I stepped off the train in Marrakech, Morocco and the giant analog clock on the platform at the train station said 554pm.
I walked into the terminal, spent a few moments getting my bearings, and decided I better get going if I wanted to find a place to stay for the night before it got dark.
As a reasonably savvy traveler in a new city, my first mission was to exit the train station in search of the nearest big hotel. Hotels near train stations and airports always have free maps at the front desk and helpful personnel who can point their guests to all the major attractions nearby. Although not a guest, I took advantage of this service and got myself pointed in the direction of the Medina.
Throughout North Africa, most metropolitan areas have an “Old Town” area called the Medina.
Historically, the Medina was the walled portion of the city where citizens could find protection from invaders. Today, the crumbling walls are only relics, but the Medinas remain home to winding, narrow, maze-like streets and never-ending markets, called souks.
Since this seemed like the best option for a cultural experience in Marrakech , the Medina seemed like the place I wanted to stay.
After following the directions I received from the hotel and walking about a mile, I found myself walking through through Bab Doukkala (the Doukkala Gate) into the Medina at 627pm.
The visual signs of the third-world were ever-present. Motorbikes everywhere. Traffic and people swirling through the streets in patterns that reminded me of a giant ant hill. Shopkeepers peddling their wares to any passersby – textiles, rugs, and live chickens next to barbie backpacks, spiderman pajamas, and cell phones. The underlying pungent scent of urine and garbage intermingled with the wonderfully magnificent smells of the evening meal being cooked by street vendors and tiny store-front restaurants. The sound of the early evening call to prayer could be heard blasting over the loudspeakers and a nonstop hum of Arabic conversation swirled all around me. It was now 703pm.
In another stroke of traveling genius, I noticed a tourism shop amidst the endless rows of storefront shops inside the Medina. I figured that English was the most common language of tourism and so I was likely to find someone inside who spoke English and could help me find a place to stay. My suspicions were correct and 10 minutes after I walked up the stairs to the shop, I was getting on the back of Abdullah’s motorbike with a hostel near the city-center as our destination. We rode for about 10 minutes through the most winding set of streets and passageways I could have imagined and parked the bike near a narrow corridor that wasn’t conducive to motorized transportation. We walked down the corridor, turned right, and stopped in front of a large wooden door on the left. We were greeted at the door by a man named Mohammed. He was the manager of the hostel and could speak decent English too — score! After a brief tour and visual confirmation that the place was safe and legitimate, I said goodbye to Abdullah, found a place to lock my stuff, and decided to explore the Medina a little further. I looked at my watch as I stepped through the wooden door out into the narrow corridor. 757pm
As I walked away from the hostel, I instinctively made a mental note of each significant turn point so I could find my way back… white arch, blue sign, dress shop, orange juice stand, huge market…
This market was unlike anything I had ever experienced before! There were rows of white tents housing food vendors with open-air picnic tables. The steam from hundreds of grills and skillets rose above the square like a fog bank rolling in off the ocean. Street performers and musicians brought the sound to a circus-like pitch while salesman made their presence and their merchandise known to every passerby as well. Branching out from this square like the tentacles of an octopus was an endless maze of shops, food stands, and and an intriguing thousand-year-old culture. I was fascinated. I was drawn-in. I wondered how far these incredible sights, sounds, and smells went before I would leave the tourist trap and find neighborhoods where the locals lived, worked, and carried out their lives.
At about 835pm, I decided to head north, winding my way through narrow passageways that were brightly lit by the vendors and shops on either side. After each turn, I was lured to go just a little bit further to see if I could find the end of this maze. I looked at my watch at 852pm when I started noticing shops closing their doors and putting away their merchandise for the night. Instead of making a 180 and heading back the way I came, I assumed my navigation skills were up for the challenge and I could make my way back another way and see a bit more of the Medina before returning to the hostel. Besides, it seemed like some of the shops and passageways I had used were already closed, and going back the way I came would probably be impossible.
While I normally pride myself on my ability to navigate during the day time, I incredulously underestimated my skills in an urban environment, at night, in an unfamiliar city, amidst winding passageways with no way to identify cardinal directions. Without the moon or stars to guide me, I probably bit off more than I could chew. But still not wanting to give in to the idea that I was in over my head, I picked up my pace a little bit and started to look for familiar landmarks. I made a conscious decision to look like I knew exactly where I was going so I wouldn’t appear to be a lost tourist (a perfect target for muggers and pickpockets). Unfortunately, the further I walked, the more lost I became. Since there was no way to go in a single direction due to the winding passageways, it only took me about a half hour of speed walking before I was completely disoriented. To clarify, I am not a man who has trouble asking for directions, to be sure, but I had 2 major obstacles preventing me from that simple solution: 1) I didn’t speak Arabic. 2) I didn’t know the name or location of the hostel where I was staying.
The first obstacle could be overcome easily enough, but the second one really threw a wrench in my recovery options. If I didn’t know where I was going, how could I ask for directions?!?
I decided to take a short break under a street light to asses the situation and see if the map in my pocket could shed any light on my predicament. My watch read 940pm. Unfortunately, I didn’t know where I was and I didn’t know where I was going, so the map wasn’t all that helpful. My only hope was to keep walking and hope I could find a major road that was on the map. After about 30 minutes, I did just that and figured out where I was. Now, if only I knew where I was going!
Returning to where I started seemed like the most logical solution so I located Bab Doukkala where I originally entered the Medina and retraced my steps to the tourism shop. CLOSED. Bummer.
It was 1035pm and I was running out of options. On foot in a foreign city with no idea where I was going led me to believe I would have to find a hotel and figure out a new plan in the morning. Darkness. Confusion. Frustration. Fear. I was starting to feel overwhelmed. My last ditch effort was to try to retrace the path of my 10 minute motorbike ride earlier in the day from the tourism shop to the hostel. After wandering around in the dark for another 45 minutes, I realized I just didn’t pay close enough attention to all of the twists and turns we had made earlier. Plan failed.
But just as I was about to give up, I walked by a European couple who happened to be speaking English. With the number of French tourists in Marrakech, seeing Europeans by no means meant they would speak English, but this British couple was a godsend. I knew I couldn’t ask them about the hostel because I didn’t even know the name of it, but I asked them about the huge square I had experienced when I first left the hostel. They weren’t sure about the details I described, but they showed me on the map where there was a big market they had visited earlier in the day called the Djaama El-Fna about a mile away. I figured it was a kind of a long shot because I had been told that these markets were all over the place, but what did I have to lose?
About 20 minutes later, I made my way to the Djaama El-Fna and I was instantly relieved as I stepped into the large square. Even at 1135pm, the square was still alive with the sights, sounds and smells I had experienced earlier in the evening. From here all I needed to do was remember the landmarks I made note of when I first left the hostel. Orange juice stand, dress shop, blue sign, white arch… small corridor, right turn, brown door on the left. I made it!! Unbelievable!
As I laid down for the night, I penned these words… “Only when you have been so unfathomably lost can you truly understand gratefulness in being found.”
What an adventure!
——–Pictures to Follow———
Like this:
Like Loading...
The scenery was breathtaking!
