Word Of Mouse

The overnight train to Marrakech was blissfully easy: we had to share a compartment with two other people but they were very friendly: a property developer, travelling down to his restoration project, and his wife. Needless to say they were English: probably few Moroccans are in a position to pay the cost of a sleeper.

Arrived in Marrakech around nine the next morning. We walked from the station into town, a trip made more difficult (and longer) by getting lost on account of the street names having been changed since our map was printed two years ago.

The first impressions of the city are of bustling activity, everywhere you look. Crossing the road is a nightmare: an eclectic selection of vehicles, handcarts, bicycles, donkey carts, mopeds laden high with everything from piles of vegetables to items of furniture, buses, coaches and trucks all weave in, out and round pedestrians and each other in a continuous noisy and smoky dance. Miraculously, it seems to work, and we never saw a collision, but to someone from the UK at first glance it all looks like chaos. The large square in the middle of town is where much of the activity happens: water sellers wander to and fro, there are snake charmers, spinning-head people, orange juice sellers, people selling traditional medicine ingredients, beggars, hotel touts and all the rest of it. Marrakech was a lot of fun and fascinating to see and wander round, but at the same time it was exhausting. It's not somewhere you can easily relax: it's always right there in your face, all the time. Stop for a few seconds at a stall in the souk, and immediately you become a magnet for stallholders to try and suck you in: browsing is impossible. Everyone we met was good natured and very friendly, but nevertheless it was a relief to catch the bus out the next day to Essaouira, on the coast, the place where we planned to do our camel trek...