Adventure in the Kingdom of Marrakech

(A big part of my life is travelling, and since I just started this blog, I need to play catch-up now in writing about some of my most memorable adventures over the last few years..)



Valley of the Roses



About two years ago, I travelled to Morocco with my brother and five of our friends. Although our intention was to go for a month-long surf safari, what we ended up experiencing was a lot more than just waves. From the medieval medinas, to goats climbing around trees, getting conned by a rug salesman, losing ourselves in the Sahara, getting out of the way of knife fights, and waking up with a scorpion in our tent, this is a trip I remember vividly.

If I had to describe Morocco in a word, that word would be: intense. The people, the nature, the culture, the feel of the place...it is a country full of colour, full of contrasts. When you are there, you feel transported back to a different, long-forgotten time.

We took the ferry from Tarifa in Spain to Tangiers, the port city in Morocco. After we managed to bribe our way through customs we were in the midst of some of the most insane driving I’ve seen. The most important (and perhaps the only) rule when driving in Morocco is that the bigger vehicle has the right of way. In fact, this is a rule that applies to driving in most developing countries.

There were seven of us squeezed into my parents’ jeep that they had generously agreed to lend us. We had fourteen boards stacked on the roof of the car. Because the job of climbing around on the roof every day trying to tie them all down fell to me, the others quickly only referred to me as ‘Abu’, after the monkey from Aladdin.

Our first stop en route south was Fes, Morocco’s former capital and second largest city. It hosts the world’s oldest, continuously-running University. At its heart is a huge Medina (the old, walled city) with its incomprehensible maze of tiny alleys that goes on for kilometres. There are no cars, because the alleys are at most two metres wide. Walking around the little streets we had to jump out of the way of overloaded running donkeys every few minutes that were being chased through the streets. They were the ‘medina taxis’, loaded up with goods or rubbish. We had to hire a guide to lead us through the endless web of alleys. He took us to artisan stores, hidden cafes, roof-top look outs, and to a museum-like rug store.

"Medina Taxi" taking a break

Maybe it was because we were overwhelmed by the place; maybe it was because it was because the salesman secretly spiked our mint tea with something; or maybe it was because we were just plain stupid, but five of us decided to buy a rug for over 2000 Euros, as an ‘investment’. (It still hurts my ego to write about it now).  Mohammed, the eccentric and brilliant salesman ("I will blow your mind with this rug”) convinced us that the international market price was ‘guaranteed’ four times higher because you cannot commercially export Moroccan rugs. I still don’t know how, but within two hours of Mohammed talking incessantly, we all went from ‘There is no f**ing way we are buying a rug’, to... ‘Hmm, maybe we should, because we could pay for our whole trip if we sell it in the U.S.’ to... ‘Well, let’s flip a coin and let fate decide.’ Which is what we did and ‘fate’ decided we should buy it. My friend Eric tried to sell it in California, but the best offer he got was only 50% of what we bought it for. What a surprise, right? So now the rug is in my living room in Cape Town, and it will always be there as a humbling reminder to make decisions with moderation and not greediness. Plus, if my brother or I ever get cocky with my sister, all she has to do is point at the rug and she wins the argument. One thing is for sure, that’s the last time I let fate decide for me!

(Moving on...) Morocco is known for its world-class quality waves, but the surf breaks are not yet as overrun as they are in most other parts of the world. We surfed incredible waves all along the coast. At times we got into arguments with the locals. In one dispute over a wave, a guy threatened my friend Brandon in broken English that he would ride over him and “put three fins in his ass” if he got in his way again.

Searching for waves.

The Moroccan coast is vast, but no matter how secluded we thought we were, a gang of kids would inevitably appear out of nowhere and ask for candy and money in exchange for ‘guarding’ the car. We soon found out that this was more of a demand than an offer. We didn’t really have a choice in the matter... if the kids were not satisfied with how much we gave them, they would throw rocks at our car when we tried to drive away. So we gave them more (and took notes on how to run a business).

Next we headed to Marrakech, the ancient desert capital of the nomads at the foothill of the Atlas Mountains. Until a few decades ago, Morocco was known simply as ‘The Kingdom of Marrakech’. Throughout the centuries it was a trading place of goods from all over Africa. With its maze of streets, beautiful 1000 year old mosques, colourful inhabitants and the famous huge central souk (market square) it buzzes with that same mystical feeling of long ago.

The streets are empty during the day because of the oppressive heat. As the sun gets lower, the city starts coming alive.  The streets fill up with acrobats, fortune tellers, snake charmers, monkey handlers, story tellers, dancers, musicians, old veiled women, beggars and street kids. You feel like you are transported back in time to a medieval city. There is even a 'dentist' offering his services at a little table where he displays a big pair of pliers next to all the teeth he has pulled. The markets keep going for kilometres in little side streets where you can buy anything from leather shoes, to goat heads, spices, silver jewellery, freshly squeezed orange juice and delicious food.





It was Ramadan the entire month we were there, so most of the Muslims didn’t eat, drink or smoke from sunrise to sunset. After not eating or drinking the entire day, tempers were often a bit short in the hours before the sunset. In Fes we saw a knife fight in the middle of the street and in Marrakech’s central square we saw two guys with machetes chasing each other in the central market as we and a few hundred other people scrambled to get out of the way.  I would get grumpy too if I wasn’t aloud to drink water all day in 45 degree heat; although I would probably leave my machete out of the equation. 

For the last part of our trip, we set out over the Atlas mountain range and into the fringes of the Sahara desert. After driving for a few days, we were in the middle of nowhere, no roads, nothing but desert around us. Just as one is humbled by the ocean and mountains because their immense size makes you feel so insignificant, so too does the desert leave you in that kind of state of awe. We climbed to the highest dune and looking around saw nothing but sand in all directions. No noise, no lights, no movement. I remember how peaceful it felt. Being surrounded by such complete nothingness is a powerful source of energy. After dinner the seven of us friends climbed to the top of a dune, and with a million stars in the sky, lit a joint and told stories.

On the last night in the desert the wind picked up suddenly and we heard thunder in the distance. Within minutes dark clouds rolled in, the stars disappeared and the night sky became alight with lightning all around us, striking every few seconds. It was unlike we had ever experienced. It only rains in that part of the Sahara a couple of days every year, but suddenly it was pouring down. We just laid there. It was the perfect end to one of my favourite trips.