Change In Plans

This short post is about walking in the medinas of Fes and Marrakech.

If walking in the Fes medina were a game, it would be a maze, written on dusty ancient parchment, and worked through with an old quill pen. It would be played in a room that was 105 degrees, but shady. It would be pleasant, but frustrating.

If walking in the Marrakech medina were a game, it would be the old video game, Frogger. In Frogger, the player controlled a frog that was trying to cross a stream by jumping from log to log. The logs are all moving at different speeds, and in both directions.

The streets in the Marrakech medina are generally twice as wide (or more) than the streets in Fes. This means that they are generally 15-20 feet wide. In the marketplaces, the streets tend to be narrower, and to have shops on both sides, spilling out into the public space.

In Fes, there are no cars at all, and very few motor scooters or mopeds. The biggest traffic hazard is the donkeys and donkey carts, which force everyone to the sides with shouts of “Belek! Belek!” Having so many pedestrians crammed into small space slows down the pace of walking, but it is subdued and civil.

In Marrakech, the streets are complete chaos. In addition to the pedestrians and the donkey carts (fewer), there are thousands of motor scooters and bicycles, plus the occasional small car or truck. In any given minute, walking in the center of the medina, we would:

• Pass 20-30 people sitting on the sides of the street
• Pass 10-20 people walking slowly or standing and chatting
• Be passed by 40-50 people walking int he opposite direction
• Be passed by 3-5 donkeys and/or donkey carts and 5-10 bicycles
• Be passed by 20-30 mopeds and motor scooters, going in either direction, at speeds ranging from 5-30 miles per hour. Many of these vehicels are carrying two or three passengers.
• Be passed by the occasional car (one every 5 minutes or so)

As you can imagine, this much motion creates collisions and near-misses all over the place. All of the two-stroke and diesel engines also spew exhaust which hangs in the air. Young men (in particular) rev and skid and rev and skid their motor scooters through the traffic, seeming to revel in the video-game aspect of it.

We only saw two real accidents (one bad one), and within the family, Zola was the only one to have a vehicle make contact with his body. A huge, slow-moving wheelbarrow cart full of pastries knocked him into a shop in the shoe market. There were no injuries.

Marrakech is vibrant and alive, and full of people eager to get from someplace to someplace else. Our walks through the old city have been very stimulating, except for Tallulah, who is incredibly casual about it all. This afternoon, she fell asleep in the stroller for over an hour as we walked over the cobblestones. Amazing.

This post is about our dinner this evening in a restaurant in the souqs of old Marrakesh. Nothing dramatic or extraordinary happened, but the whole experience reflects how different Morocco is.

Even though our afternoon walk back to the Riad Alayena hotel had been stressful, and took a lot longer than expected (these facts were related), we decided to stick with our plan to have dinner out on the town. Both kids were tired (Zola even took a highly uncharacteristic nap), but we figured that an early and quick dinner, followed by a walk in the night air, would be perfect.

The Riad’s manageress made a reservation for us at a popular place called Cafe Arabe. Because it is Ramadan, the earliest reservation we could get was for 8pm. So much for the ‘early’ part of ‘an early and quick dinner.’

As the crow flies, Cafe Arabe is probably about a mile from Riad Anayela. Because the Baird Family can not fly, and because the medina’s narrow streets could take us hours to navigate, we called a ‘petit taxi.’

The ancient Dacia taxi somehow managed to navigate from the nearest gate in the walls (called Bab Kheshish) deep into the medina’s labyrinth towards our hotel. When the road got too narrow, the driver, Youssef, sent someone on foot the last 50 yards, into the alley where the hotel was located (called Derb Zerwal), to let us know he had arrived.

Youssef executed a neat 183-point turn to reverse direction, and we started driving back toward Bab Kheshish. Maybe because the fifth call to prayer had just sounded, the streets were largely deserted. Tallulah fell asleep almost immediately.

Five minutes later, as we exited the medina, Youssef asked (in French), “Where are you going? To the big square?” I guess there was a communication breakdown between the hotel and Youssef. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, I had a scrap of paper with the name and address of Cafe Arabe on it. After a few confusing minutes, we were on our way again.

