Morocco, Part 2

Well, the last time we were together, I was recommending to GO NOW before it is too late. You might want to hold off on to buying that ticket for a little while longer. It seems that the flames of "freedom" are spreading to some of the countries that don't have quite the same issues but feel that a little revolution can shake things up. Let us hope it all settles for the best. Not just what is the best for tomorrow but what is the best for the future. Where will the North African region be in two weeks, two months and in two years? Hopefully for the better.

I wanted to return again to our October trip to Marrakech. Except for the burning down of the police station a few days ago, I would fly tomorrow as such was the positive jolly old soul the Djemaa el-Fna square has at night.

As in many cities near the equator and the hot lands of the world, when the sun goes down the inhabitants come out. The air is refreshing now. The breezes start as temperatures shift back towards the sands as they cool. Stars appear overhead and there is a sense of welcoming for the evening ritual of preparing the last meal of the day and the chance of making just a little more business. The souk or market in the old city center has been trading for as long as the first two occupants held something cherished that the other wanted. Walls lean against each other in communal support for the common goal of providing a roof over the latest generation of marketer. Fez has a more ancient feel with its narrow warren of streets and no machine driven transportation, but here in Marrakech that old hippy nirvana is still clings on.

In most of the third world cities night is not the place for the foreign traveler. Sure, there are those few restaurants and places to go to have a coffee or now check the internet, but security was always an issue in many of them and you traveled warily. Walking in the middle of the streets to avoid the alleyways, stripped of any goods and with perhaps some sort of shiv buried not too deeply in a pocket. But here it's different. This is not Nairobi or Managua or Detroit. Folks here know how to trade and know that a safe environment keeps the foreigners all happy chappies. Dark market alleyways are still best heeded as a potential hazard as they are now only filled with smells as the sounds and fury of the day's shoppers are gone. But, for the adventurous of us, if you keep a quick eye and use some common sense and don't play the part of the wondering lost there are experiences to be had.

It always seemed that showering off the dust of the day resets one's agenda. We strip off our valuables only taking enough dirham for our meal and prepare for an evening of dining in the square and perhaps a quiet walk through the market area. Most of the vendors are shutting down but as has happened three nights so far someone has to run back to the hotel and get cash. You think we would learn. And so it happened again. This fine evening dinner was had at Achmeds and his family tent in the main square. D and I had decided to take a new tack and headed off to work off the night's fare of merguez sausages grilled with olives in spicy tomato puree, fresh kalimar and fresh bread.

We had perhaps looked through a thousand shop windows in the last two weeks traveling back and forth through our part of the country. These nights were saved for the antiquities whether real or imagined but with a learned eye and good hand you can normally separate them out from yesterday's latest contrivance. As we strolled through the covered market walkways, we came to a junction and while we waited for it to tell us the way, we saw in front of us a small curtained window filled with those types of curios that demand a closer look. Glasses were taken out of pockets and fitted as we leaned closer in inspection. Here were two small brass hammers in scripted with carvings and symbols that we soon discovered were used by caravans for breaking up salt and sugar crystals, camel bags from the Touareg hung from the inside walls and all kinds of odds and sods that demanded more than a quick cursory glance. The owner of the shop came out and, of course, asked us in. We immediately said that we were just looking. Of course, he knew better as did we and as his window was so intriguing, we could not say no for very long. We all knew as we crossed his threshold that we had started the first step of the negotiation, even though we had not held anything in our hand and as decided a few hours ago, we aren't buying tonight...right?!.

We entered and immediately saw that here was something different, D found a pair of small brass writing stylus. Whether or not they were made yesterday or 200 years ago, they had to be included in whatever the endgame would be that was just gaining momentum. A signet ring with the seal carved out of lapis lazuli was next as it was taken out of a dirty cloth bag that stayed hid normally underneath a small three legged stool. It was made of silver and stood proud an inch above D's hand. Now if only we had a letter to sign and seal to the Khalif.

Twenty minutes passed onto thirty and we felt we had seen it all . We started to discuss in our mix of Marrakechi which is filled with English, French, Spanish and all other words and hand signs that any of us might have heard or seen that related to what we were about to do. We know how to do this, we thought. We say we don't really want it but he knows better as the item we are now trying to put back in its place have been in our hands the whole time. We are sunk, lassoed, tied and branded, hooked lined and sinker'd and we all know it. It was just a simple matter of what was it going to cost us to get out. He will say A, we will howl in pain and say Z, he will cut his wrists and writh in dignified agony and propose F, we will counter with an R and finally meet as best friends as the last business of the day around either side of an M. Simple, it just takes time, some mint tea and more time. A time honored repast and a terrific gentle way to spend an evening.

We mumble our strategy back and forth in pig Latin and can see our way out when he deftly changes direction. In a voice filled with all cunning innocence, he says "I have another shop with even more interesting goods just around the corner". The crafty soul. We are gaffed and filleted. We have no chance now as we exit and he locks the door and leads us down some recess into the bowels of the souk. The unknown is what causes us to travel and this night was not yet to be done. We left with our brass stylus and our proud silver signet ring and followed our man down through the night market alleys to his other shop and there we found.....him.

To be continued.