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T R AV E L 4 4 The Four Seasons Resort E X O T I C M A R R A K E C H The place: Marrakech. The jewel of North Africa. A friend recommended it. It’s where Europeans go to lounge and relax, I had been told previously. It was their version of Cabo San Lucas, only with sand dunes instead of the ocean, and camels instead of iguanas. The airline: Iberia. We fly to Marrakech from Madrid. It’s an easy flight at a little less than two hours. Takeoff is a breeze. Landing is smooth and easy. We get off the plane and onto the tarmac, and immediately begin to sweat. The season: summer. The beginning of July. It’s hot, especially so for someone accustomed to San Diego’s mild climate. The temperature had been a scalding 110 the day before I arrive. Right now it’s a cool 99. Lucky, I guess. We grab our bags to exit the airport and immediately resume sweating. The hotel: I’m not sweating because of carrying my luggage; the Four Seasons sent assistants to help with that. By Bailey Hughes S A N D I E G O M E T R O . C O M | S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 2 | 2 7 T H A N N I V E R S A R Y 1 9 8 5 - 2 0 1 2 They came in two separate Range Rovers. Both are immaculate, with cool hand towels and cooler Evian bottles inside. The hotel is less than five minutes away, just outside the city’s metropolitan area. The excellent service continues in the lobby. The air is cool. Tea is set up. The hotel manager personally meets us. And then we go to our rooms. We take a golf cart through the resort. The grounds: Beautiful. Everything is perfectly kept. There’s a pool area, with a bar and lounge chairs and towels. Tired as I am, I can’t wait to check it out. The residences are each two-story bungalows separated into four different rooms. The details: Generous. Our family gets two connecting rooms on the top floor. They’re very nice. Spacious, with wide windows and a high ceiling. The air conditioning is already on. Exotic pastries are laid out on the table. The guide: Fetah. “Like the cheese,” he says. He’s perpet-
ually smiling and speaks without a hint of an accent. We meet him in the lobby after we finish settling in our rooms. We talk for a while about what we want to do, and then we leave. The scene: Remarkable. We take two taxis to the center of the city. The buildings seem to crouch down; everything is low and wide and squat. And it all looks dirty red, like I’m seeing it through ruby lenses. We get out and walk around on foot. I get the feeling that I am seeing the real Marrakech – the city that people live in, rather than the city tourists see. And it’s very interesting. The people, in particular. The people: Liberal. At least, that’s what I’m told by Fetah. And I don’t doubt the statement, at least in comparison to other places in the area. A group of Moroccan men wearing board shorts and flip-flops and nothing else stroll ahead of us. Behind, two women wear short shorts and loose blouses. Some people smile and wave, some point to my brother’s blond hair, some sit down in the shade, and some come roaring by on motorbikes without a second glance. I feel perfectly safe. I could walk around here all day, if it weren’t so hot. The Medina: Startling. We turn a corner and enter a marketplace maze. I lose track of where I am almost instantly. Narrow corridors twist and turn dizzyingly. Sunlight seeps through a wooden thatched roof. Hawkers smile at us from stools, but generally make no substantial effort to attract customers. Some are even asleep, on the ground or in small handheld carts. They pay very little attention at all to their wares. The items: Diverse. There were Crocs and Nike sneakers, Louis Vuitton purses and Gucci designer glasses, Samsung smartphones and Apple tablets, Korean motorcycles and Swiss watches. All of which were selling for a tenth of the price it would fetch back in the States. The advice: It’s fake. Most of it, anyways. “You get what you pay for,” Fetah tells us. “The shoes will break and smell like something rotten within a day. And the bags probably won’t survive a week. And the watch most likely won’t keep time. It all is 2 7 T H A N N I V E R S A R Y 1 9 8 5 - 2 0 1 2 | S E P T E M B E R 2 0 1 2 | S A N D I E G O M E T R O . C O M T R AV E L made in China, of course.” Of course. The square: Abrupt. The knockoffs end straight away when we get to Jamaa el-Fna, the main square and marketplace in Marrakech. Now we see food. Lots of it. We see fruit and vegetables and red meat and white meat and just about everything else. I start getting hungry. It hangs from stall ceilings or are displayed in front. I realize that I haven’t eaten since I left Madrid. I focus on an enormous mound of olives. And then I discover that it’s covered in flies. My hunger disappears. The camel: Scary. I almost fall when it stands. The camel owner slips on a blue robe and turban before leading the camel around for a few minutes. Not the most authentic camel ride through the desert, but you take what you can get. We snap a few pictures to remember the moment, and then we’re off, back to the hotel. The food: Untested. The sight at the marketplace killed most of our appetite, and any chance of eating authentic Moroccan food. My family eats hamburgers and French fries for lunch, and Italian food for dinner. We figure the plane ride the next day would be unpleasant when ridden with food poisoning, so we stick with what we know. Needless to say, our meals at the hotel were excellent. The prices: Expensive. But the good things usually are. Regular rooms at the Four Seasons Resort start at roughly $400 a night, and suites at $650. The guided tour and minivan is around $600 in total, which, to us, was worth it simply for the mobile air conditioning, not to mention the valuable experience of the guide (note: you do not need a car, much less a minivan, so this price can be significantly reduced). The cost: Worth it. From the camel ride to the Medina to the Four Seasons Resort, Marrakech is not to be missed. Bailey Hughes is a senior at Canyon Crest Academy in Carmel Valley The Medina Bleu D’Orange/Four Seasons Resort 4 5
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