Bahia Palace

I wouldn't say that I was sad to be leaving Marrakech, but it did have its charms. While I got really tired of fending off the entire population of children and men offering to be a guide, show us around, and sell us all the things (hint- if you are really lost, just ask a woman or a shopkeep, and they were generally helpful and didn't try to make you sign on the dotted line to secure holdings in the Brooklyn Bridge in exchange) but once you paid the pittance of admission into a site, you were left to wander on your own in peace with other tourist.

The Bahia Palace was gorgeous, and had surprisingly large stretches of gardens.

The oranges in the garden were ripe. Being a lifelong temperate climate dweller, I had a hard time coming to terms with this. You mean, I can just pluck an orange off the tree, and I can eat it? Really?

Really. Fruit trees are magic.

Pomegranate trees and Jasmine and gorgeous blooms all around.

Stray cats as well. Everywhere. And packs of stray dogs. There does't seem to be well-managed trash removal anywhere in the medina. Not a public rubbish bin to be found, and people just throw garbage on the ground or tie up their household garbage and throw it onto the street. The feral cats and dogs become the garbage management.

A lot of old palaces and private mansions have been turned into a sort of B&B in modern times, called a Riad. I'll have more about that lately as I ended up staying in several. Some of them were amazing- probably the most luxe accommodations I've ever had (and I've stayed at the Waldorf=Astoria).

I was really in love with all the wood, ceramic and stone work. The carved doors and ceilings made out of cedarwood was beyond amazing. In some rooms if the work is fairly new, you can smell the delicious piney odor.

Aside from fresh Orange Juice, mint tea is the drink of choice here- they even call it "Moroccan Whisky" despite not having ever been distilled. It's lovely, and the locals drink it way too sweet for my palate. Syrupy sweet. As long as I was admiate about it being made sans sucre, I was happy to keep drinking.

At the end of the day, a climb up to the rooftop tourist cafes that surround Djemaa el Fna Square to see the action from afar and watch the sun set while drinking as much lovely mint tea as I possibly can.

In Ruins

After two days in Marrakech, I was feeling pretty overwhelmed.

Not only was it hard to see these poor donkeys everywhere in homemade harnesses, pulling heavy loads on unkept hooves and then sitting in the sun all day without food or water, but the humanity was starting to get to me. The constant badgering and pushy sales tactics was really too much. I got a bit dismayed- was all of Morocco going to be like this? I don't think I could have done two weeks if it had been, but no, it wasn't. It did get better.

But first it had to get worse.

Thinking an hour in a hamman would do me so good, I found a nice one to sweat out the toxins. It's basically a steam room, and then this woman takes a scrubby mit, slathers you with various clays and exfoliants and gives you a good brusque rubdown before dousing you with cold water. Fun, right? Except 20 minutes after my treatment, I started vomiting uncontrollably and my entire body swelled up and broke out in an itchy red rash. Something that got slathered was not doing me good at all.

So I spent the next couple weeks covered in itchy red hives and scabs, which multiple pharmacy visits and Claritin did nothing to help. Really attractive stuff here. There will forever be a lack of pictures of me enjoying myself on this trip. Being ill in the 3rd world is never a good experience. If it's not life threatening, just deal with it.

But I'm tough. Eh, tough-ish. Plus, women are supposed to be covered from head to toe at all times, so it didn't really matter that I looked like a leaper. Huzzah!

Back to Marrakech, where the air was so clean, I felt like I was smoking a couple packs of unfiltered cigarettes every day.

At night especially. As soon as the temperature dropped, the smog set in so thick it was hard to see more than a couple blocks ahead.

The Square at night turns into a series of open-air restaurants, all with the same menu. Lots of Tangine to be had.

There are tons of Mosques in the city, but you are only allowed in if you are Muslim. It kind of limited the amount of cultural sites open to Westerners. Kutubiyya Mosque is the largest, and almost 900 years old. The stonework was really spectacular.

The Saadian tombs are also worth a gander.

Exploring the ruins of Badii Palace. There was nothing really there but stray cats and nesting storks, but the sheer enormity of the site was impressive.

The skyline was made of minarets, satellite dishes, and the Atlas mountains.

Tiptoeing Quietly Through Marrakech

While Marrakech is one of the biggest cities in North Africa, if you have a few dirhams in your pocket, you can find quiet. While parks and trees are non-existant in the medina, you can find some peace in the inward-facing courtyards of former palaces and mansions of the well-to-do.

The architecture and the decorative aspects of the palaces were stunning. Many of them were hundreds of years old. Morocco has the distinction of being very close to Europe- it's only 10 miles of water between Spain and Tangier. Because of that small separation, this became a bit of a cultural crossroads. Arabic, Spanish, Berber and Jewish influences are seen in the art and architecture. The French occupied most of the country for 100 years, so after Arabic, everyone speaks French and almost all the signs and documents were in French.

The Marrakech Museum was housed in a former palace. The size and grandeur of the chandelier rivals that of the Paris Opera House.

My favorite was the Ben Youssef Madrasa. A former Islamic college started in the 14th century, it was almost completely empty and open for exploring. It was denuded of furniture, but a quiet spot by the pool in the courtyard was completely peacefull, with the occasional tourist taking breaks and naps in the bright sunshine.

Watching the light move across the courtyard in the late afternoon...

I was in love with the zillij tile work, and the flowery Arabic script that lined the entire courtyard, interrupted only by a grand door.

The keyhole-shaped doors. Everywhere in Morocco, this was the standard shape of the door frame, with huge ceder, oak and brass doors fitted in them. I could see myself ganking this design element for future, personal use.

Despite it being fairly hot in the sun, the moment you moved into the shadows or the thick walls of the building, it became almost unbearably cold.

Back to the streets, to play a game of dodgebike.