Memories of Morocco – Part 1: Arriving in Marrakech

Scotty Robinson, a Toronto-based tour guide operator, owner of OffBeatRoads, organized a 14-day bike trip through the heart of Morocco in mid-March. This was his second time doing this particular tour. My travelling companion Anne and I were in. Lured by the promise of an exotic, far-away country, sunny weather and some early spring cycling we landed in Marrakech on the morning of Saturday, March 18^th  to blue skies and warm temperatures, much to our delight.

Scotty’s tours are well organized and leave no detail uncovered. But when we arrived at the airport, one of his helpers who was supposed to pick us up missed his timing. A helpful bystander used his cell phone to call our hotel and arrange a shuttle to pick us up. A 15-minute drive later, we were let out of the shuttle van on a noisy, bustling street. Our bags were loaded onto a cart and short, sturdy Moroccan man hauling our luggage, led us down a side street lined with shops whose wares were spilling onto the roadway. Intermittent motorbikes and bicycles sped past us as we made our way down the narrow path. We turned down several dinghy alleyways not sure what to expect when we arrived at a small but intricately carved door.

Moments later the door opened, and we entered the riad (guesthouse) stunned at the disparity between the outer and inner walls. The riads here typically have rooms around the perimeter of an open courtyard. At this riad, at the upper level, there was a heavy plastic tarp covering the opening in case of rain. There was enough of an opening for small birds to get in.

Once checked in to our room on the second level, I ventured up to the terrace on the roof of the riad to find our fine leader, Scotty, sitting in apparent meditation, head in hands, on the edge of his lounge chair, the hot sun beating down on his browning back. My first introduction to him was delayed as he didn’t respond to my footsteps and I was reluctant to disturb him. Shortly Anne arrives and utters his name and we introduce ourselves. Scotty has thinning, sun-lightened hair pulled back in a small ponytail. He wears a friendly smile.

After a brief sunbath, Anne and I head to the Souk (market) to see the sights. If you show the slightest interest in any of the wares, you will be strongly encouraged to come inside and take a closer look. “Just look, no problem.” “Good price!”, were phrases we would hear over and over again.

In the open square, we spot a snake charmer and then a man with monkeys, which draws us near. Before I realize it, the man places the small monkey in one arm, then an older monkey in the other arm. On a leash and wearing diapers, these monkeys are unusually subdued. It made me sad to think how these poor monkeys must be treated and what an awful life they must have. We paid for pictures but all I could think about was how sad they were.

Back at the riad, we met some of the tour group members: Donna and Steve, Jackie, and Brian. And later Mark, a lone traveller arriving from Turkey. All from Toronto.

We ended the day with a delicious meal in a restaurant we found in another dark, forbidding alley. There was a musician playing guitar and the food, our first exposure to Moroccan cuisine, was tantalizing. We learned about the common practice of serving mint tea in a unique way: by pouring it out of a silver teapot raised high above a small, decorative glass, the purpose being to make the tea froth. On its own the mint flavour is overwhelming but I came to truly enjoy it with a bit of sugar.

That was our Saturday. Twelve hours of sleep that night went a long way to undoing any jetlag. The rest of the tour group would arrive on Sunday. Monday, we would finally head out into the countryside in a vehicle that would drop us in the middle of nowhere to begin our adventure.