I really didn’t want to leave Spain, I was loving everything about Spain, the language, the people, the food, the climate. I could walk downstairs and get a delicious meat sandwich for €2.00 and walk 5minutes and you are at one of the most beautiful beaches you'll ever see. Everything about Spain reminded me of living in Greece, the hot weather, the beach, the nightlife. Anyways, enough about Spain.
So here we are approaching Marrakech going 300km/h at 1500 feet. All you can see is just light brown sand and concrete buildings. 'My first touchdown on the continent of Africa' i thought to myself. Exciting or nervous? A little of both. Let's just say I didn't know what to expect. Enter the passport checkroom, this was interesting. 6 line ups and about 200 people. I line up but halfway through waiting, the customs agent handling my line decides to just get up and leave. Excellent system. So now there’s 25 people in front of me wondering if they should move to another line up or? I pick a lineup that’s going fast, pass through, 30 minutes of waiting. When we get into the actual huge airport room, I'm surprised by the size of it and the modern architecture.
Decided I didn't want to start bargaining right away so we took the bus into the medina.
I stepped off the bus and I'm immediately culture-shocked. There are a thousand different smells in the air, curry, camel shit, dirt, petrol, you name it. Men are walking around holding hands with each other, apparently it is common and non-homosexual whatsoever...just friendly(in fact, having same-sex activity is illegal in Morocco.) Camels hanging out under a tree, monkeys on leashes, cobras in baskets being poked by their master, you know normal every day things you would see in North America.
Not being completely overwhelmed I get swarmed by locals, selling things, hash, soap, etc. Amongst these locals are the horse-carriage men(that is what I shall call them), being overwhelmed and not knowing where the hostel is I decide maybe I should take one of these. Well, here was my first lesson on 101 bargaining with a Moroccan 'businessman'.
"220 DIRHAMS SIR!" he says. Quick conversion in my head = 22euros. I say, "Don't think so, way too much." "How much?" he says. "80 dirham." I reply. "120" he says. "OK" I say, thinking I just got 10 Euros off! Woohoo! When in fact I soon realized that was way too much to pay. I did not make that mistake again on my whole trip. But the guy did take us through the market streets that hardly fit the carriage and were packed with people. He then took us to where our hostel was and pointed down a small alley. We got off in a hurry cause we felt bad that this carriage had just gone through hundreds of people, pushing them aside to let US through. Then a man approaches us, shaved head, baby blue shirt, pink hat, clearly hits the gym every day, pretty much a Moroccan Guido. I show him our hostel address expecting directions but he then takes the paper and starts leading us through the little side streets. The carriage had dropped us off at the wrong street. By the time we got to our hostel this man had recruited 10 random kids that led the way. I knew that I had to tip him but i had no idea how much and I wasn’t going to tip all the little kids too. I figured 20 dirham = 2euro is enough; it did only take him 5minutes. I hand him the 20 dirham, disappointed he simply turns around and leaves. And that is how our journey into the depths of the Marrakech medina begun.
