Marrakech Cluster # 2

Dear Marrakech,

I want to begin by saying how much I love you. I know I blurted this a few times last night, but that was because I was drunk (your fault entirely).

However I do love you.

I just can’t believe how much you’ve changed …

Last time I came here you insisted that we stayed in a palatial riad down an alley where locals were selling cauliflowers and henna, dwarfed cats with crooked tails mewing at you spookily and hipsters lounged against walls shouting “bonjour fromage blanc” when you walked past.

I was OK with that. In fact I loved it (even your racist insults).

However, now you’ve got these All Inclusive Aqua Fun Park Plastic Pimples spreading over your face.

Marrakech, plastic pimples aren’t attractive. And nor is what’s inside them.

Do you actually know what people are doing inside them?

Everyone is pigging out.

“All you can eat/drink” sounds alright, but when you see it, it’s just so wrong.

                                Beer, fags, gin, fags, fried breakfasts, fags, bread, fags, crisps, fags, more beer, fags, more gin … Then they get snacks. And smoke more fags.

Then an overly helpful tour rep sells them the idea that Marrakech is a dangerous and seedy place to visit and they should all sign up for a safe expedition in the confines of a mini bus (only 20 dollars each) which no one does and instead they get more snacks, more pina coladas, smoke more fags and head down to the eighties disco where they play music by David Hasselhoff (possibly the biggest crime of all.)

Today when we took the hotel shuttle into the city, another couple ventured with us. After taking one step into the Medina, they were blinded by cultural diversity, turned and fled to the nearest Moroccan KFC.

See Marrakech?

I am not joking here.

You need to have a word.

Other things …

As a lover of language I’ve learned how to say “hello” and “thank you” in Moroccan (taught to me by the friendly taxi driver who took us to the All Inclusive) but whenever I say it to one of your people they all look at me like I’m slightly sick in the head and then proceed to babble in French.

Why does no one in the souks hassle me and Ads? Is it because he looks Moroccan?

Why do your taxi drivers all listen to drum and bass?

Last thing … It slightly bothers me that you’ve allowed France to take over so much. France can be such an arrogant git sometimes and you’re letting him walk all over you. I think you need to stand up for yourself a bit here, you know? Create some boundaries. Ok, so France comes across all lah-de-dah in his chic little sunnies, trimmed shrubbery (French quarter) and mind-blowing cuisine, but YOU have …

* Berber tagines

* lamb and fig combos

* crazy little pancakes that are crumpet-like but flat and made me put on nearly a stone in one week they taste so nice.

* you have false teeth man on the square who is quite famous.

* the beautiful Atlas mountains peppered with remote, Berber villages

* sand boarding

* quad biking

* the colourful, mysterious souks filled with pottery, textiles, sweets, history

         With all this beauty, culture and spice … do you really need to emanate France and cook snails?

Hey … hey … don’t get all upset and start gabbling at me in Arabic. All I’m saying is you could let the snail thing go and nothing will be lost.

After all, who’ll miss one stall when your Medina is transformed into an open air food market every night?

Your food is fantastic.


Loved the way you throw in a few beggars to tap on shoulders, the myriad of cooking aromas, the grimacing, toothless snake charmer putting his snake against someone’s neck only to show him it is wooden – and an entire orchestra of madness dancing all around you while you break off chunks of bread and eat.

You, Marrakech are all inclusive. You have everything and that’s why I love you.

You have a rich, scarred, mountainous, desert dry and truly beautiful face.

 You are gorgeousness and that’s why tomorrow we will be leaving the Plastic Pimple and heading up towards those beckoning mountains. But for now, I’m just going to grab myself a quick Pina Colada and have a little a dance.

Just me and The Hoff.


4 thoughts on “Marrakech Cluster # 2

  1. Hey- what’s wrong with good old David??? Hero and compagnion of my youth! We both were looking for freedom and… oh well. Not always easy to be German… xxx

    • I considered not approving this comment to save you from everyone reading your Hoff Confessional. But then I thought naaaaah and instead pasted you a nice little Hoffy link to bring back fond memories. Love you xxx

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