Fragments of Marrakech


I really didn’t enjoy Marrakech at all.

It had nothing to do with being tired from being on the road (and my feet) for two whole weeks, or having spent double my budgeted spending money by then, or the garish pink hotel room (yep, bright pink from floor to ceiling), or the chaos that is the Place Djemaa el-Fna – the marketplace and square renowned for its’ snake charmers, acrobats and story-tellers.  Nor the exorbitant entrance fee for Yves Saint Laurent’s Jardin Majorelle, within easy walking distance of my hotel. Perhaps it had a bit to do with the Medina where you are harassed more than anywhere else in Morocco, as by then I really was fed up of being harassed.

But more than all of that, I really felt that Marrakech had no soul compared to the rest of Morocco.  Days later, in a taxi ride to the airport in Casablanca, my taxi driver surprised me by agreeing with me.

And so my photos of Marrakech are not an all-encompassing view, but rather a tiny glimpse of a city whose name alone has fascinated travelers for centuries and I do wonder about that train ride from Casablanca that inspired Graham Nash to pen a psychodelic pop song about the hippie trail in Morocco that would become a massive hit for Crosby Stills Nash.  I love the song* by the way, if not the city 🙂

The photos were all taken inside the hurly burly crazy souk.

Chicken doesn’t get fresher than this.  Note the egg laid in the crate despite the confined space.

The local dentist advertising his wares …..

A trip to the local laundromat.

The local taxi rank.

And finally a shot taken from a rooftop restaurant where I sadly discovered a man living on a neighbouring rooftop in a makeshift tent.

* Marrakech Express

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11 thoughts on “Fragments of Marrakech

    • Thanks Lianne. The thing is every other Moroccan city, town, village and settlement I visited before I landed in Marrakech was an amazing experience, so Marrakech held no magic for me in comparison. The visions evoked by the romaticised versions of Marrakech – from pop culture and otherwise – just weren’t there. Everywhere else was pure magic even in harsh weather and rough living conditions. Other people may feel different but this is my experience.

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  1. I’ll stick to listening to the song then. I know what you mean about being harassed all the time, one reason why I probably won’t return to north Africa. One day I will write an account of my travels.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Living where I do and having someone trying to flog something at most robots you become expert at ducking and diving or switching off but in Marrakech they take it to a whole new level. At one stage I was so gatvol I said to the shop owner as I walked in “Please, don’t talk to me. Don’t say a word or try and sell me anything or I am walking right out. You guys talk so much you are giving me a headache”. It worked 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

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