Having experienced a transfer of prisoners and rowdy passengers on separate CTM buses between Dakhla and Essaouira, we defect to Supratours for the 3-hour ride to Marrakesh. Unfortunately the leg room aboard this particular Supratours bus is negligible and worst of all the damn bus breaks down less than 15 minutes after leaving Essaouira. Perhaps we weren’t supposed to leave Essaouira after all! Even more ironic is that we breakdown outside the same Argan oil cooperative, Marjana, that our taxi driver insisted we visit after photographing the tree-climbing goats a few days ago – bizarre. While some passengers seek alternative transportation, Christi and I wait 1 hour and 45 minutes for a replacement bus to continue our journey to Marrakesh. While we wait we spot a rare Moroccan desert tortoise nibbling on some fruit.
The place to stay in Marrakesh has got to be Djemma el-Fna, which is a massive square on the edge of the medina. The hotel we choose is, ironically, called the hotel CTM. I have to say I much prefer the hotel to the bus service. The prices are reasonable, the rooms are large and comfortable. The best part is the terrace overlooking the square. Breakfast is served here and what a view with which to eat your croissants.
Exploring Djemma el-Fna is a crazy experience. During the day snake charmers, youths with chained Barbary apes, henna artists, musicians, magicians, and some dubious games that you might see in a carnival (and which you have zero chance of winning) together with purveyors of dried fruits and fresh OJ vie for your attention (or more accurately your money). The snake charmers always seem to play the same strident tune on their pipes – perhaps its the only song the cobras and adders know. Truthfully, it’s quite sad to see the snakes and the Barbary apes being so mistreated and Christi and I purposely avoid any interaction with the street peddlers and for once don’t take photographs. Mind you our own PETA-like stand is not mirrored by the many other travelers and tourists who flock to the square, so no doubt these unseemly practices will continue.
As night falls the make up of the market changes and all manner of temporary food stalls are erected. As Christi and I wander around, we encounter some quite aggressive touts trying to tempt us to eat at their particular establishment. There are only so many times you can say no (something I think these restaurant provocateurs count on) before we too meekly agree to sit down and have dinner. Another traditional Moroccan dish that Christi is eager to try is harira, which is mostly lentils and chickpea in a tomato based broth. She’s also persuaded to try the local snails. Be warned Moroccan snails are ‘yucky’ – direct quote.
Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
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