We wake late today after a restless night. Dress and down for breakfast. No other guest visible, mind you only two other rooms are occupied now and as far as we can tell only one will be tonight. Our host visits us at the breakfast table to confirm our taxi booking. He asks whether we have enjoyed our stay, and we give him our opinions. Twenty minutes later we start breakfast.
After breakfast I settle the bill and continue our discussions started before breakfast. Not so much of a complaining session or rant, because we do like the place he has built, but more of some ideas to make it work better. He says that he will be doing a number of things in the future; let us hope he does.
I hand over the staff my fellow traveller, the backwoodsman, fashioned from the driftwood at the river on the first day, and requested that he hand it over to Abdul Karim. I think it is something that he will appreciate. I was shown some sticks that AK had placed in the office for guest use, and the one we had was far superior. We wander around the Kasbah taking a few pictures before our transfer arrives.
We leave at ten o’clock on the dot. Another Mercedes, this one probably the oldest we have used but with no sign of modification whatsoever and just one James Bond replica bullet hole. He makes rapid progress towards the city, avoiding sheep in the road, and overtaking many cars on the way. We are going at least twice the maximum speed of yesterdays journey. We see new golf course building on both sides of the road, one a new course designed by Tony Jacklin which by the look of it seems to have been just recently seeded. Despite many new developments we mention that we have yet to see any Starbucks, McDonalds or anything of that nature.
Our driver asks permission for a detour and we drive into a compound full of taxis. There are a number of food stalls at which drivers appear to be taking an early lunch. Our driver merely drives around the compound, tooting as he goes and drives out again. Not sure what the purpose of all that was.
We enter the Medina with the Koutoubia Mosque ahead of us and the Marrakech maelstrom comes into view. Noisy traffic feels welcoming in a strange way. We arrive at the drop off point at the Dar el Bacha and the driver calls for a carrossa. This time we are prepared for no argument. My fellow traveller will take care of the payment, and I will forge ahead of the cart. I know the way now so he will see and understand that we are not first time visitors. We knock on the door and the hostess appears with a big smile and warm welcome. She ushers the carrossa man in and up to our room with the cases. He begins to put his foot over the threshold but the lady of the house stops him in his tracks, she makes it clear he is not to enter our sanctuary. My fellow traveller slaps the 20 Dirhams into is hand (with some force) and waves him away. Oh, it is good to be back.
We do a bit of bag shuffling and make our way out in under 15 minutes to the Ensemble Artisanal, the government handicraft centre. Well laid out selection of shops and workshops at which we buy a metal lamp, a few leather items, some wooden teaspoons and some musk wax. Probably come in handy. Cross the road to the Koutoubia Mosque for some pictures. Outside a street vendor is selling a small circular railway track with a carriage being pushed by an engine. The engine is in the form of an American tank, with a white skinned driver. The carriage is a Bin Laden shaped figure with wheels; very strange. On to a lunch stop at the Patisserie des Princes for a pastry and fresh orange juice.
Wander back through the souks and get into a bargain session for a tile in the shape of the Hand of Fatima. My fellow traveller seemed keen on the item, but vanished when the bargaining started at 60 Dirhams. I countered with 10 Dirhams, and after the second exchange I stuck at 15 but he was at 30. He asked my price, I said 15 again. He said, “La, la you are supposed to offer more when I drop my price” I reiterated that I did not really want it, I was just passing his stall and saw the item, it was he who was trying to sell it to me and 15 Dirhams was my best. We shook hands and I put it in my bag.
A little further along we see an old man carving gypsum with a narrow chisel. A carved Hand of Fatima about the size of a kitchen tile takes my companions eye. We ask the price and the old man holds up a well used piece of paper with 100 Dirhams and 300 Dirhams written on it. He explains mostly with sign language that 100 Dirhams is for the size we are looking at. I try my newly honed bargaining skills, but the man tells me that he does not bargain, his price is 100 Dirhams. We shake hands on the deal but do not feel hard done by. The man explains that he takes one day to carve most tiles and some take two. Our payment seems small compensation for so much effort. I ask to take a picture and he agrees, we shake hands, smile and wander off.
We see a sign for the Marrakech Museum, and next door the Ben Youssef Madrassa and decide to go in. The museum houses an art exhibition of local artists. One in particular takes our eye by the name of Abdellatif Zine. My companion tells me that his expressionist style is achieved through the use of thick paint applied by knife and large brush.
The building is the usual open courtyard with tiled walls and clay tile floors with a fountain in the middle. A galleried surround houses smaller rooms off the open void. We take many pictures here before returning to Dar Charkia to shower for dinner
.
Cleaned up we go to leave when we meet the Dar Charkia owners in the courtyard. We chat about the Kasbah Angour and pass on our feelings and concerns. They offer a number of suggestions for our evening out, but we had already committed to Chez Chegrouni so off we go into the dark. Again we go through the souks, but a change in atmosphere tonight. Families seem to be out meandering in the cool evening, some with children swaddled to their backs. It seems as though there are more ladies out tonight. At Chez Chegrouni we opt for the roof top terrace which demands a climb to the second floor using a very steep staircase. When we get to the top all of the tables that overlook the Jemma are taken. We sit a couple of rows back, and have a simple dinner along with the resident cat; nothing too fancy.
We eat and then leave to wander through the frenzied activity in the Jemma. A heavy scent of burning incense fills the air, mixed with the smoke from the cooking stalls. People play games of chance, trying to land coins on rafts floating on water, others try to fish for bottles with rings attached to fishing poles. Henna artists with brochures of henna designs sit chatting to each other. The constant rhythm of beating drums fails to drown out the sound of impromptu concerts performed by many bands whose music overlaps and confuses the ears as we walk by. People sit at stalls eating freshly boiled snails, others drink fresh orange juice. Nearby more vendors sell grilled kebabs and sausages. Men canvas passers by to sit at fold down benches that were nowhere near the square just before sunset. A plume of fire rises into the night sky from stall no 32, Hassan’s. We are ushered by a young man to sit. Although we had eaten less than half an hour ago we decide to take the plunge and try the merguez sausages.
This seems to have been a long day and our feet ache, so we return to our residence past the parked caleches avoiding the souk this time for mint tea and bed.