We drove through the remnants of a huge flea market that had been held just outside the medina walls, and then onto the anarchic 3-lane ring road that encircles the old city. After driving 3-4 miles, we re-entered the medina on the westen side (if the medina walls were a clock, we had exited from Bab Kheshish at about 2, and were re-entering at about 8).

We drove into a new labyrinth, with many more small shops, all of which were open, and with many more people on the streets. When Youssef could go no further, he indicated that the restaurant was “five meters” down the street we were already on. We woke Lu up, and walked off into the medina.

“Dad, how much is five meters?” Zola asked.
“About 15 feet. The driver may have exaggerated how close it is, but I’m sure it is right up here somewhere,” I responded, confidently.

We walked for several minutes, past dozens of tiny shops, selling clothes, shoes, baked goods and sweets, leather products, toys. We walked past small cafes filled with men drinking coffee after a long day of fasting. We passed hundreds of people on the street. When we asked directions, many people offered to show us to “a much better restaurant,” before they indicated that Cafe Arabe was a little further on. We dodged dozens of mopeds, scooters, and bicycles.

Finally, a well dressed young man escorted us the last 200 yards (and two turns) to Cafe Arabe. When we arrived, he said (in English) “You pay me 50 dirham,” which is about $6. I felt proud for negotiating him down to only 20 dirham.

At Cafe Arabe, we climbed three flights of stairs to a stylish open-air terrace. Seated, Moroccan-style, on a semi-circular sofa, both kids fell deeply asleep after ordering. Zola did not even drink his hot chocolate.

India and I had a pleasant dinner, barely distracted by our snoring children. The waiter kindly packaged up the kids’ pasta dinners, which would have been otherwise untouched.

When it was time to leave, we woke up Zola. India supported him in walking sleepily back down the stairs (like a coach assisting an injured player from the field). I carried Tallulah and the stroller.

We walked the gantlet of activity back to where the petit taxi had dropped us. As agreed, Youssef pulled up at 10pm on the dot. We all loaded in, and drove back out of the medina.

Youssef took us back around the anarchic ring road, which was much more crowded than it had been at 8pm. All manner of car, truck, moped, donkey cart, horse and carriage, bicyclist and pedestrian, hurtled along the road, miraculously not smashing into each other. Zola and Lu, of course, fell asleep again in the taxi.

After we turned back in to the medina at Bab Kheshish, we realized how packed the streets had gotten. The flea-market area now hosted dozens of little pick-up soccer games, involving scores of kids (many of them about Zola’s age). Again, we passed hundreds of pedestrians, a few full cyber cafes and many people sitting and talking. At a barber shop, we saw a man getting shaved, and a little boy getting his hair cut.

Finally, we arrived back at Derb Zerwal, within 50 yards of our hotel. The night manager from the Riad, named Badr, met us, and helped us get the sleeping kids back inside and up to bed.

In retrospect, we probably could have stayed in. Riad Alayena would not have been able to provide a big dinner (they would have had to start in the afternoon, and besides, the water in this whole section of the medina has been shut off for most of the day). They would have found something for us, though. It will be interesting to see if the kids remember anything about this small adventure.

This post is about our dinner this evening in a restaurant in the souqs of old Marrakesh. Nothing dramatic or extraordinary happened, but the whole experience reflects how different Morocco is.

Even though our afternoon walk back to the Riad Alayena hotel had been stressful, and took a lot longer than expected (these facts were related), we decided to stick with our plan to have dinner out on the town. Both kids were tired (Zola even took a highly uncharacteristic nap), but we figured that an early and quick dinner, followed by a walk in the night air, would be perfect.

The Riad’s manageress made a reservation for us at a popular place called Cafe Arabe. Because it is Ramadan, the earliest reservation we could get was for 8pm. So much for the ‘early’ part of ‘an early and quick dinner.’

As the crow flies, Cafe Arabe is probably about a mile from Riad Anayela. Because the Baird Family can not fly, and because the medina’s narrow streets could take us hours to navigate, we called a ‘petit taxi.’

