See Travel Blog

Good morning and kicking things straight off today with a philosophical question.  Why do the people of Marrakesh have less teeth than everyone else?  Because there’s ‘mor-rock’(co) here than anywhere else.  I have no idea if that’s true!  In fact I don’t think I’ve seen a single stick of rock since we arrived.  Gosh that was an awful joke by my standards.

Today is our last full day in Marrakesh, but have plenty of ground still to explore and cover.  The last few days have been quite full on, so always grateful for a lie-in.  I say lie-in, but they stop serving breakfast in the hotel at 9:30am, and the foods packed away by 10am.

I’m not sure if I’ve already covered this, but it’s half an hour into the main square from where we’re staying (the Kenzi Rose Hotel).  Incidentally, it’s not true that you ‘ken-zi’ roses from the hotel. (Two terrible jokes in three paragraphs if anyone’s counting – I think tiredness is really bringing out the worst in my sense of humour.  Just wait till I get started on the pirate jokes!)

On the walk in, two observations:  I love the patriotic vibe, but why have they got the wrong star symbol on their bins?  It should be 5-pointed, this is more of a Maltese cross.  That’s bound to make the Maltese cross! 

Second observation is that the locals are all wearing thick coats.  It’s like 20 degrees and this is the first outing my summer wardrobe has had in like 6 months.  I know it’s winter, but funny how people from different climates react differently to the same weather.

On the road adjacent to the Koutoubia Mosque, street sellers are primed and ready to catch us on the way through.  I see one guy selling sunglasses (it’s totally clouded over – there’s no need for them today 🤔), one selling lovely canvas paintings of Marrakesh (and get one for the house).  TBH I think this is where I went wrong…

Further up, two ladies selling jewellery intercept me on the path.  I tell them I don’t wear jewellery, and they tell me their bangles are for boys and would really suit my wrist.  I tell them I’m not interested, and they try to tell me I can have one for free.  Still not interested, sorry ladies.  But quite funny watching these women chasing us up the street waving their bangles.  (Never liked them anyway – IMHO Atomic Kitten’s version of Eternal Flame is the better of the two.  Sorry… not sorry! )😂 

We head back through the main square, and enter one of the many souks.  Most are covered, and some stretch for ages.  It’s easy to feel a bit of claustrophobia trapped inside the souks – narrow covered walkways between lines of stalls, loads of people, and then having to jump out of the way every so often to avoid getting run over by a moped, cart or donkey.  The sellers are definitely less pushy in here – they’ll only talk to you if you express some form of interest, so naturally I had to have a bit of fun with this.  “Dad, didn’t you say earlier that you really wanted one of those giant stuffed camels.”  They’re all over him like a rash!  😂 

I drew up a list of about 10 places that I wanted to visit, and we’d seen most of them within half an hour on the first day.  There really isn’t much to do here, aside from just experiencing the Marrakeshian way of life.  One of three still yet to explore is the Secret Garden (le Jardin Secret), and it’s in that general direction that we’re dandering.

A few blocks away from the Garden, mum clocks a nice looking restaurant, and we try and take a mental photograph to return after. 

The Secret Garden was once written about by Enid Blyton, but I don’t think it was this one.  Who knew there were two?  

Described as a ‘true oasis of calm in the heart of the medina’, this garden belonged to a palace built in the mid-1800s.  The original owner – kaid al-Hajj Abd-Allah U-Bihi was poisoned by the neighbouring sultan.  The estate fell into ruin over the next 75 years or so, and reopened fully restored in 2016.

There are actually two gardens:  an exotic garden (with many foreign plants) and an Islamic garden (symbolising the Islamic paradise).

This isn’t a joke, but at what point does the Secret Garden become just the Garden?  It was listed on nearly every top things to do in Marrakesh list!  Surely it’s now too well known to be the Secret Garden?

In the exotic garden, there is a little pond with four tortoises. I tell you they live the absolute life of riley! Nobody’s out to get them, live long lives, can hide in their shells and easily content. If I could be any animal – I must say, a tortoise is one of the top contenders!

In need of some refreshing, I tried to find our way back to the nice cafe in the souks.  That proved to be a bit difficult – every street looks the same!  A few u-turns later and the elusive cafe shows up on our right hand side. Mum is absolutely elated.

Another place highly recommended is the Madrasa Ben Youssef.  No, not an Indian curry, but a very old school which once housed 900 students at once.  Now it houses 900 eager influencers posing in front of the photogenic coloured tiles.  

