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Mazza Day 2 and The Night Train from Hell
Entry 17 of 115 | show all | print this entry |
Woke up this morning having to seriously remind myself I was in Morocco, unbelievable. The hearty Moroccan sun shone through the flickered shade in the tiled hostel courtyard and remembering the freezing-off of my manhood yesterday, I opted out of a cold shower this morning. Got our gear together and walked out of the Hotel Chella into the rusty ochre dirt alley, nearly getting run down by multiple motorcyclists turning blind corners, then heading back out to the crazyness of Djamaa el-Fna. Consumed a tasty 15 Dirham breakfast of pancakes, "croissants", and coffee at the same place as yesterday´s lunch. Lapped up the extraordinary atmosphere and marvelled again at the remarkable turn this trip had suddenly taken.
If we stuck out like dog´s balls in Spain, then comparatively we stuck out like an elephant´s schlong here in Marrakech, clear targets for beggars and every merchant from here to the edge of town. Mosied around in the scorching sun and marvelled at the fact that I didn´t get burnt yesterday, potentially because the ozone layer is a little more intact over this part of the sky than our greenhouse abundant hole back home.
I continued to be blown away by the vast disparity between my normal surroundings and the scenarios before me. We pondered whether it would be harder for Western people like ourselves to set up shop in a place like Morocco compared to a Muslim in Australia, or Britain, or America. We pondered whether we stuck out so obviously to "them", just as "they" might do to us back home, particularly with all the press Islamic fundamentalism is receiving through this war on terror and the sort of racial stereotyping that inevitably goes on. Morocco filled us with many interesting questions and points to ponder. I stared deeply into space, as an urchin lad not older than four walked muddy-faced around the city square, eyes wide, lingering around tourists in a vague attempt for monetary handouts or food. That sort of thing gets you thinking and sets you back.
We had a stickybeak at some more historical sites, the Saadian tombs, the palace of Bahia, and generally just roasted around in the serious heat of the Moroccan sun. Consumed a meal for lunch, served by an effervescent and welcoming restaurant host, then more or less chilled on the terrace of Hotel Chella, watching as the afternoon slipped us by. At four, loud calls to prayer filtered through the mosque megaphones right through the entire city of Marrakech, verses sung religiously in thick Arabic Islam. Definitely not something we were used to hearing back home. We got a takeaway kebab for dinner, then hailed a cab and took another life-threatening trip through town to the train station. Just as night fell, an ominous crescent moon appeared out of nowhere above the palm trees of the main square - the moon of Islam itself. Very apt I thought.
Unfortunately we couldn´t secure beds for this overnight train back to Tangier, so we were stuck in a fully lit, upright seated caboose, with little to no chance of real sleep prospects. Attempted sleeping on the floor under 2 seats, got a few hours shuteye before claustrophobia crept in and my back gave out. Definitely one of the worst nights sleep ever endured, a sentiment that Rev, Brooks and Freddy the mad Brasilian all concurred with.
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