We spent two days in Marrakech, and left with mixed feelings about the place. The city is geared for tourists, and has evolved to the point where it is extremely good at wrangling you out of every cent you have on you.

Gone were the friendly offers of assistance requiring nothing in return that we encountered in the Balkans and in it’s place was as much help as you could ever want, and even help you didn’t want, but all for a price. Need some directions? No problem, as long as you’re willing to pay. You need to send a parcel home? No problem, but you’ll need to generously pay the man who insists on helping you pack your box. Need to go to the toilet? No problem, unlike Europe, public toilets are everywhere, just make sure to tip the attendant on the way out.

Everywhere you walk there are people trying to sell you something. Surely we must want to buy a leather handbag, or an ornate light, or a nice tablecloth? Every restaurant has someone out on the street trying to drum up business. Would you like to eat sir? Please come this way. Then there’s the constant offers for a taxi, because you are walking somewhere so you are obviously in need of transportation.

Some offers are easily put to rest with a polite ‘No thank you’ (La shukran) while with others no amount of saying no or shaking heads will deter people from running down the street after you, insisting that you really must buy what they have to offer.

Then, if that is not confronting enough, are the people around every corner pleading for any small change you can throw their way. Some will come up to you and stand very close and insist you give them some money (for no obvious reason) . Others will sit on the side of the road and whisper pleas of ‘Merci madam’ with their hand out as you walk by: women with children asleep in their laps late at night, men with limbs missing.

The photo below is of the entrance to the medina near where we were staying.  Matt was trying to take a photo, and the guy in the bottom corner walked up to him and stood right in front of the camera insisting he give him some money.

The icing on the cake for me was when I was waiting outside the post office, getting some fresh air to keep from being annoyed that it was taking over an hour to post a simple parcel, when a young man came up to me, waving a piece of paper holding some coins in front of my face. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was after, but was pretty fed up with everything at this point, so tried to wave him off. Rather than getting the message to move on, he started hitting on me. He even tried to take my sunglasses off to ‘see my beautiful eyes’. Unfortunately the lady sitting next to me chose that moment to stand up and move on, opening him up a spot to sit next to me. Much to my pleasure he sat down, and continued waffling on in a mixture of arabic, french and english. Then, he had the gaul to try and stick his hand in my pocket. I swatted his hand away, let out a couple of expletives, and stormed back inside the post office.

But in amongst it all, we also had some really lovely experiences. We were staying in a gorgeous riad with a rooftop covered in plants, and spent a really chilled afternoon up there researching the next leg of our trip, listening to the sounds of life going on around us, and watching the riad’s resident turtles take and interest in my shoes.

We then went to a small community run cafe for dinner (Henna Art Cafe), and got served harissa for the first time in Morocco. We asked where we could buy it, and the waiter tried to give us directions through the tiny and twisted lanes of Marakech’s souks. Eventually, he realised it was a hopeless case, and told us he would buy some for us in the morning. We came back the next day, and not only had he brought us the harissa, but he refused to accept any payment for it (so we left a large tip for our lunch instead). After, we sat down with another guy from the cafe and had an Arabic lesson for an hour, where he tried to teach us some phrases that would help us when we started to cycle through the desert.

We also found a restaurant with a rooftop terrace with some of the best live music we’ve heard this trip. It was simple, just two middle age men playing an African guitar and drums, but it was so well executed that we would happily have paid to see a show.

And then of course there was Djemaa el-Fna, Marrakech’s famous main square. Every night people cluster around all kinds of street performers, where a few dollars will buy you front row seats to all kinds of wacky performances that if you’re lucky will leave you with a massive smile on your face and tapping your feet to the sounds of ancient instruments. Our favourite by far was an eclectic group with some drums and cross dressing belly dancers. What they lacked in looks the made up for in energy. Matt gave to drummer 20 dirhams (2 euros) and the guy proceeded to run around like a demented monkey, stick the note to his forehead and jump up and down on a steel drum. It was quite a spectacle, and has us all in fits of laughter. The only real disappointment was that I didn’t manage to find the snake charmers that I’d heard so much about.