The Souk

Posted from my travel journal - March, 2005

http://www.morocco.com/destinations/marrakech/

I was standing in the middle of an ancient walled city tonight, the Medina of Marrakesh. As we wound our way through small corridors toward the Souk, it was hard for my eyes to make the adjustment from street lights to lanterns and wood smoke was heavy in the air. What opened up before my eyes was one of the most amazing things I have ever seen in my life. What appeared to be a long black wall came into focus as a sea of people. There must have been 5,000 massed together in that square. 11:00 p.m. in the Souk.

Snake charmers with cobras sat next to fortune tellers from the desert and men who played instruments that were unfamiliar to me. Monkeys and birds sat on shoulders of men with weathered skin as brown as a berry and tough as leather. The air smelled like cinnamon and spices and smoke. Meals were being prepared on open fires - outdoor restaurants Moroccan style. I was standing in 1001 Arabian Nights.

My attempts to pass as just one more French woman in the entourage I was with was feeble, and even though I was careful to speak only in French to the vendors, I was always responded to in English. The smiles that were sent my way were of a knowing sort and the question came again and again.... Est ce vous etes Americane? How could they tell, what gave me away. Finally, I asked a man who was selling Babush, the traditional Moroccan shoes that I was purchasing for myself and a friend of mine back home. He replied, Americans carry themselves in a certain way that no others in the world do. It is no use for you to speak French to us, we already know from the moment we see you that you are American. I found it amazing that we carry this with us like a flashing neon banner that even a good accent and a foreign language cannot hide.

The Moroccan people are amazing and friendly and serve mint tea to everyone who enters the shop. It is not the sort you get from a tea bag that reads "Twinnings" it is fresh spearmint and tradition that makes it so good. I was told to barter for everything. To pay the asking price is an insult to the shopkeeper and a good debate and meeting of the minds is sport and respectful. The better negotiator you were, the more respect you paid to the mind that was playing chess with you. I loved it and got pretty good at it tonight; remembering to be polite but firm and inch my way up in price as they inched down. When the middle was met, the deal was struck and more tea was offered with a smile and a handshake of congratulations. It was really something.

We ended up at the old Kasbah tonight for dinner, what a parallel from where we had just come. Courtyards held trees that filled the air with the smell of orange blossom, and dinner was served in large clay platters - fresh vegetables, lamb, curried chicken and beef, oranges simmered in cinnamon, all served against the backdrop of flowing curtains, intricate tile work and ancient wooden doors. I sat there are wondered about all the events this place had seen over time and what secrets it could tell me. I also thought back and sang that song from the Clash "Rock the Kasbah" in my head. Couldn't help it.

We are all back home in the Palmaire now and it is well after 3 a.m. I have to head off to bed and try to get a little sleep before trying the bartering again tomorrow. We are going to a special shop for carved doors!

I will be dreaming of the Souk and the monkeys tonight for sure!