Morocco Jun '99

nickjenkins Wyświetlono: 566 razy 2003-11-20 12:54:37

Ocena:3.00 (25 głosów)

Sun, surf and sand. Lot's of sand. Lot's of camels too.
Sun, surf and sand. Lot's of sand. Lot's of camels too.

After failing to cross into Africa during my European vacation I was determined to return and managed to talk two foolish house mates into accompanying me. I spent twelve days in Marrakech, the High Atlas mountains, the deserts and on the Atlantic coast soaking up the sun.

I flew direct from London to Marrakech on a new British Airways route designed to ferry the pasty white British public to the heart of sunny Morocco.

Stepping off the air conditioned plane into the 35 degree heat of Marrakech's summer was only slightly less of a shock than stepping out of the stuffy and formal British culture into the warm and effusive Arabic culture of Morocco. The Arabs, renowned for their hospitality the world over are truly the most amicable of peoples. They will greet you on the street as if you are an old friend and, for the most part, cordially invite you into their homes or shops to share some mint tea and chat.

But within the velvet glove of their friendly handshake comes the iron fist of 1000 years of trader-culture. The most abiding memory you will have of Morocco will probably be of how everybody, and I mean everybody, tried to sell you a carpet.

Don't get me wrong – I bear them no malice, any of them. All of them, from the shoe shine boy who tried to polish my boots eight times in as many minutes to the Berber who tried to get me to swap my T-shirt for a £2000 carpet were lovely, hospitable and charming. I just wish that, occasionally, they wouldn't bother.

My own experience of Moroccan commerce started with the souks of Marrakech. While, to me, this was a fairly overpowering introduction it is apparently nothing compared to the tactics employed in the frontier port of Tangiers. One group of American students we met had literally been badgered into purchasing carpets by tactics that would have made Saddam Hussein or the Gestapo proud.

In Marrakech they are a little more restrained. They won't actually lay hands upon you but they will use the entire handbook of hard sales tactics in order to bludgeon you into buying some useless trinket. I can only presume that this practice is sustained by hordes of tourists who do in fact find a use for a copper ash tray in the shape of a blowfly, an imitation 14th century flintlock musket or a hand knotted carpet which is only slightly smaller than a football field, took 12 years to make and cost three lives in the process.

And before you convince yourself that you actually got a bargain by buying something at half the price you would have paid for it at home you should consider where it came from. It probably came into the hands of the merchant from a Berber or Touareg tribesman who swapped it for something trivial but valuable, like food.

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