You Don’t Want to go There!

“The shops in this area are the best. They collect all the premier items from the Berber tribes..
“Just take us to the Kasbah,” I interrupted.
Dropping us off in a seedy area, he pointed to someone in a dark Jellaba. “Follow him! I’ll be back at 11:00.”
“I can’t believe it,” I thought. “These taxis never take us where we want to go.” Somewhat queasily, as we followed our guide through a labyrinth of narrow alleys, it became clear that the taxi had gone as far as possible. Eventually our escort arrived at a nondescript building where he rang a doorbell.
We were ushered into an opulent Riad - the home of a former Vizir. The center courtyard, open to the sky, featured a few fez-clad musicians. Our table was on the second floor, overlooking the courtyard. Moroccan cuisine feature couscous and lamb (or chicken) cooked in a clay pot that was also used for serving. We enjoyed a local cabaret and a belly dancer after dinner. (Marrakech is a rather tolerant Islamic city.)
After a few days, we felt like we had ‘done’ Marrakech. It was time to branch out and see more of Morocco. A quick perusal of the guidebook resulted in an equally quick decision to head to the mountains: The High Atlas. The snow-capped mountains of Morocco feature peaks second only to Kilimanjaro in Africa. The beginning of the range is an easy drive from Marrakech.
We hired a private taxi for the trip. About half way to the cascades of Mount Fatima, we stopped to stretch. Amazing, Nadi, our driver, ‘found’ a small ‘museum’ in a the picturesque village. By now a seasoned visitor, Nazy noticing that we had actually entered a gift shop, told the clerk that she simply wanted to ‘see the museum’. And, with that, we were led upstairs to the expensive gifts.
“You like it?” The clerk asked? ”How much will you..”
“I thought this was the museum,” Nazy replied.
“Oh yes, this is museum. But if you like..”
“We’re not really interested in silver stuff, “ Nazy said. “We’ve already made a selection at Abu Nidal’s in Marrakech.”
“Oh no. Not there! You don’t want to go there.”
“But they have the best selection. They collect from all the tribes..”
“No, no, no! I collect from all the tribes. I keep the best stuff tor my, eh, museum, and send the seconds to Marrakech.”
He sound so sincere and, face it, who would pass up the opportunity to acquire a real museum piece? We acquired a few small items before arriving at Fatima village around lunchtime. We met Mustafa, our guide for the walking part of the trip. He promised to take us up the trail to see the cascades.
‘Trail’, it turned out was an exaggeration. We pulled ourselves up steep inclines, forded rushing mountain streams (well, I only partially forded one of them) and clambered over gaping ravines on bridges constructed of twine and tree stumps. as we struggle toward the cascades, I wondered whether is was the caskets instead. But we made it. Mustafa may not have been impressed by our skills, but Nazy and I thought we were great.
Mustafa was a Berber, from the tribes that settled in Morocco centuries before the Arabs and Islam. He lives his life in the mountains and around Fatima village. He learned English (and Spanish and Italian) by speaking with tourists. I thought of asking him where the Berber sold their handicrafts, but..
On the way back to Marrakech, I asked Nadi, our driver, for advice about other things to do. I wanted to see the famous blue people of the Sahara. And I wanted to ride a camel through the dunes.
It turned out that the Sahara was too far for an excursion. There was, however, an alternative. The Palm Garden, north of Marrakech, has a camel trail. We were assured that the best time to visit was sunset. Wanting even more clarity, I asked direct questions.
“Are there any museums, shops, stops or things like that on the ay to the camels?”
“No.”
“Good. How much does it cost to ride a camel?”
“120 dirham. Each.”
“Okay, we will go.”

The camel adventure took place in Palmmeraie, a Palm forest north of the city. Although it wasn’t exactly like Lawrence of Arabia, we did have a good time on the well-mannered dromedaries. However, we forgot to confirm the price before we were sitting on the camels - a miscue that cost an additional 180 dirham. A local entrepreneur also snapped our photo - resulting in another 100 dirham donation.
We spent the next morning in the famous gardens and palaces of Marrakech. We saw the tombs of Saïd (note the two dots on the ‘i’), the gardens of Agdal (a boring collection of thousands of olive trees) and Majorelle (cactus and flowers). We continued to utilize the services of local taxis and continued to be amazed when they stopped at destinations chosen by the drivers rather than us.
There are two kinds of taxis in Marrakech: petite taxis and grand taxis. The petite taxis carry three passengers and are limited to work in the city center. These vehicles are ancient, dirty and falling apart. In contrast, the Grand Taxis carry six passengers, can work anywhere in Morocco and are ancient, dirty and falling apart. Since neither variety has a meter, it is best to negotiate the fee (usually between 10 and 20 dirham - before sundown, 20 to 30 dirham afterward), before starting.
Before we left Africa, I wanted to see the South Atlantic Ocean. Accordingly, we booked a grand taxi for a trip to Essaouira, a fishing port that was ‘famous for arts and crafts’.
“Famous?” I asked.
“Yes, it says here that the unique...”
“Unique? I doubt it Nazy. We’ve seen handicrafts in every nook, cranny, souk, bazaar, street corner, taxicab, hotel lobby..”
“Dan! The guidebooks says that the artisans in Essaouira ‘work magic with thuya wood’.”
“I know. They use the wood to make money disappear.”
The drive to the ocean crossed a generally barren landscape. The few villages along the way mostly demonstrated that there was a vast (economic) difference between Marrakech and the rest of the area. Essaouira was a wind-blown collection of craft shops picturesquely positioned in an 18th century village built by the Portuguese.

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