Mint tea and medinas

written by Katie

Just minutes after landing in Marrakech, Morocco’s ancient once-capital situated below the mythical Atlas Mountains, Matt and I found ourselves in a peculiar, not altogether unexpected situation: in the back seat of a rusty 1970s taxi cab at the mercy of an insistent, non-English-speaking older man behind the wheel. His car — a verified Flintmobile — had no seat belts, no GPS, and manual crank-style windows. Despite the driver’s initial display of confidence, we quickly realized he had no clue how to get us to our hotel. As my grandma whom my family affectionately calls Nanny would say, peculiarities like that make for the most memorable stories…

Meanwhile, with no cell service to help the driver navigate to the hotel, Matt and I convinced him to let us use his phone. When we handed the phone back to him with the directions pulled up, he only looked more confused. About a half mile out and after one hairpin-turn too many, the driver parked the car and told us to walk the rest of the way. That we made it to the hotel in one piece and were able to laugh it all off when we arrived was truly a miracle. 

After checking into our room, Matt and I headed up to the hotel’s sunny rooftop where we crashed on the daybeds. I have no idea how long we were out; all I know is that we needed that sleep more than our taxi driver needed a Google Maps-tutorial. There, at the hotel, we sipped on mint tea until my dad, my stepmom Rebecca, and my little brother Cole arrived. 

Every time I reunite with Cole I can’t believe how much he’s grown. The last time that Matt and I saw my family was in September when we stayed with them in London on our way from the U.S. to Spain, and in just a few months, Cole must have gained another three inches. It was great to see him again, especially at the end of a sometimes-isolating Winter in Sevilla.

After we all caught up, a happy-go-lucky tour guide named Aziz – recommended to us by my high school friend Logan – met up with us at the hotel. We set out on foot to the nearby ‘Mellah,’ or the Jewish Quarter of Marrakech, to begin our tour.

Not only was the tour our first glimpse of the stunning beauty of Marrakech, but it was also an eye-opening history lesson that taught Matt and me to see the humility and kindness of the people that we encountered throughout the rest of our trip. One of the first things that we noticed was the abundance of similarities between Morocco and Sevilla (which checks out since Sevilla was once ruled by the Moors). 

As is the case in Sevilla, a massive, three-feet-thick defensive wall surrounds Marrakech. The city inside the wall is referred to as the medina. Another similarity that we spotted between the two cities was the Koutoubia Mosque. The sand-colored building’s tower, standing at an impressive 221 feet, served as a model for Sevilla’s Giralda, the city’s mosque-turned-cathedral, when it was built in 1195. 

Yet another similarity between Marrakech and Sevilla is the ‘double doors’ and small entrances that appear on many buildings. Aziz told us that the reasoning behind them is to keep Morrocans humble. People who enter a home or mosque through a miniature door, which are often embedded within a larger door, are forced to bow their heads, showing respect to the host on their way in.

As we continued along our tour of the Mellah, we learned from Aziz that historically, Moroccans are an inclusive, accepting people. It turns out that the mellah was not at all like a typical European ghetto. In fact, the 70,000 Jewish people who once lived in the neighborhood did so of their own accord after years of living outside the Mellah amongst their Muslim neighbors. 

After exploring the Mellah, we headed to the famed Bahia palace nearby. The 19th century building, known for its decoration, was absolutely stunning. Aziz pointed out three design elements that appear throughout the labyrinth-like palace and in most Moorish architecture, including the Real Alcazar in Sevilla: Arabic inscriptions, geometric patterns, and floral motifs. We oohed and ahhed at marble floors laden with complex zellij tiles and cedar-ceilings painted in vibrant paints made from natural pigments like ochre and crushed sea shells.

One of the most impressive parts of the palace was the grand riad, a traditional Moroccan interior courtyard that typically comes equipped with a garden and fountain. In this riad, bunches of bananas hung from the trees above, ripe oranges grew all around us, and bushes of pink flowers filled the air with their fragrant scent. Another cool part of the Bahia was an additional courtyard with a massive floor made entirely out of marble that branched off into over 80 rooms for the servants who once lived there. 

