It took a day and a half to get to Marrakech. We got there by way of a bus to a ferry, to an overnight train to a taxi. And Morocco didn’t disappoint.

Don’t get me wrong, there were disappointing aspects of our locale. Such as, a lack of toilets and toilet paper, usable drinking water, the dirty flatware and the water had a curious smell. Basically a lack of any and everything that would resemble a clean/normal standard of living.

There were some flushing toilets (most were just stand-up stalls with a hole in the ground) but most of those did not actually flush. They kind of gurgled, churned and swirled the contents but it never went down. I know people that would have been brought to tears by what I saw.

However, Marrakech wasn’t without its charms. The mercury climbed steadily toward 50 degrees Celsius during the day, which drove the locals inside but when the sun lost its grip and begun to sink in the west the medina throbbed with a renewed vigor.

Snake charmers, monkey performers, dancers, even some of the free-standing food merchants put on a show. Key thing to remember is you have to pay to play. Just walking through the medina, one monkey performer threw his mean primates at my travel companion, Jeremy, without him asking or even feigning interest. The things looked like they were going to slap the crap out of someone. The merchants wouldn’t let Jeremy loose until he gave them some money.



In the end, Jeremy got off easy. A couple of days later, we saw the same act. Once the guy now in Jeremy’s position had the monkeys, one urinated all over him.

The medina was filled with shops of spices, tea sets and trinkets of all types for westerners to take back home to show for their trip. But buyer beware: the price quoted is not the price you pay.

What I liked least, but later grew accustomed too, was Morocco’s bartering system. They haven’t actually adopted civilization’s affinity for the price fixe. As you walk through the market, the merchants will call to entice you to come into their shop.



Then they will show you something and swear that it is authentic this, real that and only available in the medina. Then they will say, it costs ‘X’ amount of dollars, which will cause a guttural reaction in most people because it’s a ridiculously inflated price.

Then you’re supposed to say, “I’m not paying that, it’s too much.”

Then the dance has begun. By the time you leave, you (hopefully) have gotten what you want for an acceptable price and they have still made a profit. The main rule of thumb is: they start really high, so you should start way below the price you actually want to pay. If you are lucky, then you will wind up somewhere in the middle.

The main challenge for me going to an Arab/Muslim country weren't the five-per-day calls to prayer...
 


but the fact that I represent the antithesis of their social mores. I am an unmarried, opinionated, self-sufficient and outspoken woman. While there, I attempted to respect their cultural mores by covering my shoulders and knees much as the clothes I had allowed me to, etc. But there, it is obvious that the man is king and the woman is well, just a woman.

Going through the medina with Jeremy, one merchant approached him and said,

“I got perfect place for you to come buy for your wife.”

When I explained that he wasn’t my husband, he kept trying to convince poor Jeremy that he should spend money on me, his woman.

Exasperated and still trying to be polite, I painfully explained that he was neither my husband nor my man and that if he wanted to talk about what I should purchase he needed to speak to me.

His reply was both comical and expected.

“In Morocco, we deal with the man for the woman, you are in Morocco now and that is our way.”

Ah yes, I was in Morocco. But with that attitude, since I had no husband and no man I wasn’t about to give him one of my hard-fought pennies. And that, in a nutshell, is precisely what I told him.