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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
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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
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