The locals don’t like to have their pictures taken. So, to get some shots of the people of Marrakech, I had to click without being seen. This meant holding my camera by my side, trying to aim and hoping for the best. Most of you won’t notice a difference, as I’m a shitty photographer. But, at least you’ll get a sense of what these folks look like.
My guide, Mustafa, was incredibly helpful. In addition to keeping me from getting hopelessly lost, he was able to explain the subtleties of Marrakech to me. I saw what looked like rather organized graffiti and asked the obvious question: “What does it mean?”
Apparently, it’s political. And, it’s not really graffiti.
Well, yesterday was hectic. Laura and I hit the ground in Marrakech, checked into the Hivernage hotel and wasted no time getting into the old, walled part of the city (called the “medina”). This is where Marrakech comes to life. And, if you aren’t prepared for what you can see, this spot will intimidate the shit out of you. Of course, I had a map and didn’t think we needed a guide.
My advice to you: get a guide.
Laura learned today what it means to be in a third-world country. How? I got us lost inside the old city walls of Marrakech. We stumbled through unending covered alleys with people who harassed us to buy what they were selling. Mopeds (and even cars) zipped along where there was no room for them. She wasn’t happy. I guess I don’t blame her, but I do like this shit. the hotel, I hope, makes up for our Marrakech misadventures.
And, in Marrakech:
Okay, if you read my work, you know that I love hot dogs and that I seek them out when I’m in a foreign country. Well, after a day in Marrakech, it doesn’t look good for the hunt, but I can tell you about the dog I had in Madrid on Sunday. It was decent, rating behind Stockholm and Reykjavik, but still better than most outer borough street vendors.