Marrakesh is not a smooth ride. It grabs you by the collar, drags you into a whirlwind of honking mopeds, snake charmers and the scent of something vaguely sweet decaying under the Moroccan sun.

The old medina is a fever dream of humanity compressed into tight alleyways, each turn revealing a new layer of vendors hawking counterfeit bags, serious men hauling crates and women veiled in flowing fabric gliding like ghosts through the dust. Somewhere above it all, the muezzin calls out across the rooftops like a lone voice in a storm. It’s not serene. It’s not peaceful. But it’s real.

Marrakesh Roaming Marrakesh.

Finding a moment of stillness in Marrakesh is like finding a jazz bar in a war zone. It happens, but it’s usually tucked behind an unmarked door and involves a bit of luck. But I was lucky. I sit down at a rooftop, dodging the scorching sun while ordering a “noss noss”. I’m not sure if Dale Cooper would call it a damn fine cup of coffee, but at least it has caffeine and works excellent for washing down my pancakes.

Moroccan breakfast Coffee and pancakes, all you need for breakfast.

After the caffeine fix I’m ready for Djemaa el Fna, the large square where anything can happen. Originally a place where they placed chopped-off heads to scare the crowds, today it’s the main square of Marrakesh occupied by snake charmers, food stalls and all sorts of strange people from dusk till dawn.

Djemaa el Fna, Marrakesh Djemaa el Fna, Marrakesh.

I sit down at one of the balconies overlooking the square, having yet another Tajine, the ubiquitous Moroccan stew in a clay pot. Dining on some sort of mystery meat under the stars while listening to the assault of sounds emanating from the square below. Puffs of smoke drifts from the busy barbecue vendors. The tall minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque can be seen over the rooftops, chanting the voices of prayer across the open field. Even from a distance the chaos is so overwhelming that it feels choreographed.

In Marrakesh, peace doesn’t come from silence. It comes from surrendering. You don’t tame the city, you let it devour you. And maybe, if you’re lucky, it spits you back out a little wiser, a little dirtier and much more awake.

14 comments

  • avatar
    DJ P
    18 Mar, 2008
    You are posting from the future! Coooool!
  • avatar
    Johan
    19 Mar, 2008
    Have a sip for Clarke! And you have to teach me that time travelling trick as well.
  • avatar
    22 Mar, 2008
    Time travelling is easy down here, since everybody move in slow motion. But it was rather the dodgy computer in the internet cafe which had odd time settings.
  • avatar
    magiqa
    22 Mar, 2008
    Poor Reine, enjoy your coffee, your orange juice and of course the cous-cous!
  • avatar
    28 Mar, 2008
    ...and not to forget, the croissants!
  • avatar
    Sofia
    01 Apr, 2008
    Kaffe kaffe kaffe. I would also like to add: You bastard. You burn
  • avatar
    01 Apr, 2008
    Did I mention that the pancakes were delicious as well?
  • avatar
    Frida
    04 Apr, 2008
    Hehe...you are still talking about the Moroccan breakfast? Well I am too...and I still prefer my porridge oats :) Nice picture though...
  • avatar
    07 Apr, 2008
    الِشعر العربي
  • avatar
    08 Apr, 2008
    Tobban, are you referring to the coffee or the pancakes? Because both are poetry in their own way. :)
  • avatar
    10 Apr, 2008
    ;) Haha... U got it Reine.. (Google?) If I had to choose it will maybe be the pancakes... and, yes, I prefer a nice cup of Earl Grey with loads of "bergamot" oil... even if your coffee sounded just great...
  • avatar
    10 Apr, 2008
    It was quite hard to find any tea other than the mint blend they serve everywhere, but some shops had a fairly decent selection. Brought some kind of green gunpowder blend back home with me.
  • avatar
    Theresia
    20 Apr, 2008
    You forgot to mention the great freshly squeezed orange juice! :-)
  • avatar
    20 Apr, 2008
    Oh yes, Moroccan OJ is the best in the world!

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