So This Week I’ve Been a Spice Girl, a Charlie’s Angel and Shakira

I’m sure most people who have been to Morocco for the first time will describe a huge culture shock. Indeed, it was unlike anywhere I’d ever been before and very clearly not a Western society. Though there were hints and traces of other countries I’d been to, seeing it all amalgamated together was a complete whirlwind and quite jolting. I think if I hadn’t been living in Spain for the last seven or eight months (how many months am I on now seriously??) I would have found it a lot more jarring than I did. However, in reality, it was really just an exaggerated version of the country I’m currently living in, blended with a little of Israel and a lot of France.

The French language might have even been the most startling part, as I struggled to drag out words far buried in my brain from three years ago when I last studied it. After seven (or eight, who really knows, let me count) months in Spain I pretty much understand everything and find it easy to communicate my needs and wishes. Here, I reverted back to a struggling tourist, shouting in English and throwing in as many French words as I could remember.

Accurate.

 

Thank goodness we had myself and Nishma in our group, me having an A2 in French and her an AS, because without our attempts at spoken French, we might have really struggled to make our intentions clear, particularly with the woman who let us into our apartment and spoke not one word of English. We resulted in sign language and shouting: ONZE DU MATIN, ICI. ONZE DU MATIN, ICI. (11 am, here).

It was not nearly as hot as we wanted in Marrakech (in fact we only managed two days by the pool) and we really could’ve done without the downpour, but we still managed to do everything we wanted to do and luckily got to ride our camels on the hottest day.

Because Sam had been to Marrakech earlier in the year (February, if I’m not mistaken) I couldn’t help but compare everything I knew about his trip to the reality of mine. He stayed in a hotel – one of the nicest in Marrakech as far as I could tell, my AirBnb cost 10€ a night and the electricity fused twice. He had sushi served to him by the pool; I couldn’t work out how to turn the hob on.

Send help.

But all in all, the accommodation didn’t actually matter to me too much: the bed was comfy, the shower clean and because it was a residential apartment, we pretty much had the pool to ourselves. That was on the one day we could use the pool as maintenance had decided that particular week was the perfect opportunity to clean the concrete, meaning the pool was filled with dirt the rest of the time.

And I’m sure Sam did not have the same experiences as us in the Jamaa el-Fnaa, the central marketplace of Marrakech. After settling into our apartment and spending a day relaxing by the pool, our visit to the Jamaa was our first real Moroccan experience. It is a bustling mass of people and voices, selling and shouting and chasing you with snakes. Thanks, but no thanks. Also no thanks to the offer of a Henna tattoo for 1 Dirham (equivalent to 1o cents here), which by the looks of the needle came with HIV for no extra charge.

Now I know we’ve all heard the stories about being wary in Marrakech, especially if you’re a girl. Trust me, I had at least 5 different people warning me to be careful and that I might be uncomfortable around the men. It’s not uncommon in Granada to be shouted at in the street, and I was even catcalled once at 7 in the morning as I headed to a taxi with my giant suitcase to go home. However, in Marrakech (especially in the market), it’s not a successful day for a man unless they’ve called after a girl with something they suppose to be charming. The many names we were called collectively included:

• Spice Girls
• Nice size, nice eyes
• Skinny girls (awh, thanks guys, I have been watching my weight)
• Charlie’s Angels (I’ll be Cameron Diaz thanks)
• Madonna (Jayne)
• Lady Gaga (Jayne)
• Shakira (Me)
• Kim Kardashian (Soraya)
• Beyoncé (Chanika)
• and a variety of places and countries. I’d list Soraya’s here, but I fear she might punch me.

I found it funny to be honest. It was a struggle to keep it together when they called after you and especially when one gentleman ushered me into his shop, only to pop up five seconds later with ‘Hello again!’ Perhaps I would’ve been more perturbed had I come straight from England, but in reality, it hardly bothered me at all.

Bow down to your Princess.

In these marketplaces, haggling is key. Anyone who’s been to a Shuk in Israel knows that a seller can be bartered down and it was no different in the souks of Marrakech. Maybe even easier considering we were a group of five of the fairer sex, each with more sassiness than the next. We were unafraid to argue ’30 Dirhams or I walk. Fine, I’m leaving, I saw it for cheaper over there anyway’ and to walk away with an item for over half of the original price. In fact, Jayne managed to haggle down a 250 Dirham cushion cover to two for 100.

In actuality, anything and everything in Marrakech can be haggled down (except of course fixed price food and drink). Taxis, camel rides and souvenirs are all fair game and are often an open market. Be prepared in Marrakech to stand your ground and trust me, you won’t get anywhere unless you use your voice. Start at the lowest price you can and work your way until you meet in the middle.

Sass it up ladies.

