Our train from Fes to Marrakech was a bit of a nightmare. Lesson learned: never underestimate a quiet teenager sitting alone in an empty cabin. Because, if she’s waiting for a friend… You. are. doomed. Not only were they nonstop chattering (LOUDLY) until they got off in Casa- but the whole train was packed and we couldn’t escape.
It was so packed, that when I tried to go to the bathroom- after lit’rally climbing over people in the hall, three teenage boys were crammed into the bathroom sitting on the sink, stall, etc. They invited me in enthusiastically. I glared and got “lucky” with a poopy, yet teen-free facility in the next car. We left Fes around noon, and didn’t arrive into Marrakech until after ten at night. We weren’t as energetic as this video portrays us to be, rather the above is a collection of our few nights meandering around the square.
I think nights on the square have to be a pickpocket’s paradise, but it’s also considerably less shady than being in the vicinity of those setting up shop by day (more on that soon). There were groups of musicians and dancers competing for crowds and noise levels everywhere. At first, it was really neat to walk into. But then as soon as you tried to take a picture, someone would run up to you and demand a tip. It didn’t matter if you took a picture at all, or if they were even in it. They always thought they were and deserved a tip for their hard work of being in the background of a photo you took in a public square. It really ruined my experience on the square. By our second night going out in it, I didn’t even want to stay I was so annoyed at everyone asking for money, my hand to draw henna on, my belly to fill it with stall food… As wonderful as the assault on my senses was in Fes, it was done so because the city was just an old city going about its business- oblivious to me being witness to it. Here, in Marrakech, the assault was an unfortunate backlash of what tourism can do to a perfectly lovely (I’m guessing) travel destination.