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