the main square but far enough away that it feels real. At 25 euro a night it's considerably better than anywhere I stayed in Italy.

ramadan
I am here in Ramadan, the fasting month. High season is over so there aren't many tourists. It's nice but it can also be annoying because I get a lot of attention.

During the day Muslims eat no food and drink no water. Some cafes remain open for tourists so it isn't hard to find food in spite of the fast.

Each evening at sunset, the fast is broken. As sunset approaches the streets are full of people rushing to get home. At 7 o'clock a cry rings out over the city and a siren (which I first thought was a cow) is sounded. The main mosque starts its chanting and then each smaller mosque starts up in five second intervals, giving the impression of a circular echo around the city. The day's fast is over.

Families gather together to share the traditional soup of the Ramadan called harira; it's made of a varying mixture of vegetables and sometimes meat. Even in my riad we share the harira together to follow the tradition and my host tells me stories about his experiences in Morocco.

In the morning at five there is the call to signal the start of the day's fast. Having one's days marked by silence and singing is actually very beautiful; a short time of peace before the chaos begins.

streets
My host tells me that during Ramadan Marrakech is a ghost town, which made me laugh because it's absolutely insanely busy! I'd hate to see high season. There is less traffic than in Vietnam but I feel much more at risk of being run over. The streets are brimming with touts, kids, beggars, shops shops shops, motorbikes, donkeys. Everywhere you go there are young boys telling you that certain (visibly busy) streets are closed but they know somewhere better, you can follow them, this way, this way.

I have been told several times that there is no hotel where my hotel is, that the big square is in the opposite direction (where the small one actually is), that the palace is closed today for Ramadan but there is a bigger one around the corner. "I will take you, I not guide, I not ask money, I just to help you." Hmmm. Their plan is to get you lost and then charge you to bring you to wherever you want to go, which is usually where you were to start with.

Taxi drivers do this too ‑ I met a couple today who were charged 4euro to be taken to the middle of nowhere and then charged 6euro to get back. Yesterday I encountered a very embarrassed and confused young Japanese man who had about six kids leading him around, I showed him my map but I think he was too polite to tell the kids to leave him alone. It really does pay to know your way in Morocco. Thankfully my host gave me an excellent map. Having been to Turkey also helps, the constant hellos can be tiring but there are no furtive bum grabs (ok, well only one so far), the men don't openly proposition you in the street and they don't chase you around...very much. One guy did try to sell me a chameleon and lots of boys have tried to sell me wooden snakes. I told the boys that I am from Australia and I have a real pet snake at home, then I told the chameleon guy that my snake would get jealous and probably eat it.

food
I am too scared to eat salad here, it almost guarantees diarrhoea. My host says that meat is always safe as long as it's hot. The food is excellent. Today I ate a tahini, which is a pot of chicken with potatoes and vegetables. It cost me about 5 Australian dollars and was excellent.

Yesterday's lunch was less satisfying but at around 3 AUD I wasn't too concerned about that. It's a great place for short term eating but trying to buy fruit and vegetables here would be hard, so I feel blessed that I'm not a vegetarian.

the souks
I have spent two days wandering the souks, telling people who want me to look in their shop that my mean nasty husband (Blake) is coming on Sunday and I am too afraid to buy anything without his permission. It's meant that I can get an overview of quality and prices without finding it too hard to escape. Blake doesn't know it yet, but his job is to be constantly annoyed with his silly wife who wants to buy everything at ridiculously expensive prices. My job is to be the naive little princess who will surprisingly drive the hardest bargain the seller has ever seen. (I may be better at the first bit than at the second.)

Unfortunately though, I can tell when something is good quality. I keep falling in love with antique silver Berber jewellery that has a starting price of 17000 dirhams, which is about 1700 euros. Considering you start the bargaining at half the starting price, no amount of pretending to walk away will ever succeeed in getting them at a price I'm willing to pay, even though they look like they're worth what they cost. I am taking photos of things instead.

I've managed to talk myself out of pretty much everything I originally had my eye on, so it's a good thing that I'm taking my time. However, today I made my first purchase...

bargaining
I found four little brass oil burners that I adored, and which were much nicer than any I had seen over the past two days. The bargaining process was actually quite fun. In Turkey it can be quite agressive but here it's treated like a game. The shop keeper was a young guy, whose mother was a Berber. The Berber are from the Atlas mountains and have some truly beautiful jewellery and silverwork. He told me that the lamps I liked were very old Berber oil lamps, hand made from brass. I couldn't tell if this was entirely true but they were pretty and heavy enough to potentially be brass. I'd also seen enough lamps by this point to know that these were the best I was likely to find.

I showed an interest in the workmanship and took an unhurried approach. I told him that I wanted to wait for my husband to arrive on Sunday because I would get in trouble if I bought them without him. He told me that today is Friday, a day of good luck for Muslims, and one dirham today is better than five dirhams on Sunday, so he would give me a good price. He asked for 400 dirham for one. I asked how much if I bought all four; he said 1000. I said no, that's 100 euro and that means 200 dollars in Australian, it was too much. I asked for 500 and he said no, give me a serious price. I said I was afraid my husband would yell at me and maybe I should wait until Sunday. He said he would give me a good price today because I am a nice girl and not rushed like the other tourists (from what I've seen this part is true). He said he feels like a friend of mine and dropped the price to 950. I shook my head sadly and looked longingly at the oil lamps that I couldn't possibly afford. I said maybe I could do 600. He said no, his father would be angry. I said I needed a calculator. He brought me one and told me to relax on a chair and I punched in lots of numbers, frowning and sighing. Finally he gave me his last offer of 750. I shook my head sadly, shoulders slumped in defeat and said I could only afford 650. He said "we make half half, 700." I said "we make half half again, 675." He laughed and said I am a very good bargainer and said 680.

This put the oil lamps at 25 AUD each and I was happy, we shook hands the traditional way (normal handshake, then handshake with thumbs wrapped around each other, then touch your heart with your palm). While he wrapped my lamps he told me that normally when a man does business with a woman, it is sealed with a kiss on the mouth instead of a handshake, Sadly, when it is Ramadan you cannot kiss during the day so we had to shake hands instead. Praise Allah!

no more of the green stone
I'm feeling decidedly less jaded about travel now. When Blake arrives we will head out for a camel ride, see some of the landscape and wander further afield than I am comfortable going on my own.

I was told today by a man that if I love Morocco, Morocco will love me. This is a good sign, because within half an hour of arriving in Morocco, I had already decided that someday I will return.