We're off early by tube to King's Cross. Then train to Gatwick in time for a fair bit of hanging about before the British Air flight to Marrakesh. The plane is pretty full but we're lucky - seats A and C near the back, with an empty seat between us. Well, some good planning but also luck. Acquire a bottle of Famous Grouse from the onboard duty free in anticipation of Moslem abstemiousness
We left Gatwick to fly over an irregular patchwork of greens. Morocco from the air is sepia monochrome - texture but almost entirely mud coloured. Only as we begin the sesent to Marrakesh are there symetrical green plantations in evidence. And the city itself seems almost entirely clay coloured brick. Short transfer to our hotel, past palm trees and rose bushes. We're on the edge of the medina, just outside the walls of the old city. Beneath our tiny balcony there is endless traffic, pedestrian as well as vehicular. Men, mostly in western dress but some, mainly older, in flowing jellabas. Women, mostly wearing the hijab but some, mainly younger, without. Women as well as men on motorscooters. Taxis plying their trade. Bicycles weaving between private cars. A bus station opposite. Curiously, the dual carriageway separating us from the medina has a pedestrian walk light monitoring one road, while those crossing the other, equally busy, side take their chances. No accidents as we watch. Is this like Krakow, where a critical mass of people gathers before attempting the crossing, or like Beirut, where red lights mean little but catching the eye of the drivers ensures safe passage. Tomorrow we'll explore.
Tonight we do check out the supermarket next door to the hotel. We'd known that there was a shop, but this is considerably more - like the Magasin Général in Tunisia, but better. It has everything from avocados to washing machines, children's clothing to yoghurt. There's also a small attached bakery, and the shoppers, happily, seem to be entirely local. We now have bottled water, as well as bills smaller than the 100 and 200 dirham notes dispensed by the airport cashpoint. Though the bills are as dirty as Egyptian money, the fifties as limp as used tissues and less clean.
We left Gatwick to fly over an irregular patchwork of greens. Morocco from the air is sepia monochrome - texture but almost entirely mud coloured. Only as we begin the sesent to Marrakesh are there symetrical green plantations in evidence. And the city itself seems almost entirely clay coloured brick. Short transfer to our hotel, past palm trees and rose bushes. We're on the edge of the medina, just outside the walls of the old city. Beneath our tiny balcony there is endless traffic, pedestrian as well as vehicular. Men, mostly in western dress but some, mainly older, in flowing jellabas. Women, mostly wearing the hijab but some, mainly younger, without. Women as well as men on motorscooters. Taxis plying their trade. Bicycles weaving between private cars. A bus station opposite. Curiously, the dual carriageway separating us from the medina has a pedestrian walk light monitoring one road, while those crossing the other, equally busy, side take their chances. No accidents as we watch. Is this like Krakow, where a critical mass of people gathers before attempting the crossing, or like Beirut, where red lights mean little but catching the eye of the drivers ensures safe passage. Tomorrow we'll explore.
Tonight we do check out the supermarket next door to the hotel. We'd known that there was a shop, but this is considerably more - like the Magasin Général in Tunisia, but better. It has everything from avocados to washing machines, children's clothing to yoghurt. There's also a small attached bakery, and the shoppers, happily, seem to be entirely local. We now have bottled water, as well as bills smaller than the 100 and 200 dirham notes dispensed by the airport cashpoint. Though the bills are as dirty as Egyptian money, the fifties as limp as used tissues and less clean.
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