Day one (hangover hell)
Arrived on a dawn flight from Madrid, where we had literally paid
twenty euros for the privilege of laying our packs down for the night
while we joined a suicidal bar crawl for internationals in Madrid. As
the soft light of the morning sun warmed the green tiles of Marakesh
airport our hangovers where just beginning to set in. Upon reflection,
central Marakesh is probably not a good place to arrive in with a
hangover and no sleep. There are two strangers you will meet in
Marakesh, and they are named peace and quiet. The Souk is just one big
collision of merchants trading cloth, colours, leather, hasty lunches,
trinkets and touts, knives and guitars, sandals and snakeskins…and
noise. If you survive that open armed hug with your wits intact then
there is the central square. For a thousand years this has been the
meeting ground for the entertainers and the entertained, the hungry
and the food sellers, the lost and the confused and those that prey on
them..a steaming, heaving, boiling anarchic assemblage of humanity
where all languages and colours blend into the background ruled over
by the crashing of drums and the demented wailing of a dozen snake
charmers. Not, I repeat, a good place to arrive in with a hangover.
Through this melee we managed to drag ourselves to the safety of a
rooftop café, narrowly avoiding having our photograph taken with a
monkey (luckily for the monkey). Here we attempted to salvage our wits
with the help of our first Tagine meal, which was frankly delicious,
and did much to endear the first demiglass of sweet Morrocan tea to
us. And it was the tea that probably saved me, for the only part of
the conversation I remember was addressed to my friend and fellow
traveler Mike when I declared “if those snake charmers do not stop I
will throw myself over the balcony!”
Kenny
