Tuesday 23 September 2014

Far From The Marrakech Crowd


The Koutoubia mosque stands at the end of Jemaa El Fna square, which itself isn't a square but two triangles layed point to point, or the shape of an eggtimer if you will.

Marrakech has been described as an assault on the senses. It's more a like a bombardment though as first impressions are of the world's largest open air asylum.

Relentless swarms of sellers, peddlers, charmers, fakers and beggars vie for your attention. Politeness and patience are spread thinly. It's not for the agoraphobic. It's not for the claustrophobic. 



A week in Marrakech starts to feel like a month. Time to get out. To the mountains. And yet, even here there is a need to make money, albeit on a less industrial scale. Traps are skilfully layed. A road stop opportunity for jewellery, shiny rocks, magic beans.


The Ourika Valley was enchanting. I tried to act the goat scrambling up rock faces with inappropriate brogues. My reward was a cool jus pressé and a comfortable sofa in a perched rooftop café.



Perhaps the acid test of a place's charm is its liveabilty. Marrakech is not for me. It's an amazing place, best viewed from somewhere else...


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