Benjamin TanApart from the seemingly invasive Spanish city of Ceuta, the Kingdom of Morocco sits on Africa’s north-westernmost Mediterranean frontline, overlooking the Strait of Gibraltar and, further behind, Spain itself.
The sun is setting, and tempting as it may be to plop yourself on coastal Tangier to witness its captivating descent beneath the Atlantic, Marrakesh, the heart of the country, awaits you.
Image credit: Mark Rowland
Marrakesh is a city steeped in Moroccan lore. Its namesake, a Latin word, was the anchor from which the Spanish term “Marruecos” was derived, and finally, its English translation, “Morocco” — it was as if the entire country was built around the former Almovarid capital, growing from the seeds of its very being that were sown as far as the coastline allowed.
Traversing the city brings you face to face with thick fortified walls, mosques, and palaces — all blackened silhouettes under the flaming red setting sun. Your anticipation heightens, anxious for street lamps to flicker into life. Deeper and deeper into the city you go; veiled Moroccan women scurry in front of you; a group of curious tourists keeping pace behind you — all headed towards the medina’s iconic marketplace: Jemaa el-Fnaa. Although it is open all day, the fun really starts in the evening, away from the unforgiving afternoon heat.
You vaguely recall episodes from the travel reality television show The Amazing Race where competitors had to navigate their way across the labyrinth of souk tents and tourist stalls cluttered around the premise. You acknowledge the degree of difficulty of their task, as reflected by the scene before you. After a few minutes of walking, you have no clue where in the marketplace you are. Perfect, just how travelling should be.
Also Read: What Can I Buy With SGD 1 in Morocco
Image credit: SuperCar-Roadtrip.fr
It is easy to have a sensory overload in the midst of all the commotion happening at once — rhythmic Shilha dancing-boys strutting their stuff to Berber music while their manager collects viewing fees from spectators; an animated Arabian storyteller capturing the attention of a large group of people gathered in a circle around him; smoke and savoury aroma wafting from food stalls, beckoning you towards them. It is time to go, and you let your nostrils lead you.
Jemaa el-Fnaa is just as much a smouldering melting pot where travellers from all corners of the world converge as it is a lion’s den, where eagle-eyed merchants, albeit only a small handful, prey on the gullible and inexperienced. Whilst looking for the stall that sells delectable harira (tomato, lentil, and chickpea) soup, you remain vigilant — eyes and ears peeled. A young, dishevelled local boy, probably no older than 12, accidentally bumps into you. Sympathy starts to form, but instinctively, you inconspicuously pat your pockets before allowing yourself a sense of relief. Luckily, you know better than to put all your cash in one place. You make a mental note to thank your buddies back home.
Image credit: Mark Rowland
Being still in an ever-moving marketplace seems almost inconceivable, yet here you are, seated alongside four other tourists on a painted wooden bench beside the harira stall. Somehow, the flaked paint reminds you of Morocco itself — a country set in wood-coloured sand, the unwilling subject of modernisation under French and Spanish colonialism in the early 20th century. Yet, the Moroccan identity (from the Umayyads to the Alaouites) remained steadfast, ultimately prevailing over the layers of mismatched European influence. As your mind wanders off to the quasi-hypnotic beats of Berber drums and flutes in the background, you cannot help but to agree. A conversational back-and-forth between one of the tourists and the stall-keeper snaps you back to reality. He seems experienced; perhaps he is making sure the stall-keeper does not overcharge you.
The bowl of soup tastes just as good as it smells: thick, rich, and deeply seasoned; your palate picks up the presence of ginger and turmeric. You have also decided to sample a generous piece of merguez sausage — a mutton-filled delight loaded with strong cumin and paprika. Only a handful can ever stomach the strong smell of lamb; you thank your lucky stars that you are one of those people. Satisfied with your hearty meal, you set out to explore the rest of the vast area.
Image credit: mhiguera
Night has draped over the sky like a heavy curtain, and you have been graced with a full view of the stars that seem to complement the dancing flames of gas lamps hanging on all corners of the stalls. Passing by some of the other food stalls, you are reminded of the multiple articles you found online during your research that warned of the generally poor level of hygiene of street food in the marketplace. You briefly worry, but you assure yourself that the food you ate was hot enough. Then again, you have your Carbon pills with you, right?
Your energy level begins to dip a tad, but entertainers are still out in full force. A fortune teller glances longingly in your direction, while you spot yet another tourist sitting patiently with her right arm resting on a small table as a henna artist meticulously makes art with it. Your interest however lies somewhere else, and you find yourself straying out of Jemaa el-Fnaa and into the souks; the last leg of your Marrakesh immersion.
Image credit: Mr Seb
The souks are quieter at this hour, but that works in your favour. Fighting your fatigue, you walk through the entire stretch at a slower pace, admiring the flip side of the usually elegant Moroccan architecture: the almost archaic manner of which earthen clay buildings were erected. Yet the warmth they offer far outweighs the stone-cold mosaic commonly found in lavish establishments.
Also Read: 7 Off-The-Beaten-Track Destinations in Morocco
You have unfinished business with Jemaa el-Fnaa, however; the much talked about snake charmers, medicine men, and other quirky personalities you had assumed would be better suited under the cover of the night, not in broad daylight. The souks will be on their bustling best in the day, too. Until then, you head back to your simple yet convenient hotel room just round the corner of the marketplace — near enough to travel on foot, yet far enough to muffle the loud music. As a gentle, sandy breeze grazes you, you wonder what tomorrow will bring.