The lack of a physical ticket and leaflet at the entrance was a disappointing sign of things to come.  For sure, it’s a nice building – nice to look at, but sooo underwhelming for things to do. Aside from a few dull info boards, there was nothing to explain what each room was for, no exhibits from its former history, just an empty shell full of people.  

I was shocked at how small some of the rooms were for classrooms, but maybe they weren’t classrooms at all.  Take note tourist board of Morocco – historic buildings should be fun to visit!

Ok that’s it for us from the historic centre of Marrakesh.  We return to the hotel via the main square for the last time and get ready for this evening’s activities.  I have been very excited about this one since we first planned on coming to Marrakesh in 2020!

The bus picks us up at 3:50pm and we’re given a run through of our itinerary.  Three stops, ending in a traditional meal and ‘fire show’ in the Agafay desert.  

The first stop is literally at the side of the road – a woman’s cooperative where we will learn all about Argon Oil.  Oh joy – I wonder if anything has changed since the last demo two days ago?  

Speaking of which… (don’t)… what does the… (I’m sorry I can’t physically stop myself)… pirate use to cure a rash (oh flip, there it is)…

Arrrrhhhh-gon oil!

(Help me please)

Upon entry, we’re met by the sight of two women grinding away (on the argon oil of course).  Another woman is trying to coordinate three different bus loads of tourists landing on her door at once.  Before I can finish asking the grinders for a photo, I’m told to stay with my group.  Sorry boss.

There’ll be time for all of that later.

Our guide is now pouring tea into a collection of small glasses on a silver tray.  I’m given the option of sugar, or no sugar.  ‘How much have you got!’  Sadly milk isn’t an option, so find the tea is a little bit stronger than I’m used to.  

Next, we’re brought over to the ladies for a live demo of how to make Argon oil.  At this point I’m chomping at the bit to have a go.  

It’s pretty much the same demo that we had on Thursday, so please check out my Day 2 blog for the full explanation.

As the group disperses for the last part of this part of the tour, I ask for a go.  The grinders are happy to oblige.  They don’t speak any English, but a combination of awkward hand gestures and what’s left of my GCSE French do the trick just fine.  “Bonjour, je m’appelle Simon. Je suis 30 ans et j’habite dans une maison sont Bangor, Irlande du Nord.”  They haven’t a clue what I’m waffling on about.

Before I can start cranking away, I’m told that I need to sprinkle some nuts over the press.  I guess this is where the argon comes from.  And I say told, one lady is waving her hands over the bowl.  Maybe there’s a black magic side to this manufacturing process.  Or maybe not.

The press is actually pretty tough to move, and the top part isn’t fixed to the bottom part, so the circular cranking action causes a little bit of sliding from side to side.  It’s harder than the ladies make it look!  I stop to flex my muscles and the ladies laugh – how humiliating, I’m really trying guys.  

That said, it’s lovely that as humans we have an ability to communicate with one another without using humour.  Humour goes a long way, and it feels like back home we’ve lost the art of laughing with strangers.  

Well and truly humbled at the argon press, I slip them some money and head inside to cover my blushes.  The other lady is talking our group through what’s available in the shop.  Peanut butter is a surprising option, and it sounds like it’s produced in much the same way as argon oil.  

In the courtyard, it’s very odd to see a pink grabber machine out of an arcade, and a how hard can you punch-a-thing machine.  I’m out of local cash now, but on the basis of my earlier experiences on the press, probably best I save myself from further embarrassment.

We’re herded back onto the bus towards a camel farm in the Agafay desert.  Disclaimer – I don’t agree with the idea of riding animals for fun, so chose to sit this out.  That said, I wasn’t gonna look away as others enjoyed themselves.

When we arrived at the camel farm, we’re greeted by the sight of seven or eight camels all tied up to one another, walking around in circles.  They do not look like they are enjoying themselves at all, and who could blame them.  I don’t like to see the exploitation of animals for tourism – be it donkeys in Santorini, elephants in Thailand, or camels in Marrakesh. 

Don’t get me wrong, camels have their place.  They’ve been carrying people across the desert for thousands of years, and may provide a source of income for local farmers, but there’s a difference in doing something out of necessity than doing something for fun.

My Mum and Dad did have a go (I wasn’t gonna stand in their way) and I did rather enjoy them being thrown around like a bunking bronco as they got on and off.  The camels were all still tied together, and mum became a bit too overly acquainted with the camel behind her, as it went in for a bite on her arm.  After that, it was very much keep your hands and arms in.  

