Last weekend I spent approximately 48 hours in Marrakesh, Morroco, and packed absolutely everything I possibly could into that time. I started my Saturday off walking through the freshly opened street markets with Talissa at 9am, bought some souvenirs for my roommates and a silver bracelet for myself. The vendors loved to play around with tourists and would constantly invite us into their shops saying “sisters, here here, sisters!” I found this charming at first but as the market became more busy their insistence grew more aggressive. Talissa said she saw one woman get chased down by a vendor who had packaged up the shoes she was looking at, attempting to guilt her into buying something she already decided not to. I respect the hustle, but it can be overwhelming. In true market fashion, everyone was willing to barter, I didn’t buy anything for the initial price. Interestingly, most sellers accepted either Euros or Dirham (Moroccan currency). After the market we got a fantastic lunch to celebrate Jess’s birthday, I ate scallops for the second time (first did not go well), they are actually good when paired with a carb or starch. I had saffron risotto. After lunch we began the real adventure.
We booked a guided trip that was the best $75 I’ve spent thus far abroad. The six of us were picked up 5 minutes from our hostel and driven an hour away to the Agafay desert. We were met with a newborn camel (born the night before) attempting to stand up for its first time with its mom protectively watching from above. Our guides tied scarves around our heads to protect us from the sand, and we each proceeded to hop on the back of a camel.
Camels walk very slowly with a wondrously bizarre rolling motion. Before long, though, I noticed that my quads and groin getting sore, but the experience was unlike any other. The camel behind me I named Dean. He was intrigued with the bright red tie hanging from my pants and kept nuzzling up to my pants every chance he got. Because of camel anatomy, “my” camel’s head was so far away from me that I couldn’t see or pet it. As a result, Dean won my heart.
After about an hour of riding, we returned to the camp for hot Moroccan tea and played with an adorable puppy who had befriended the camels. We then got on ATV’s (my first time) and essentially go-karted through the desert in a single file line. The ATV’s were a blast, Talissa and I chose to do a double and switch drivers half way through (she’s much better than me, evidently). While I never did this growing up, the ATV ride brought me back to my NC roots, reminding me of the middle school boys whose instagram consisted solely of them doing tricks on ATV’s or BMX bikes.
Back at camp our guides had cooked us a beautiful spread of traditional Morrocan food. I filled up my plate with cous-cous, plantains, squash, carrots, cucumber salad, and some type of curry-roasted chicken. It was delectable. During our meal a group of male singers with drums performed for us, followed by an absolutely insane fire show. I couldn’t believe we fit all of this into one day.
We got dropped off back at our hostel around 10pm, where the six of us belly-laughed in our bunk beds after lights went out while discussing all the cheeky Moroccan pick-up lines we had heard that day. I have three favorites. One was while walking through the market and attempting to gracefully reject a server who insisted we sit down at his restaurant. After smiling, saying “no thank you,” and continuing to walk, he said “you dropped something,” so I turned around to see him pointing at the empty ground and he stated “my heart” with an accomplished grin across his face. The second one was also in the market when a man passing by said “face, nice.” The comment was ineffective but I respect how simple and straightforward it was. My absolute favorite cat-calling experience in Marrakesh was on our way back from the main square Saturday night. I made a joke to Jess and Talissa about wanting a Moroccan man to pick us up on one of their motorcycles and drive through the city, the ears of a man nearby perked up. He goes “Moroccan man?” while gesturing to himself. I laughed and said “no, sorry” and kept walking, only to hear a few seconds later “Susan! Susan come back!” I am chuckling writing about it because calling a random white tourist Susan deserves brownie points. At least he didn’t think I looked like a Karen.