Like most places, Marrakech has its beautiful parts and poverty stricken parts. We were staying in Gueliz, the urban centre of Marrakech, surrounded by Western shops like Zara and Mango (though the prices were bumped up from those we’re used to in Granada) and Western food chains (Starbucks and McDonalds). When we did our camel ride, we were up in the desert parts of Marrakech and had a first hand view of rural life. There was certainly a sharp contrast and juxtaposition between the two.

As for food, it is very easy to eat well in Morocco, provided you like Moroccan food. Of the four nights we were there we ate on panoramic restaurants three times (twice in the market itself) and once in a more Western bistro, having a break from the tagines and couscous I had had three nights in a row.

We also indulged in a more luxurious way of life, escaping our apartment for the finesse of the Sofitel hotel or the Azar Lebanese lounge for drinks. When you’re residing in an apartment for 10€ a night, it’s easy to wander up to the hotel and pretend you live there instead, whilst sipping cocktails chosen from a menu that lights up when you touch it.

Ooooh, aaaahhh

Overall I had a great time in Marrakech, and I’m certainly glad for the experiences. I don’t know whether I’d go there again but I think everyone should at least once. And maybe the heat of August isn’t the best time to go, if you don’t want to be ogled whilst wearing as little clothing as possible to escape the heat.

For anyone going, these are my top tips:

• It can get windy at night, even on the hot days: if you’re going out for the evening, make sure to take a jacket.
• Don’t bother booking camels before you go, or from an agency – they often rip you off. We just got in a taxi and asked him to take us to Palmarie, and more specifically, where the camels are. We got an hour on the camels for only 200 Dirhams (20€), which is usually the base price, even if they start at 350 – you can always haggle it down.
• And in that sense, HAGGLE HAGGLE HAGGLE. The only way forward really – why don’t we do this more in Europe?
• Girls: don’t worry about dressing conservatively if that makes you uncomfortable. You will get shouted at either way, whether you’re in a maxi skirt or in shorts, so go with what makes you feel comfortable and take it in your stride.
• The best places to stay are Gueliz or Medina. Gueliz is the more contemporary part with cheaper restaurants and lots of bars, Medina is the more expensive area but closer to the main Jamaa el Fna. However, everywhere in the city is pretty easy to get to and can be walked (if you’re not lazy like us) so pick either.
• Go-to restaurants:
  • Restaurant Marrakchi (I think that’s how it’s spelled!): it’s in Jamaa el Fna and has the best view of the market and is definitely the most upmarket of all of them. They have live music whilst you eat and it’s a luxurious setting with exquisite food. Make sure to book, there’s usually someone stood outside the door to make a reservation. If you’re lucky, like us, he’ll chase you round the market for the rest of the night trying to take you to another restaurant he works for. (Marrakchi has a connection with a Riad – or hotel – down the road).
  • Azar Lebanese Lounge: we only went here for drinks, but I wish we’d done the whole evening here. I didn’t get a good look at the food menu but the cocktails were incredible, there was a really relaxed atmosphere and there was live belly dancing. And Happy Hour was from 10pm!!
  • If you’re sick of Moroccan food (though really, who can be with those yummy caramelised onions on the couscous) we went to a Cafe Bar next to the Sofitel. I can’t remember the name but they had lots of Western food, including pizza, pasta, sandwiches and the smoked salmon panini I had. It was also pretty much dirt cheap for what you get so makes a nice change from the more expensive Moroccan food.
• All in all, the city itself is inexpensive (especially what you can haggle) but be careful with money. Dirhams are a closed currency, meaning you can only buy them in Morocco. My advice is change a little in the airport and then at a change point, which are pretty much everywhere (and they’ll change in the banks as well). However they only change back to Euros/Pounds in the airport and, obviously, won’t change coins, so be careful if you don’t want to be stuck with Dirhams.

And that, I suppose, is my recap of Marrakech. We chilled by the pool, I read four books, we saw the Jardin Majorelle (with a stump dedicated to Yves Saint Laurent. If I were Yves, I’d like a better memorial, thanks), we experienced the Jamaa el Fna, we loved the Sofitel (and yes, I loved the cocktails) and we rode camels. What more could you want?? Good food, good experience and good people.

And now, can you believe it, I have less than 6 weeks left in Spain. I’m definitely going to make the most of it, especially as I just found out today is my last full day of classes!! So I think I should go to the beach this weekend, don’t you?

Obligatory Blair.

So There Were Cocktails, Cádiz and one Crazy CLM Class

My exams finally finished and I passed all except one! But in the true spirit of Spain being a bonkers country, the new semester started straight away the following Monday so I had to squish all my post-exam celebrations into four days. I think this new term will have a lot more success than the previous one (touch wood) because I actually like most of my classes and can understand all the teachers. Plus, no Carmen the evil linguistics teacher, which is always a plus.

I was never suited to linguistics anyway. As I said to pretty much anyone who would listen, take subjects you enjoy rather than ones you think will help your Spanish. So this semester I will be enjoying: English Literature II, Introduction to Comparative Literature, Introduction to Literary Studies and Judaism and Modernity. Sounds right up my street.

