Majorelle Gardens and Tea with Strangers -- Marrakech

I have now reached the point of my stay in Marrakech where I'm not sure what's worthy of mention and what isn't. I'm not jaded at all -- I'm just settling into the culture of Marrakech and the everyday sights don't stand out as much as they did the first few days of my visit. So I don't think to write about the donkey pulling its load of tomatoes, the roosters cockadoodledoo-ing at all hours (yes, I'm American) of the morning, the prayers reverberating through the entire city five times a day, the women covered up from head to toe, or the crazy cyclists. These things have become normal. 

I've mostly stopped walking by myself, however. For me, walking is a meditative activity. I love going for long strolls and contemplating ideas for plays, creating new life goals, and going back in time to win arguments I'd originally lost. Pretty much everything I do in the shower, as a matter of fact. Walks in Marrakech, especially for single women, are never contemplative. The noise, the exhaust, the dangerous drivers, and the general disregard for personal space makes quiet contemplation impossible. I read snippets of another traveller's experience in Morocco, and he likened the city to a hornet's nest. I think this is a just comparison. I used to walk forty-five minutes to a garden near the main square to journal, but now I don't bother. The last time I went, a young man followed me for ten minutes, trying to force himself on me as a guide through the souk. After I'd repeatedly said, "I'm not interested!" and walked away in a huff, I managed to lose the persuasive young entrepreneur. I sat down in the shade and started to journal. After a beautiful five minutes of peace and (relative) quiet, I was approached by an old man who propped his leg up beside me (to emphasize his masculinity), absent-mindedly scratched his crotch, and invited me to tea. Remembering orange juice man, I politely declined, put my journal back into my bag, and told him I needed to get going. 

I journal, write, and meditate at Mike's now. Whenever I want to go out while Mike's at work, I try to organize meetings with other couchsurfers so that I have good company and am not harassed. 

A few notes:

Madrid is a city for pedestrians

Venice is a city for gondolas

Ireland is a country for cars (and horse trailers)

Copenhagen is a city for bicycles 

Toulon is a city for runners

Marrakech is a city for motorcycles 

While I adore riding backseat on Mike's Ducati, I wish the other motorcyclists in Marrakech would develop some sort of respect for red traffic lights. There are police everywhere, but none of them stop the motorcyclists because they know that they're too poor to pay the fines. So in this case, poverty is a license do do whatever you want on the road.

What I wear when motorcycling with Mike. It's very serious. 

 Mike took me to Majorelle Gardens last Sunday, and I had a lovely time walking through the exotic plants, taking pictures, and practicing various yoga poses. It's a very popular tourist destination in Marrakech, and I was thrilled to be able to visit.

The famous French designer who used to live in the gardens

The Marjorelle Gardens are named after this color of blue. Very famous, apparently.  

I met up with a couchsurfer named Youssef yesterday for tea, an interview, and a walk around the souk. He's a splendid fellow, and I enjoyed his company immensely. Youssef has a degree in philosophy, is incredibly intelligent, very generous with his time, and has a surprising sense of humor. Youssef wants to travel the world, but is having a difficult time getting a visa to do so. Moroccans struggle to get visas to countries other than African countries, Russia, Brazil, and Turkey. It was really sad for me to listen to this well-educated, sensitive, friendly man talk about his travel dreams and realize how difficult they would be for him to achieve merely because he was born in Morocco.

The main church in Marrakech

A mosque in Marrakech -- right across the street from the church

One of the alleys in the souk

Youssef led me through the labyrinth-like souk until we reached his friend's spice shop. Saad brewed some Moroccan tea for us, and I can say without exaggeration that it was the best tea I've ever had. It was a mixture of star anise, fennel, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cloves, and peppermint. I will definitely make this tea in bulk when I get back to Colorado. Saad then taught me a little bit about the spices he sells and inquired about the state of things in America. I told him that things were getting better as far as the economy goes, and this seemed to make him extraordinarily happy. Marrakech is a tourist city. It isn't the independent business city Casablanca is, so if tourism dies in Marrakech, Marrakech dies. So if the economy in America and Europe fails, tourism slows, and vendors like Saad suffer.

Saad's spices

Saad and Youssef