I am reblogging this beautiful post about visiting Marrakesh because it recalls my visit there in 1970 with my 8 yr-old son and 9 yr-old daughter. We got adopted by a 20 yr-old Marrakeshee who guided us around and took us to his home, not before my son and then husband went out at night to a central square and got exhilaratingly scared. My daughter says the visit changed her suburban self forever.
It was 11.00pm when we arrived at the Riad (hostel). We expected a warm welcome but instead confused faces presented themselves to us when the door finally opened. Dirty, tired and hungry after a long flight and an even longer wait to get through passport control (nearly an hour), followed by a frantic search for our luggage which had been tossed off the carouse when it shut down, I was desperate for a shower and some sleep. I showed them the print out of our booking but they couldn’t find notification from the booking site. After some discussion the owners told us that it wasn’t a problem as they had a room, which they prepared, and we finally crashed at 3.00am Spanish time (12.30 Morrocan time). When the owner finally tracked down the booking it had been made for October and not September. It appears that using a Spanish booking…
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The photos are beautiful! But the narrative….not such a ringing endorsement for Morocco…..confusion, fear and suspicion not high on my list of ideal travel experience.
Just the nature of travel, I think. We have heartwarming memories of drinking mint tea in our guide’s home and being fawned over by his family. This and the calls to prayer were positive experiences of the Muslim world.