Surprise surprise, there’s another strike today (these Spanish students seriously don’t need to be complaining about fees, I’ll never be able to pay back my loans). So I have a two hour gap now until my next class and tomorrow’s only lecture is cancelled.

But going back to the end of my exams, it was 8pm, I had just finished and in the grand words of Bridesmaids: 

You go girl, you tell ’em Kristen.

Naturally, the way forward was a visit to Mae West, Granada’s premier club, where girls go free on Wednesdays. We began the night with shots at Chupiteria, cocktails at Amsterdam café and upon entering Mae West found ourselves in the midst of an Erasmus pre-party where we were given stickers with our country’s flag on. Given that the Irish and Italian flags are similar, some confusion was presented to Jayne.

Once in the club we were dancing the night away, avoiding (as much as possible) creepy men and making friends with the USA University Ski Cross Team who were in town for some Winter University sports thing Granada was hosting. Though still to this day I’m seriously critical of the fact that they were wearing their ski jackets in the club. I get that they wanted to look cool, but they’re insulated for a reason and to me, that just screams sweaty.

The night ended with a fight between an Italian girl and her boyfriend (in which she kicked said boyfriend) and I collapsed into bed at 5am.

At the weekend we went to Cádiz for the famous Carnaval, which is apparently the most famous carnaval in Spain, where everyone wears fancy dress and spends the whole night partying. I went as a hippy, Jayne as Minnie Mouse, and Soraya as a Hawaiian. We’re so original.

Before we even got to Cádiz, there were stories to tell. We found ourselves on the bus full of rowdy Spaniards, including a gentleman dressed as Conchita Wurst, who serenaded us with All of Me, and Diamonds by Rihanna. My advice? Work on the stresses of words mate, though your dress was fabulous.

There were also bottles of alcohol to be won and we were advised on how to win these:

‘You can sing a song or do a striptease’.

Needless to say, us prim English girls weren’t joining in.

When we got to Cádiz, after a lot of wandering around, we eventually discovered that the famous Carnaval was really just a giant Botellon. Or in English terms, drinking on the streets. We perhaps didn’t pick the best weekend for it, because by midnight it was pouring with rain, freezing cold and we were literally stood in the streets until 5am.

Am I going to die out here?

I’m still really glad we went, it was the kind of experience you need to have on your year abroad, but I think it would’ve been better if we’d known more people and if the weather was a little better. I thought I came to Spain to get away from the rain?!

But the absolute icing on the cake was turning up to the bus at 5am, ready to leave and finding out that the driver had overslept and we had to wait in the rain for another hour before we could leave. HAHAHA. GR8.

Thankfully we made it back in good time and relatively good spirits, and so far, I’m yet to contract pneumonia.

We’re doing well.

And now classes have started. I have 9 hours of classes on Mondays and Wednesdays culminating in my extra Spanish classes at the Centro de Lenguas Modernas (which are by far the best classes I’ve ever taken – I’m now up a level from last semester and rocking it).

CLM classes started this Monday and we turned up expecting a bunch of get-to-know-you games and an introduction to the course. What we got, was the shock of our lives and we were incepted. But Leo was nowhere in sight.

The teacher introduced himself as Simón, a man who goes against the curve and doesn’t like the structure of a standard lesson. He also told us he wouldn’t be writing anything on the board because he was allergic to chalk when he was younger and permanent marker makes him itch. Also, he doesn’t like anything permanent, and prefers the transience of time. Bloody wishy-washy Spaniards.

Instead of telling each other our names, he suggested we play a game of spies. This game involved creating a false identity the complete opposite of ourselves and putting it into a hat, drawing someone’s out and trying to figure out who they were.

My false identity was Jake, a 50 year old man who loved sports and hated bright colours. Except his ginger hair.

Once we’d spent an hour and a half trying to figure each other out and Simón spent ten minutes trying to work out how to pronounce my name (it’s Chloë. Chlo-e. How difficult is that?? He can pronounce the Chinese girl’s name, Efan, but not Chloë. Srsly.) the whole thing took a turn for the bizarre.

Simón was not our teacher. His name wasn’t even Simón. He was Juan, and our actual teacher was Ana who had spent the last hour and a half pretending to be a student in the class. Honestly at this point I didn’t know what to believe.

Our faces exactly.

I’m still feeling a little shaken 2 days later and seriously don’t know what to expect this afternoon. Only time will tell.

In other news, my countdown to coming home has begun again: 4 weeks tomorrow, and time is really flying. I can barely believe that after this break I’ll be on the final stretch of my year abroad. It’s actually gone so quickly, and with all the exciting things I have planned, I have a feeling it’s going to go even more quickly from here on out. But more on those another time.

Peace out.

Obligatory Blair gif.