Trip Log: Marrakesh
March 11th, 2010Fes Out. Marrakesh in…but only after a ten hour train ride. Bigger, more polluted, more touristy…but more lively. I went across town to the Ville Nouvelle (the new city) to look around and no sooner had I stepped foot outside than did a guy on a motorbike zip ahead of me, pull over, and proceed to tell me how much he loved America and would like buy me a coffee. A little reluctant, but also a little bored, I decided to go along with his plan. I thought we would walk there, but he made me get on the back of his motorbike.
The next 20 minutes were a little out of the ordinary for me, as I sat on a motorbike for the first time, clinging to a man who didn’t smell good, driving into desolate parts of an unknown city. When he sensed I was a little unnerved, he gave me a lot of crap for it…but then pulled over for this promised coffee. (By the way, “I’d like to buy you a coffee” is Moroccan for “I’ll buy the coffee but you pay for both of us”.) The ensuing conversation was pretty entertaining. Here are the more entertaining parts.
(On the city of Fes)
Him: Fes is no good.
Me: Why?
Him: They is Jew.
(On his asthma)
Him: I have very bad asthma. I use two inhalers a week. Do you have advice for me, doctor? (He lights his third cigarette).
Me: Stop smoking.
Him: I don’t smoke that much. I need better inhalers.
(This is where I thought he was going to beat me up for my wrong answer)
Him: Do you know why there are so many date trees in Marrakesh?
Me: I don’t know…the French?
Him: F*CK the French! Don’t ever say French around me again. No French!
(On American women)
American woman, they are not clean. They f*ck everything. I want to come to America and get American girl.
At this point a homeless bum walked up to us, stared at me, then just grabbed my cup of tea…and drank it all. Perfect.
(This is when I realized his ulterior motive)
Him: I try to come to America. I applied for visa, but it’s taking five years. Will you sponsor me?
(When that didn’t work, he moved to ulterior motive #2)
Him: Yes I work, I have job, but it doesn’t pay well. Sometimes when I see tourist, I say “would you like to go on tour?” and they say yes. Sometimes they pay me a little. Sometimes I take them to shopping. Sometimes they pay me for that too. I never ask, but it’s better than robbing them. Will you pay for my gas?
Me: No.
Him: You are very hard-fisted. Do you know what that means?
Me: Yes. You know it’s not nice to insult people you’re with.
Him: I’m not. But you should give local people money. Do you want to buy a blue scarf?
Me: No!
(Then he tries the old favorite)
Him: I will take you to leather tannery for beautiful leather. Yes?
(This is when he evaluates if he could kill me and get away with it.)
Him: Are you travelling alone? Does anyone know you’re here? Do they know what hotel you’re staying at? Have you emailed them? Do they know you’re here? Is your friend worried if you don’t write him? What room number are you in?
Me: 18 (in reality, 26)
I finally paid him a little just for the entertainment of the preceding hour. On the motorbike ride back, I tried taking a picture of us, but he refused to show his face.
Our encounter ended once I got off the bike. His final words to me were “Stop talking. You talk too fast.” Goddamn it! I travel halfway around the globe and people still tell me the same thing as back home.
March 11th, 2010 at 6:31 pm
Very bold indeed. One time when Liza and I were walking to the “big square” this guy at a cross walk greets me as though he knows me and then says “Don’t you remember me from your hotel? Do you want me to give you a tour?” Thankfully our hotel only had 3 employees and we had met all of them before setting out.
March 11th, 2010 at 8:09 pm
Now this is the funniest shit ever. I can’t even believe u entertained the idea of holding onto a strange man to ride on a motorcycle mo less. This is all very unamir like. There must be something in the water there makin u crazy. But I’m just a dirty American woman. What would I know.