At one point during the tour, Aziz pulled a handful of cat food out of his pocket and gave it to a feline who was following us closely. We realized that when Aziz stopped into a market earlier in the day, saying that he needed to pick something up for a friend, this was the friend he had in mind. And his friend, it turned out, was a mother to a litter of tiny newborns who timidly approached Aziz for food and scarfed it down before our wide eyes. 

The last stop of our tour with Aziz was the local souk (market) which has over 6,000 stalls. Much like our arrival to Marrakech, it was beautiful and chaotic. With every step further into the winding corridors, we ran the risk of being run over by a donkey pulling a cart of cloth, stepping into a wide-open manhole, coming head-to-head with a speeding scooter, or scariest of all, making eye contact with a determined vendor. 

We went back to the souk the next day, and our aimless wandering led us to unique treasures ranging from a freshly-carved chess set to intricately-woven handmade rugs. Then, we spent a few more hours at the hotel before departing Marrakech for our second stop on the trip: Taroudant. 

Watching my dad veer our rental car between kids on bikes, donkeys and stray dogs, and straggling hitchhikers up and down the highway made me almost as nervous as the snowy trek that he and I took at Christmas time from Boston to upstate New York during the biggest blizzard in years. 

Thanks to my grandparents, Matt and I had the opportunity to stay with my family in our very own riad in the Medina of Taroudant. When we got in late at night, we could not believe our eyes. The house featured a full palm garden, an enormous pool, several balconies, countless bedrooms, and a separate dining area. Delicate hand-carved furniture, luxurious upholstery, and boldly-colored tapestries, rugs, and pillows filled the entire space. 

At the riad, we hung out with our four roommates, a little family of turtles that the owners of the house rescued. We gorged ourselves on delicious Moroccan food prepared by the resident housekeeper Fatima, swam in the pool, and we sat around the fireplace playing cards. 

Outside of the riad, we explored the bustling streets and souks of Taroudant, which were thankfully not as crazy as those of Marrakech. We also drove to a hotel in Agadir, a quaint beach town about an hour away. We had a luxurious day laying poolside, walking with camels along the beach, and eating to our heart’s content. On our way home from Agadir, we saw goats climbing a tree! Our last few days in Morocco came and went all too quickly. 

One of my favorite parts of our time in Taroudant was a day trip that we took to the late Chilean painter Claudio Bravo’s home, now a hotel and museum. His house — more of a palace — was straight out of a dream. We followed long, winding roads through the barren desert to get there. As I was starting to doubt whether there really was a palace, it suddenly emerged at the end of a long row of palm trees. 

Our tour of Bravo’s palace was super interesting because the staff maintained the exact state that Bravo left it in on the day he died. Walking through his studio, filled with huge rolls of colored paper and easels and velvet drapes, was a bit like walking through his mind. The still life artwork hanging on the walls depicted scenes from throughout the house; scenes that we walked through. The tour ended with a viewing of the on-site mausoleum where Bravo is buried and the looming Atlas Mountains in the distance.

Back in the medina in Taroudant, Matt and I wandered back to the souk to pick up a few last-minute souvenirs, where we had an interaction with a merchant that served as yet another display of Moroccans’ hospitality and generosity. When Matt and I asked the vendor where we might find argan oil, he immediately began leading us out of the souk. All too wary of getting lost with our lack of cell data, we tried to insist on staying put. That proved rather challenging due to the language barrier between us and the merchant, so we shut our mouths and followed him. 

Our de facto tour guide led us on a 10-minute hike through the medina down back roads to a cooperative of women producing argan oil. There, he waited for us at the entrance while we went in, met the women making the oil, and bought a jar. Then, he led us back to the souk, shook our hands, thanked us, and said goodbye. 

Another act of selflessness took place every single day of our trip, when the hosts who welcomed us into our hotel and riad cooked and served us food despite the fact that they were fasting for Ramadan. At sunset every day, an orchestra of voices poured out of the local mosques, telling locals that it was time to break their fast. It was unlike anything I’ve ever witnessed, and I feel so fortunate to have experienced such an important part of Moroccan culture. 

Matt and I are incredibly thankful to my dad and Rebecca for inviting us on a trip that we will never forget, and to my Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Pat for putting us up in a wonderful riad in Taroudant. Although at times, the language barrier and lack of cell service proved challenging and the constant hubbub in the souks was overwhelming, I can now say that Nanny is right, as usual — it’s those twists and turns that make for the best memories and stories.