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A trip to Morocco
Part 3: A
city of many small pleasures
It
is already Thursday. We have done nothing. Or at least nothing
big. Marrakesh is a city of many small pleasures. Not one
big thing. Today our small pleasure is the gardens of the
best hotel. They are open to the public.
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We
take a horse-drawn carriage. The driver's hat is blown away.
We stop to pick it up. We drive past pink city walls. We enter
a pink city gate. We arrive at Hotel Mamounia. We walk through
an opulent interior overwhelming in its splendour.
The gardens are crowded near the hotel.
We
walk farther off. A small immaculate horse drawn carriage
takes children along the gravel paths. A man in uniform leads
the single horse. We walk through the Koutoubiya gardens.
We cannot go in. All the gates are locked. We return to lunch
at the hotel.
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The tanneries are in the northeast of the old city. Our hotel
is in the southwest. We take a taxi to the tannery quarter.
The driver is old. He says his meter is broken. We circumnavigate
the pink walls. We arrive at the tannery gate.
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The
taxi driver wants sixty dirhams. The ride should be no more
than fifteen. Sixty should take us over the Atlas to Ouazazate
I give him twenty. I say we can go to the Tourist Police if
he wants to. He doesn't want to. I generalize; I lie. Younger
taxidrivers here seem more honest. In five days of taking
taxis. The number of taxis with broken meters is amazing.
I could set up a factory - but there would be no clients.
The
tannery guide gives us each a sprig of mint. A goat on a wall
stands like a tollkeeper. It wants some mint. The tannery
smell is overpowering.
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We
have come the wrong month. Dyeing is next month. This month
the desolation is colorless. Or rather grey. We stand on a
terrace looking over a wilderness of vats. The method hasn't
changed for hundreds of years. Pumps with petrol motors have
replaced donkeys. The skins are scraped clean by hand. There's
not really that much to look at. I give the goat my mint as
I leave.
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The
guide takes us into a leather shop. After that we are exposed
to a variety of different shops. Including the inevitable
carpet shop I've been avoiding since we arrived. The guide
explains that the tanners barter their skins with other craftsmen.
Then the tanners set up carpet shops, herbal medicine shops,
and brass shops. We are polite. We buy nothing. We pay the
guide and leave. We walk back to Jamaa el-Fna.
We
end the afternoon at an arts and crafts center. It is opposite
the Koutoubiya. My sister-in-law recommended it. They have
fixed prices. She doesn't like bargaining. My wife and daughter
shop.
I sit and drink. Craftsmen come onto a terrace in front of
me. They take their shoes off. They stand in two ranks. They
kneel to pray. They stand up. They kneel to pray again.
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Later,
we walk back to Jamaa el-Fna. We drink mint tea on a terrace
overlooking the square. We eat. We go to another terrace.
We drink more tea. The square is very animated at night. Many
people eat at the foodstalls. I wouldn't dare. Men offer to
clean my shoes. Camels are offered in profusion. For the gazelle.
The gazelle is starting to find these constant offers oppressive.
Or insulting.
Part
4: Seven
journeys
this
travelogue is part of the subside travelzine
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