marrakech too hot to handle

It’s 3.15am and I can’t understand why I have been woken by what sounds like Arabic chanting. Then I recall that I am in Marrakech and it is Ramadan. The call to prayer is echoing throughout our riad via a distant mosque loudspeaker. I ask Fox if this is the call to breakfast to which he responds I should stop being sarcastic. When I insist that I am in fact being serious we both burst into uncontrollable laughter. It must be the heat. We discover during our stay that this is the hottest summer in Morocco for the last 60 years. Proof that I am not handling the 51°C heat very well lies in random strangers, locals and tourists alike, taking one look at me as they pass by then spraying me in the face with water squirters. Charming.

Our introduction to Marrakech is at Djemaa-el-Fna, the main city square. By day, one is likely to encounter mainly fellow tourists and some sad looking donkeys bearing heavy loads but at night it truly becomes the heart of Marrakech. As the sun sinks, the call for the break of fasting resounds throughout the city and along with it comes the setting up of street restaurants which draw crowds-upon-crowds. Everywhere you look there are just people – some whizzing through on scooters, many feasting, others mesmerised by the snake charmers’ cobras or the men with monkeys on chains. The square also serves as the gateway to the souks. There is little the sellers in this labyrinthine marketplace will not attempt to coax one to purchase their wares. From catch phrases to grabbing your arm or telling you that “looking is free”, my favourite has to be “What you want? You want scarf? Bag? Ah, belly-dancing…you want this belt to be like Shakira?” Priceless.
While I smile at these attempts to rid me of my dirham, less amusing are the many poor who tug on one's arm for a handout. Between them, the mistreated animals and countless scrawny, battered stray cats who roam the city, one has little choice but to become hardened to the harsh surroundings for fear of being overwhelmed.

Another day of sightseeing means having to cross more chaotic roads (it’s no wonder we witnessed a scooter accident the day before), being at the center of a fight between taxi drivers and the bustle of the square at 10pm. All of this craziness plus the sweltering heat means that not even the acquisition of my own trusty water spray bottle is enough to cool me down by this point.

Thankfully our third and last day is spent exploring the Ourika valley in the Atlas mountains, outside Marrakech. We visit a traditional Berber village where a kind lady makes us peppermint tea in her house, climb a mountain to a gushing waterfall and admire some of Morocco’s notable scenery.

We conclude our trip, surrounded by other westerners who also look to be escaping the mayhem for a bit, on the chic rooftop terrace of Kosybar. As we sip our cold drinks and chat about travels with our fellow mountain tour mates, Andy and Aletia, I considered how much more I can appreciate Marrakech when looking at it from a distance in the cool of night.

nothing like a strong cup of coffee

I wake up perky. It’s my first week no longer working full time and rather than waste my day having a lie-in I jump out of bed to make myself and hubby a freshly brewed cup of Cuban coffee. He is naturally surprised that I am even approachable at this time of day, never mind having caffeine which is at the top of my “Things that are Not Good for Me” list. I feel privileged to have the day open to possibility and I want to make the most of it by having a constructive day. Like a good “house wife” I send Fox off to work with a packed breakfast of healthy fruit (he’s already had a slice of homemade banana loaf), switch on morning TV and tidy up the flat. Next I assess my to-do list and start to tick things off one-by-one. As the morning progresses I find myself becoming more and more excited about my productivity.
By 10.30am, as I am energetically getting ready to leave the flat I realise I am having mild heart palpitations. Thinking that it must just be the adrenaline of such efficiency I head off to run my errands without further thought. I walk as fast as my pint-sized legs can carry me (nothing unusual there) and by the time I reach the high street both realisation and regret dawn simultaneously. Caffeine.
Perhaps my morning “treat” wasn’t a good idea, especially as I haven’t had any coffee for weeks…maybe even months. As the day unfolds I become more anxious and determined about everything I have to get through. After I am told that the kitchen trolley we want from Cargo is discontinued I go into overdrive. I have to have that trolley. I start calling different stores until the lady in Wimbledon agrees to let me have the display model at which point I literally beg her not to sell it to anyone else before I can get there to buy it.
I’m about to rush off to Wimbledon when I suddenly feel very, vey tired. Maybe I’ll just sit down and read for a bit. I pick up a book called “The Fingerprints of God” and all of a sudden the idea of creation and the Trinity all starts to make complete sense. I feel drugged. Ten minutes later I crash. I don’t wake up for an hour-and- a-half at which point I have to drag myself from the couch and convince my body that the gym is just what it needs. But on the way I suddenly fear I might have a heart-attack. Perhaps it is just my subconscious’ way of trying to avoid the treadmill but I can feel my heart beating in my chest and I panic that I am going to pass out mid-run and have to be carried out of the leisure centre on a stretcher. Wow…caffeine has turned me utterly neurotic in the space of nine hours.
I think I can finally understand how and why Castro started the revolution. After drinking Cuban coffee every day, perhaps I too might do something as significant as he.
Sheesh…I wouldn’t really know but I suspect Speed ain’t got nothing on that stuff. I think I’ll just stick to herbal tea.