LYNN’S SPAIN/MOROCCO
JOURNAL
Day 8, Thursday, May 16
Fes to Marrakesh
We had our final breakfast in the hotel before the taxi driver from the day before, per our agreement, came to pick us up. We tried to pay for the hotel using our traveler’s checks, but the clerk claimed to have no forms. We ended up charging the room. We bought drinks before we boarded the train.
Lynn and Nezha on the Train to Marrakesh
From Fes to Meknes, we were alone. At Meknes, a Moroccan woman, Nezha, with a baby Myriam, aged six and a half months, came on. She had been visiting her family in Meknes, the first time since the baby was born—prematurely in France at six and a half months. She lives in Chartres—she invited us to her home—and her parents-in-law have a farm 25 kilometers from town. She was very friendly, very open. I shared my dates; she shared a wonderful sandwich with me, made by her mother. It was a mixture of chicken and green vegetables, plus garlic and lemon confit. It was delicious! She also shared her and her babies cold, which Philip came down with exactly three days later. She had met her husband in Tunisia. He is some kind of businessman who conducts business in North Africa. After they got married, he curtailed his activities to some extent and works out of their home. He had been in Meknes with her before. She will return in September. Her brother picked her up in Casa, from where she will fly to Paris (Orly). She also told us we could stay in her home in Essaouira (on the coast), where Corinna took her vacation. I would have loved to have gone there, but it would have required a lot of backtracking, plus there is no train to Essaouira (bus only).
In Casa we were joined by a French couple who did not pay much attention to us. He talked on his cell phone; she read magazines. The vistas outside changed from landscapes with olive trees to a much more arid countryside. The white-washed villages of the north were replaced by mud huts and compounds while the green fields gave way to scrub and dessert-like conditions. I took the opportunity to write postcards and catch up in my journal.
From
the Train
We got to Marrakech relatively early: 5ish. The Hotel Oudaya is in the new part of the city, in contrast to the Hotel Batha in Fes, which was actually in the medina. It is bigger and more modern. We ate dinner near the hotel at Jack-Line, owned by a French woman who looked like Edith Piaf and had a noisy parrot. We sat outside as did she—she looked like she was holding court. In fact, a couple of woman friends did come by to sit with her. I had beef tajine, salade nicoise, sangria, and a crème caramel (much better than the one at Hotel Batha). Philip had couscous again. We fed meat scraps to the calico cats underfoot.
After dinner we walked to the main square inside the medina, Djemaa el-Fna. I had read about this in the guidebook—it is quite the spectacle. At night, when we went, all the food stall guys were out. I just had an orange juice on the perimeter—too timid to try the food. The next day our guide told us that even he got sick from eating food from the square. We first saw the square, which we approached from the side, because of all the smoke arising from the barbeques. All manner of food can be had: soup, barbequed meat, etc. I was sorely tempted, but we had just eaten dinner. Small groups of people were surrounding entertainers: musicians, dancers, games. Later we returned in the day—less food, more entertainers. But I will never forget our first experience in the square at night. It was fascinating to be there with all the smoke, music, food, people jostling about. It was a long walk from the hotel to the square and back—a horse-driver carriage ride would have been nice (we did that later). We stopped at an Internet café on the way back. Once home, we did some laundry—we even had a nice balcony to hang our clothes from.
The Djemaa el-Fna