Trip to Morocco: Day Four

Well here we are, finally time to stop talking about Morocco. This shall be a short one as most of our last full day in this amazing country was spent travelling and sorting ourselves out with regard to hostels, but it still merits a post I believe. 

After two breakfasts (it was a buffet alright?) we headed to the bus station in Agadir to make our way back to Marrakech. Our plans were fluffed about a bit because the taxi drivers brought us to the touristy as opposed to local station so the timetables were different, but we agreed that for the sake of a few euro a direct bus was the way to go, given that we had already had the authentic experience the day before. The bus was about 20 minutes late but we were still saving an hour of travel time so it didn't bother us too much. At close to noon we started our journey, and I did read most of the way, so I saw a bit more of the country side than I did when I was asleep (unsurprising to say the least). We had very intelligently sat over the engine so the last 45 minutes or so, as the temperature outside was already climbing, were fairly uncomfortable and it was a relief to get back to Marrakech and immediately drink a large bottle of water straight from the fridge in the supermarket. 

The roof terrace of Waka Waka 2

We knew the quick way back to Waka Waka by now so we headed straight there only to be informed that they were full up, no room at the inn as it were, and we had to move to Waka Waka 2 down the road. This wasn't a major inconvenience and the hostels were the same quality and price so it was all good, but we did waste some time waiting around for this decision to be reached which was a pity. The beds in Waka Waka 1 had been uncomfortable enough (what do you expect for €6 a night?) but I have to say, the ones in Waka Waka 2 took the proverbial biscuit. Mine felt as if it was (and indeed turned out to be) stuffed with straw. Oh well, it was one night and we had to get up at 5 for the airport anyway so I survived. It also rounded off the First Christmas metaphor, which had been begun by being turned away from the first hostel, quite nicely.

Last minute look around the Souk

At this stage it was late afternoon so we just headed back to Jemaa el-Fna for another look around the Souk . Normally I'm not a shopping shopping shopping kind of tourist but it was such a part of the experience that it didn't feel a waste, and I was able to buy my mother a lovely scarf, which the shop assistant insisted on wrapping around my head (and the heads of my friends) Berber style. We think he had had too much shisha, if you know what I mean. We had some delicious fresh orange juice in the square and later on several dinners, walking around the open air restaurants. It was here that two of the most memorable moments of the trip occurred. Firstly, at 10pm, like the other nights, the call to prayer went out from the mosques, but this was the first time we'd been in the square to hear it. It was amazing, like nothing I had ever experienced before, all of the music playing in the shops and cafes suddenly stopped and the voice rang out from several directions at once. People didn't stop going about their business but it was as though a shift had occurred and a different atmosphere overcame the place for a few minutes. Amazing.

Carts and stalls sold food and drinks

fruit, spices and nuts for sale

 Secondly, while eating our last bit of food, we were approached a number of times by people selling things, tissues and flowers mostly. One of these was a woman in blue, covered entirely except for her eyes which were ringed, as many Moroccan women's eyes were, with thick black kohl. Judging by this part of her face alone I would say she was between 60 and 80, we all know how a hard life can age a person. We waved them all away and continued chatting and eating. Some minutes later, when it became apparent that we weren't going to finish all the food we had ordered (too much, we wanted to sample everything you see), we sat back, drinking our cokes and talking. The woman in blue returned, but this time not with tissues. I don't speak French but she spoke to us, pointing at the plates, and I was able to roughly make out the words "no manger" which I knew to mean she was asking us if we weren't eating. We said no, we had received very big portions for about €5 each, and so we let her take our leftovers. She took two flatbreads, meat and some vegetables and sauce, which she put into a plastic carrier bag which I saw already had some food in it, and  after thanking us made her way back into the night. 

food in a restaurant on the square

Morocco is a relatively poor country, to put it bluntly. It is not as badly off as others in Africa or the rest of the world but it is by no means full of wealthy people and although there have been many social reforms in the last decade thanks in part to the current king Mohammed VI, the process is of course slow, as these things always are. We had already seen this. But this interaction was different. It is hard as a tourist, marveling over how cheap everything is, to grasp that the 50c or so we part with for a packet of tissues can make a big difference in the day of the person selling it. It could easily be the difference between food on the table or an empty stomach. I am extremely fortunate in that I can hardly imagine what it would be like to be so certain that you would not eat otherwise that you would take the leftover food from strangers' plates and put it into a plastic bag. Very humbling, and utterly unforgettable. I think I will always remember these few minutes of our trip, and this woman.

We returned to the hostel a little bit subdued, thinking all of us about the woman and all of the other things we had seen and done in the last few days. A few hours sleep, a short flight and we were back in Sevilla.

Wow, that didn't end up being short at all.