Stepping off the plane in Marrakesh is the window to the most shocking part of spending time in Morocco: the first day. The airport is a 1-story mud-brick building, and I exit the plane on a portable stairway and walk to the terminal (This always makes me feel like a rock star). Even late in the evening it is hot outside. The sun sets over the caked red building in a brighter orange.
Then I catch a cab. Though the website for the hostel I plan to stay at suggests 50-60 dirhams should get me to the center, I can't get the guy lower than 100. He speaks little English (Arabic then French are the one two), but enough to explain that his name is Mohammed and that he welcomes me to Agadir. For 100 dirhams he should welcome me, anyway.
The ride is interesting as well: the streets are filled with bikers. Not bicyclists (though there are some), and not quite motorcycle riders, but people on motorized bikes, equipped with unused pedals and a motor that lets them go about 30 mph pretty comfortably. They are endemic, they cut and weave between cars and lanes of traffic, and they always seem to be in the way at the wrong moment.
This is more visible once you enter the Djemma. That is the center in Marrakesh, where I got out of the cab to look for that hostel. Even where a clear plaza opens up, with rows of tables to eat at in the center of it and various performers on the outside, the bikers keep coming, threatening pedestrians and other bikers. I saw one biker about my age hit the bike of a kid, then glare and scold at the kid as he backed up and then pulled away. The poor kid wasn't at fault, but had no idea what to do, his hat drooping on his head as he went the other way.
Once you turn out of the Djemma and into the side roads, the fun begins. Carrying a suitcase and a guitar on my back made me more conspicuous, but I imagine my skin was enough to distinguish me. Everyone comes to you, friendly and willing to lend a hand, but with the implicit intention of receiving money for their help.
In the narrow alleys of the souk, the approach is a simple one; peg down your nationality, then work from there. "Francais? English?" the cries begin from one vendor. "Español?" a boy at the next kiosk adds as you keep walking. Another throws out "Polski!" If they get a response, or even eye contact, they push in for the kill; if they get neither, they keep pushing anyway. Interestingly enough, with my Mediterranean features and monstrous mutton chops, I was widely thought to be Italian by the Moroccan masses. Sometimes I tried to fake it too, but il mio italiano is a bit rusty. It makes sense though, considering Tony Danza is the celebrity I get compared to most after Ben Stiller. And I'm not sure if either of those comparisons are flattering.
Once I found the hotel I wanted (an old man who guided me and then expected money - I had nothing but 100s, and didn't feel like giving him that much or asking for change, so I refused. "Shit," he muttered as he walked away), I received a price for the night -150 dirhams. (7.2 dirhams to the dollar, roughly). I didn't feel like arguing. Five minutes later, a Welshman named Paul whom I later befriended got a room for 100 dirhams, and pointed out that last time he stayed here it was 90. Clearly, I'm one savvy customer.
Anyway, once I got through that indoctrination period, with help from Paul (a BBC reporter and a charming traveler), Morocco became another place. A new and interesting place, but not a shocking and exotic and impossible place as it seemed in the first few hours.
At this point I'm going to break off the straight narration, because my Moroccan tale is not one that needs to be told to any great degree, not right now at least. I spent time in Marrakesh, in a bus, and in Agadir, along the coast of the Atlantic. I enjoyed Morocco. There are a few more bits I could mention - e.g. how I played "Happiness is a Warm Gun" for two Moroccan dudes at the Agadir bus station and then actually conversed with one of them in Spanish; how a man at that same bus station came up to me and asked for some music, and then specifically for Europe's "Final Countdown," which lead to some impromptu acapella and beat making action - but I'd rather get to a how to. So without further ado:
How to Handle the Souks:
The souk is the Moroccan market. Similar to a flea market in the states, or the Tushinskaya market in Moscow, or the Rastro in Madrid. What makes Morocco's a little bit different, besides the salesmanship of the vendors mentioned above, is that they occur under a roof but outdoors, in a sort of mud-brick artificial cave system. Marrakesh's is especially difficult to navigate.
But once that particularity is out of the way, we get to the heart of the Souk, or of any of these other markets: bargaining. As you might guess from the taxi and hostel situations above, I'm not very good at bargaining. Furthermore, I hate bargaining. I find it mostly loathsome, and irritating.
At the same time, I present you a few bargaining strategies. Heed them at your own risk:
I'm sorry, I don't speak the language:
If you pretend to not understand Arabic, English, or French (only one of those is difficult for me), you can't be persuaded to take a price you don't want to accept. Then you work through a series of hand symbols and calculator buttons. At the very least, this makes you just as difficult to deal with as them.
A variation on this I saw work is as follows: imagine you can speak with the vendor, but a companion cannot (or is better at pretending they cannot). Begin the negotiations. At each iteration, look at your companion and relay the message to them in a language the vendor does not understand. Wait for his/her invariably negative response and counter, and then offer it to the vendor. This way, the vendor has to please two people, and the pressure is taken off you to bargain. An alternative to this variation is to allow your companion to do the calculator button pushing.
Just Walk Away, Walk Away:
My sister reported fondness for this method on her recent China trip. Begin negotiating, reach an impasse, and walk away. In almost all cases, the vendor wants the sale more than you want the product. Presumably, that vendor will lower the price to a more acceptable level as you walk away. Now, I don't know from experience, but a guy I know, he did this and got it on!
Sunglasses, I mean. For really cheap.
Time is on your side:
Assuming you have patience (I usually don't) and a good chunk of time to spend at the souk, feel free to go back and forth with any given vendor over a number of different products. A little deception helps; show interest in an undesirable product and then switch to the one you'd like to buy with a guise of "I'll settle for this" written on your face and in your pidgin Italian.
Say you want a pair of sneakers, for example. And you want a nice, shiny color to match your eclectic selection. Show interest in the plain black nikes, but then switch to the red striped adidases, before finally landing on the third try of a yellow with green and red stripes pair of asics. That's how you ball.
Accept your fate and move on:
Because we all know that whatever purchases I made I did poorly on (I made three purchases at the souk in Agadir and "bargained" off 60 dirhams, and then bargained another 30 dirhams or so at another store, i.e. chump change), let me let you in on my real strategy: resignation. As the Welshman Paul explained, "Everything here is a bargain. And they're much better than us at it." So maybe you're a cold-hearted, indifferent stud of a trader, and prepared to play the game with hopes of success. But if you're like me, you're going to pay a little bit more than other people will. It's still Morocco, it's still cheap, and the experience is worth the effort. Don't go overboard, though, because it might wear your nerves down a bit.
And that's all I got.
Oh, uh, wait a second, what's this thing doing here? Jeez. Umm...the following picture will be posted, but I warn those of you who don't like strange pictures, Prince-esque poses, and a salacious pursing of the lips should probably turn away. Yes, get away while you can! Run! (See, now you'll definitely look. Enjoy...)
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