The ancient Dacia taxi somehow managed to navigate from the nearest gate in the walls (called Bab Kheshish) deep into the medina’s labyrinth towards our hotel. When the road got too narrow, the driver, Youssef, sent someone on foot the last 50 yards, into the alley where the hotel was located (called Derb Zerwal), to let us know he had arrived.

Youssef executed a neat 183-point turn to reverse direction, and we started driving back toward Bab Kheshish. Maybe because the fifth call to prayer had just sounded, the streets were largely deserted. Tallulah fell asleep almost immediately.

Five minutes later, as we exited the medina, Youssef asked (in French), “Where are you going? To the big square?” I guess there was a communication breakdown between the hotel and Youssef. Fortunately, and uncharacteristically, I had a scrap of paper with the name and address of Cafe Arabe on it. After a few confusing minutes, we were on our way again.

We drove through the remnants of a huge flea market that had been held just outside the medina walls, and then onto the anarchic 3-lane ring road that encircles the old city. After driving 3-4 miles, we re-entered the medina on the westen side (if the medina walls were a clock, we had exited from Bab Kheshish at about 2, and were re-entering at about 8).

We drove into a new labyrinth, with many more small shops, all of which were open, and with many more people on the streets. When Youssef could go no further, he indicated that the restaurant was “five meters” down the street we were already on. We woke Lu up, and walked off into the medina.

“Dad, how much is five meters?” Zola asked.
“About 15 feet. The driver may have exaggerated how close it is, but I’m sure it is right up here somewhere,” I responded, confidently.

We walked for several minutes, past dozens of tiny shops, selling clothes, shoes, baked goods and sweets, leather products, toys. We walked past small cafes filled with men drinking coffee after a long day of fasting. We passed hundreds of people on the street. When we asked directions, many people offered to show us to “a much better restaurant,” before they indicated that Cafe Arabe was a little further on. We dodged dozens of mopeds, scooters, and bicycles.

Finally, a well dressed young man escorted us the last 200 yards (and two turns) to Cafe Arabe. When we arrived, he said (in English) “You pay me 50 dirham,” which is about $6. I felt proud for negotiating him down to only 20 dirham.

At Cafe Arabe, we climbed three flights of stairs to a stylish open-air terrace. Seated, Moroccan-style, on a semi-circular sofa, both kids fell deeply asleep after ordering. Zola did not even drink his hot chocolate.

India and I had a pleasant dinner, barely distracted by our snoring children. The waiter kindly packaged up the kids’ pasta dinners, which would have been otherwise untouched.

When it was time to leave, we woke up Zola. India supported him in walking sleepily back down the stairs (like a coach assisting an injured player from the field). I carried Tallulah and the stroller.

We walked the gantlet of activity back to where the petit taxi had dropped us. As agreed, Youssef pulled up at 10pm on the dot. We all loaded in, and drove back out of the medina.

Youssef took us back around the anarchic ring road, which was much more crowded than it had been at 8pm. All manner of car, truck, moped, donkey cart, horse and carriage, bicyclist and pedestrian, hurtled along the road, miraculously not smashing into each other. Zola and Lu, of course, fell asleep again in the taxi.

After we turned back in to the medina at Bab Kheshish, we realized how packed the streets had gotten. The flea-market area now hosted dozens of little pick-up soccer games, involving scores of kids (many of them about Zola’s age). Again, we passed hundreds of pedestrians, a few full cyber cafes and many people sitting and talking. At a barber shop, we saw a man getting shaved, and a little boy getting his hair cut.

Finally, we arrived back at Derb Zerwal, within 50 yards of our hotel. The night manager from the Riad, named Badr, met us, and helped us get the sleeping kids back inside and up to bed.

In retrospect, we probably could have stayed in. Riad Alayena would not have been able to provide a big dinner (they would have had to start in the afternoon, and besides, the water in this whole section of the medina has been shut off for most of the day). They would have found something for us, though. It will be interesting to see if the kids remember anything about this small adventure.