Marrakech, The Souks and Djemma El Fna

There was only one way out of the warren of alleys so we had to follow the same route again back through the anarchic streets and to the hectic roundabout where the traffic situation had not improved and even the policeman had given up and left his post but his didn’t seem to matter at all because he wasn’t being very effective anyway.  We were a bit confused and the free tourist map wasn’t a big help but we were confident that we were making steady progress towards our first intended destination of the famous big square in the heart of the city, the Djemma el Fna.

A pedestrianised boulevard gave us relief from the incessant traffic and this led us directly into the square which claims to be the biggest in Africa and is an all day spontaneous entertainment centre.  The first people we came across were the city’s iconic water sellers in their red tunics with gold braid, colourful sombrero hats and brass cups hanging from leather belts strapped around their bodies.

In the old days these people provided a real and valuable service and dispensed questionable water from a leather canteen to local traders and thirsty travellers but they are practically redundant now in their substantive role because sensible people prefer safe bottled water to the uncertain quality of the water in their satchels.  Their job now is to have their picture taken with the tourists and charge 10 dirham a time (about £1) and they probably make a lot more money doing this than they ever did selling dirty luke warm water.

Djemma el Fna was busy but because it was so big didn’t feel crowded.  I took a picture of some musicians who demanded money and became rather agitated when I refused and then we walked past the snake charmers and the men with Barbary Apes all trying to sell photographs, fortune tellers and soothsayers and my favourite the tooth puller who would have provided dental surgery at a fraction of the cost of the National Health Service if we had been brave enough to allow him.

There were rows and rows of market stalls selling fresh and dried fruits and others competing to sell a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and all around the square were cafés and restaurants with high level balconies where people were sitting and just enjoying the random entertainment.

This was quite unlike anything we had ever seen or visited before and it was everything I had expected but more with a riot of colour and frenetic activity that was exciting and vibrant.  My head was spinning and overflowing with new sights, sounds and sensations as we walked through the square in a northerly direction and eventually arrived at what most people concede is the biggest Souk in Africa and we slipped into the labyrinthine maze of covered but sun-dappled market streets.

Here was a whole new experience with street after street of shops all overflowing with things for sale that we didn’t need but each with an owner who didn’t understand this and was determined to part us from the cash in our wallets.  The place was murderously busy with a stream of people oozing past the shops like a flow of molten human lava and progress was so slow we could only shuffle awkwardly as though our shoe laces were tied together and it was quite impossible to walk with any kind of normal rhythm.

Some of the shops were no bigger than an average English garden shed or a Moroccan broom cupboard and many of them sold exactly the same things and as we walked through we were under constant pressure from the owners all trying to entice us with a ‘special price’. What didn’t help in establishing whether this was a special price or not was that nothing was priced in the first place which meant this form of shopping was very difficult process for people like us who are not used to haggling.  A lot of the stuff in here was rubbish of course and my favourite was the honest trader who told us that he only sold genuine fakes!

Drawn further in to the maze we were carried away to the  rich essence of medieval Marrakech – a kaleidoscope of clashing colours, of competing exotic scents that hung on burning air, the glitter of silver and the glow of gold, the clash and clamour on the streets and a labyrinth of possibilities, a sense almost of timelessness to enjoy and capture the quirks that collectively create a unique place.

The textures – corrugated iron, steel shutters, dusty concrete, marble meat slabs,  bamboo shades and peeling plaster façades complemented each other, forming varying surfaces in a constantly shape-shifting environment, so vibrant, jumping from tiles to carpets to walls to merge in a dizzying blur and everywhere the general disrepair accentuated the mood; the streets graciously hosting these derelict scenes prooving that there is still a place for this gritty edge even in the centre of a modern city.

We walked past vivid carpet shops, elaborate lampshade shops, slipper shops, silver and pottery shops, shops selling leather, silks, ceramics, spices and pastries and our senses were under constant assault from the colourful sights, the rich aromas and the constant chatter and noise of the traders.  Occasionally a donkey and cart would send people scattering as new supplies were delivered and the shop owners were probably glad of this because the only place to go to get out of the way was inside the shop doorways where someone was waiting to pounce with an offer and a ‘special price‘.

Threading our way through the heaving twisting lanes we nodded politely as we rejected invitations from all sides, trying all the time not to make eye contact and declining inducement to go inside and look until at one point Kim and Margaret were caught off of their guard and were persuaded to take a look inside a herbalists shop where they were talked into a €2 ten minute shoulder massage each.  Mike and I had to wait outside and try not to draw attention to ourselves or show any unnecessary interest in the products for sale in the adjacent shop.