Day 5 - Marrakech, Morocco

Wednesday, 21 October 2009 - Marrakech, Morocco - Day 5

Squirts, Birds, and the Big City

Tuesday is Lariam day. I mention it now, on Wednesday, because it is the day after that the side effects are most potent. Lariam is the most coveted of the various anti-malaria drugs for its hallucinogenic qualities and the vivid dreams it induces. The drug is also accompanied by less desirable consequences, principally, the "runs." In nothing short of a let-down, no one benefited from the "positive" effects, but John and Jimmy appeared to be particularly susceptible to the negative effects of the drug. John was plagued with "explosive diarrhea" nearly without fail every Weds and Thurs. Jimmy, on the other hand, well, he was generally bedridden (or laying immovable in the back of the car), incapable of venturing farther than 50m from the toilet, for the same two days. And so it was today.

John was courageous enough to join Nico, Kim, and me for breakfast. We found ourselves at Cafe Igloo enjoying a delightful combination of coffee and eggs cooked in tortilla wraps. Looking around, John astutely pointed out that our cafe was part of a trend. Here we were sitting at the doorway of the hottest desert in the world and as far as the eye could see were restaurants and cafes with names such as iceberg, glacier, igloo, and avalanche. Of course, their fascination with cold things is only logical. I find it comical only because our cafe (and I suspect the others as well) didn't serve ice with the juice drinks and every customer to my knowledge was drinking either hot tea or coffee. I guess it's still nice to think cold thoughts.

Right when we had finished breakfast a salesman approached us. His face was leathered from the sun and his mouth absent of a single tooth, presumably from a lack of dental care. He carried with him a mid-sized leather bag, looking a little worse for the wear and tear of time, that picqued John's interest. We discussed the merchandise amongst ourselves for a bit before re-engaging our excitable salesman. The purchase was eventually sealed after bargaining him down to a reasonable price. The joy on his face was indescribable, making us think twice about our "reasonable" price. He wasn't quite finished yet though. He disappeared for less than a minute before returning with a bright red pair of jeans, clearly for women, that he did a commendable job trying to sell to everyone except for Kim. "Not woman. Women. It's the new style," he assured us, flashing his toothless smile. Persuasive as he was, we graciously declined his offer and continued on our way.

Moroccan Hospitality

Before leaving, we had inquired of our friend where we might find a second-hand clothes market. He provided us with vague directions, which we followed to the best of our ability. In the end the market proved elusive. Along the way we ran into some unexpected difficulties that didn't sit well with some of us. Turns out that, jaded by the throngs of tourists that invade their city every year, Marrakech Moroccans are not a genial lot. In other words, we found ourselves unwelcome in many quarters of the city. I can understand why older men and women waved off Nico and Kim's attempts to photograph them. I can even understand (to some extent) why we got in trouble by the city police for filming our friends talking to locals. Other, unexpected characters and experiences, however, I cannot account for or comprehend.

John was filming Nico when a 13 year-old boy chanced to exit his house and walk into the path of the camera. Once he saw John shooting the camera in his direction, he was not pleased to say the least. Clearly there was a miscommunication, but what followed was completely unnecessary. He first flicked us off before verbally cursing us out. He wasn't done yet though. The finale was an extremely vulgar "suck my dick" gesture, which I am still trying to erase from my memory.

While John and this kid were having their stare-off, I was preoccupying myself with a few children, no older than six, playing football in the alley. An errant kick came my way. I took the opportunity to pass it back to them and received in return an immediate "fuck you" and, get this, dual birds from the leader of the pack. "Wow!" was all that I could muster up saying in reply. Jimmy, hearing of our stories later, tried to put a positive spin on the incidents, "They're just trying out their universal hand signals," but I didn't buy it. Especially after my first attempt at market bargaining in Africa.

I wanted to buy a shirt for my daughter. Should be easy enough - just go to one of the hundreds of stores selling touristy junk. You might call it a special talent or a good eye, but I had a knack for picking winners, dating back to my shopping experiences in China. The salesman initially put on a good show, telling me how "money comes and money goes" (a common Moroccan refrain) and that the "customer is always valued." Encouraging words for a newly graduated student with hardly any money to his name. Things, though, are never as straightforward as that when you're traveling. The man's boss had clocked out for the day, so he was trying to sell me some of his own stuff at a "good price." He wouldn't allow me to buy the shirt I wanted unless I also bought a traditional Berber gown for an additional $50. After trying to reason with him for nearly 30 minutes, I called it quits, leaving to the sounds of him cursing me, "You son of a bitch! You son of a bitch!..." I'm not bothered by the denigrating language, but was resentful that my daughter was affected by this man's insolence.

Our group collectivevly agreed to outlaw tourist havens from this point forward. We did not sign up for such nonsense as the day had thrown at us. The purpose of driving your own car is to see the country for what it is - to mingle with the locals in obscure villages, share a meal with them in their homes, join in in their nightlife activities. This is how we would conduct our journey henceforth.

Meanwhile, we made the most of the city and headed for a nonexistent Testco to finish our shopping for the trip. Some of the essentials included power strips, converters, towels, a battery powered lamp, laundry detergent, deodorant, shower supplies, pantyhose for our air filters, emergency food and water, and so on. We settled for a Carrefour, which wasn't nearly as cheap as we had predicted and only carried some of what we needed. It wasn't without one delightful upside. Situated next to the French Walmart was a heavenly sight - Pizza Hut. Knowing that we were about to enter the desert, where the food was expected to be subpar, if not spartan, we readily splurged on a hearty meal of pizza and lasagna.

Stuffed to the breaking point, we returned to our hostel ready to close, and forget, the worse day yet on our journey. Not wanting to add any pain to Jimmy's hurting, empty stomach, we withheld from him our self-served treat and hit the hay.