Marrakesh, day 2

I guess you could say that our second day in Morocco began at 3:30am as the 5 minute long call to prayer started up at the mosque about 20 metres away from us. We were awoken immediately from our slumber, but not at all surprised as we had been expecting this. In fact, it became a contest of will not to let this local custom get the better of us and so each morning we met it with a determination to sleep through it. I believe we failed at this for the most part.

When we finally awoke at 7am, it was to the soft light of the day peeking through our curtains as we lay uncovered on the top of our sheets. I have to say it went from around 30 degrees when we went to sleep all the way down to around 15 at some point during the night, so we did shiver just a little. Despite any discomfort, I really can say that I felt well rested from my sleep and we were ready by 8am to head to the terrace for our breakfast of breads, spreads, OJ and coffee:



I want to put the reader now at the mercy of my rambles at this point. I feel this is necessary as by this, the second day in Morocco, the layers of my mind were beginning to peel back like an onion and reveal the vulnerable core inside. The first day, I was tired and bothered and overwhelmed by it all and I was feeling quite bothered by all the locals to be honest. But that's the magic of travel; what seems at first so alien and foreign to the way I do things quickly becomes natural and normal if I can open myself to them and accept them. I love to just soak and osmose other cultures through my skin.

I came to a realisation, for example, on the second day that every place that I've travelled since London has had its signature beverage; one which I have tried there and latched onto for the duration of my stay. For Germany, it was the hot Gluhwein, which infused my freezing bones with welcome warmth. Paris, it was the wine, of course. At least one glass, or a carafe with every meal. I swear I was half drunk my whole time in France. Belgium was all about the beer. I had several bottles of Chimay Bleue and loved the sense of ceremony and love lavished on every bottle by the bar staff. So what about Morocco? Well... Read on after the donkey.



After breakfast we both headed down to the Dar Si Said museum which was closed the day before. For the small price of 10Dh we wandered through to a cramped riad style building with a series of museum-like displays of local and Berber pieces from carpets to clothing. This occasionally opened up to a courtyard, quite like the Bahia palace. We were not at all prepared for the part where we climbed up some steps and found ourselves in the grand ornate chambers up there. Unfortunately they were quite strict about controlling the cameras there, so no pictures.



Next up we found our way back to the closest excursion guide shop near our riad and booked ourselves in for a trip to the Ourika valley from 9am the following morning. With that bit of business out of the way, we went to the square and sat down at our favourite cafe there to plan the rest of our day.



We had a few things we wanted to do, so over a coffee and an almond/milk concoction we planned to hit the souq in a big way and actually interact with the locals. We were assisted in this by a local kitten. We also wanted to see if we could find where the famed lamb alley could be found, although we knew it would be closed for Ramadan.



So we wandered to the other side of the square, where we were drawn to the tower of the biggest mosque in town. This lay on the other side of a busy and chaotic road that looked a bit more paved than the others. There was a crossing, but it didn't seem like anyone really paid attention to it.



So we had a poke around there, seeing what appeared to be hundreds of prayer stations lined up on the outside. Non-muslims are not welcome inside the mosques, so I have no idea what goes on inside at all. But anyhow, by this point our pockets were being weighed down by the wads of unspent cash, so we dared to re-enter the shade of the souqs.



I can't remember the exact order that things occurred here, but at some point we worked up enough courage to buy a pair of Fez caps from a vendor. Now, the buying process is not simple at all. The shopkeeper will lead with an outrageous price and it's up to you to bargain and see how desperate he is to sell it to you. It can be hard walking into a shop and seeing a lot of pretty, shiny things and spending 15 minutes haggling for something only to give up in frustration when you know you don't want to pay more than your last meagre offer. The magic: when you turn around to leave, saying "no, no, I'm sorry" and the shopkeeper grabs your elbow and says "OK, OK 150 dirham" when he started bidding at 600.

Did I mention that Kristen is good at bargaining? It got to the point where I would just casually point to something I wanted and the just let her go at it and she would invariably get a good price. However, the market isn't all niknacs and junk. We found the chicken and rabbit market, which stunk like you wouldn't believe and seemed a little cruel until you realise all these chickens are plump and probably arrived in this morning. The fruit and vegetables also seem very fresh.





After a good burst of shopping, we headed back to drop off our plunder and then hunted out the Earth Cafe, a vegetarian restaurant, for some lunch. I had a filo envelope stuffed with feta cheese and vegetables while Kristen had a kind of vegetarian haggis. It was absolutely amazing and lavish and worth every penny.



This is where it all went wrong. I checked the temperature earlier, it was only 36 degrees. How could I know it would skyrocket up to 41? We had decided over lunch to haggle for more goods and so we crossed over the square, the heat feeling like the inside of an oven. A monster was rising up inside me, born of heat exhaustion and dehydration. I have to admit I lost my mind and my temper a little and I left Kristen to her own devices in the souq. (I knew I just HAD to get out or I would be on the floor, foaming at the mouth). Here's what she did:





Meanwhile, I struggled back across the square towards our favourite cafe and I took a seat and ordered up a strong cafe au lait (it comes in a little glass with sugar cubes). This is the part where I talk about my personal beverage of Morocco. Are you ready? It's water. Pure, cold, clean, wet water. In that heat, with my brain slowly boiling in my skull, there was nothing quite as amazing as that 1.5 litre bottle of water.

After an hour of watching the goings on of the square, Kristen came back with her purchases and I was just paying up. We limped back to the riad together to await the sunset. We also met a turtle who seems to live on the terrace. I believe he looks like his name is Siegfried.



So, night fell and we crept once more into the souqs to look for bargains. We did go a bit crazy with the shopping, but if you could only see all the stuff... Look at this guy with his mountain of sweets:



So, finally we come to dinner. Remembering the hassle of last night's dinner, we headed down another street that seemed to have a few nice restaurants. We ignored the people trying to convince us to come upstairs with them to a place with beer and wine (unlicensed for sure and being sneaky) and found our way to a chawarma hut with outdoor seating. Here, I ordered the lamb and lemon tangia and Kristen had the beef and prunes tagine.



Just thinking about that tangia now makes my brain turn to mush. It was absolutely amazing; a mixture of salty and sour and sweet with big pieces of fatty lamb on the bone all through it. Such a simple recipe, but so perfect in execution and it has been done that way for centuries. Of course, the keen eye will spot the large bottle of ice-cold water accompanying the meal. Perfection.