The trek lasted around 15 minutes and followed a circular path around the farm.  I’m told it was a bumpy ride. What do you expect?  This is not a Rolls Royce!

Camels are absolutely beautiful creatures, and watching the caravan march off into the distance, formed a pretty cool silhouette.  

As the camels returned to their paddock, the sun crept out from behind the clouds for pretty much the first time on this whole trip.  It only lasted about 5 minutes, before it slipped beneath the horizon, but that was enough for a few golden sunset photos beside a pile of bricks on the balcony, and it was then back to the bus towards the last part of this trip. 

Interestingly just as the sun disappeared, the announcement echoed round the farm that the sun had now set, and the local Muslims were permitted to eat (they’re fasting for Ramadan this week, in case you haven’t ready any of my previous entries.  

Ok don’t know why I slipped into past tense there, but we’re back in the present.  

It’s only ten minutes in the bus again before we arrive at the last stop – and find several tents and an unlit fire pit when we get off.  

After a quick visit to the WC, we are led inside one tent, where rows of tables and low sofas have been arranged and set for dinner.  It’s a three course meal, chickpea and lentil soup for starters, chicken tagine for mains and coconut cake for dessert.  (I still can’t remember the difference in spelling between desert and dessert, so I’m sure you can imagine that this has been a bit of a challenge to write!)

The food was simple, but pretty good.  The whole tour cost only about £18 each, and we’ve definitely paid much more, for worse meals over the last few days.  

That reminds me, did you hear about the guy who was impaled by his tent?  He was severely yurt! 

Anyway, back to dinner, and just as I’m launching into my second slice of coconut cake (please don’t judge), a man wearing traditional costume appears, and swinging a tasselled hat wildly above his head.  Next  think I know, he’s dragged half of the people out of the tent.  I shove the remainder of the cake into my mouth, almost choking on its dry coconuty texture, and go to see what all the fuss is about.  Another bad move… I’m summoned to join him dancing.  Crap – I cannot handle awkward social encounters.  

After a few pathetic attempts to refuse, he plops a hat on my head and tells me to sit down for a photograph.  Ok that I can handle.  The dancer guy is a bit of a one trick pony  – that tassel is spinning so fast, I’m convinced he’s about to take off like a helicopter.  Didn’t Inspector Gadget have a hat with a helicopter?

By this point, the tent is completely empty and it seems everyone has made their way to the newly lit firepit.  

I should say now that it is absolutely freezing.  I thought deserts were meant to be warm?  Forget about the entertainment, if the temperature drops further we’ll all be huddling round that fire!  

A beat grows louder – it’s either my heartbeat as my temperature plummets, or the musicians from earlier making their way outside.  I pinch myself to make sure I can still feel my limbs then realise it must be the latter.  

The dancers danced for ten minutes, culminating in a giant conga line of people around the fire.  Is it true that these can come in two forms here in Africa?  The Republic of Congo line and the Democratic Republic of Congo line?

The music stops and the dancers retreat out from the circle of seats, leaving a mass migration of people returning to where they were originally sat.

Thankfully that’s not it for the entertainment.  A man approaches the fire carrying an armful of skewers.  Oh joy – smores!!! 

Not quite, as the man starts juggling these flaming skewers in front of him.  I guess that would make him a fire juggler.

It’s an impressive and dizzying sight, watching the blur of fire twirl rapidly.  A bit too fast for my phone camera to focus, but it did make for some pretty cool pics.  

Looking to up the stakes with a big set piece, Burnie Sanders proceeds to rub the flame over his arm and breathe fires. As you do. 

Sorry but before I go further, who wakes up one morning and decides to breathe fires?  How many accidents do these guys have trying to master the technique.  And why?  Fair play to the guy, he’s amazing at what he does, but he must be an absolute madman!  

How do you top setting yourself on fire?  Why by creating a human Catherine wheel of course!  It was actually so spectacular to witness!

The music stops abruptly on the last song, and as the lights come back on, I notice all of the busses have moved into position for the collection.  I spot grey jumper guy (that’s our tour guide – I think his real name is Romeero) and board to head back home.

In fairness, that was actually a class night, and as I said before very reasonably priced.  If any of you come to Marrakesh, this is must do!

Right that’s all for tonight.  Got a bit of packing to do – we’re heading home tomorrow.  😢

Oh and nearly forgot – what is a pirate’s favourite city in Africa? M-Arrrhh-akesh!