My traveling buddy and I are posing at a cafe in Marrakech, having drinks in the famous Djamaa el Fna square.
Since the earlier part of this week, I’ve been vacationing in Marrakech, Morocco’s most popular tourist city and the closest site to a den of sin the country hosts. It’s even the setting of the upcoming Sex and the City 2 movie coming out next year. By train, it lies about 5 hours south of Rabat. It’s been a relative heaven, and the only thing I miss in Rabat is my cat, Habibi, who I’ve been worried about since I got here.
This is the second city I’ve visited outside of the one in which I live; I’m quite proud of myself to have the courage to keep venturing out to these new places, though I have to credit most of that courage to my friend and coworker who always suggests my joining her. If it were up to me, I’d probably think to leave the capital but never do it, much like I did in Indonesia. In my 18 months of living in Jakarta, not ONCE did I leave the city or the island of Java to do ANYTHING…well, I did go to Singapore, but that doesn’t count. Therefore, I’ve been trying to do as much as I possible can while I am on this break.
Since arriving here in Marrakech, I have had a load of memorable experiences, all of which I’m sure I will have fond memories of when I am old and decrepit, such as:
*being grabbed by a strange man on the street, only hours after arriving here, and having him shout continuously “Michael Jackson” at me…damn, I guess even everyone here must see how much I loved my Mike
*walking through the medina with my coworker and being called “Obama” (when the vendors had pegged me for American), “Rasta woman” (must be the twists), or “African woman” (even though Morocco IS in Africa)
*hearing my coworker getting called “white homey” by a vendor trying to get us to eat at his restaurant. He even told us that nickname allures customers to his establishment…such crap but funny, nonetheless
*seeing a boy dressed up as a woman and doing a belly dance within a circle of men in the center of the medina (as it is inappropriate for women here to do such a thing…sounds strange to you, doesn’t it)
*getting punched by a kid after he followed me for a while, begging for money, and I never forked any over…I saw the little bastard again the same night near the place where I ate dinner and he had the nerve to smile at me
*encountering Turkish toilets in the cafes are taking tea breaks (brings back savory memories of the squat toilets in Indonesia)
*trying to practice my Arabic with the vendors (attempting to be respectful of folk in their own country), only to have them insist I talk to them in English…yes, this is happening in Morocco, but then again, everyone here seems to speak at least four different languages
*witnessing the exploitation and abuse of animals such as mules, horses, monkeys, snakes, dog, cats, turtles and even chameleons
*having a million different vendors ask me where I come from and me practicing my ability to lie by telling them I was Canadian or, my favorite, Indonesian
*hearing what looked like a proper, Moroccan muslim man shout after me, once I looked at belly dancer ensemble hanging in his shop, “you like to shake your booty, huh”…sad, disturbing but still laughable
I’ll leave Marrakech with a handful of goodies – some natural perfume, a new pair of silver earrings and bracelet, a painted picture of a Berberman, and three Berber caps, none of which can compare to the mere experience of me being in this place. It has been real. Hopefully, next time, I will make it to the Sahara for some camel-riding action! Here’s hoping.
