Marrakech has two faces

Marrakech has fired the imagination for centuries, and with good reason. Spend a day here and you quickly discover that the city is not one place but two, separated not by geography but by the hour. Daytime belongs to the vendors and the street performers. After sunset, when the temperature drops and the stalls emerge, and Djemaa el-Fna unfolds like a flower that only opens in the dark, everything shifts. We did not know which face we would find. In the end, we found both.

Leaving Ouzoud turns out to be more of an event than expected. Farewells on a campsite have a way of stretching: a conversation with the site manager here, a chat with fellow travellers there, and then Myran from Endless on Wheels appears with a camera and launches into a full interview for her YouTube channel. We talk, we laugh, and before we know it the campervan is packed and pointing towards the road. The bill, however, is still unpaid. We nearly drive off without settling it.

The Atlas at our backs

Once we have paid and exchanged a round of bonne routes, goede reis and safe trips, we spend the best part of an hour driving with the snow-capped peaks of the Atlas Mountains on the horizon, sometimes to our left, sometimes straight ahead. The snow cuts sharply against a pale blue sky that throws a cold, clear light across the road. Slowly, the land flattens out beneath us.

We pull over on a near-empty stretch of road. Behind the van comes the sound of bleating. A shepherd moves past with his flock, the animals flowing by in a dirty-white wave. He raises a hand; we raise one back. No words needed.

Marrakech sits roughly 70 kilometres from the foot of the Atlas. Approaching from the east, you begin to understand just how striking the location is: nearly a million people settled at the edge of a mountain range that reaches above 4,000 metres in places. Jbel Toubkal, at 4,167 metres, the highest point in North Africa, is visible from the city on a clear day.

Camping Le Relais

Camping Le Relais is the sort of site that makes travelling by campervan in Morocco straightforward: full facilities, a swimming pool, generous pitches, shade, a restaurant and a bread delivery service in the morning. At the reception, we arrange a taxi, 250 dirhams for the return trip. At four in the afternoon, it is waiting by the gate, exactly as agreed.

When the driver drops us at the edge of the medina, he taps the sticker on the passenger door. “Numero cinq trois sept,” he says. “Remember that. Do not take another taxi. I will collect you here at eight o’clock.” We photograph the number.

A thousand years of imagination

Marrakech is a city that has been stirring imaginations for more than a thousand years. Founded around 1070 by the Almoravids, its medina is a UNESCO World Heritage Site: a labyrinth of narrow alleys, palaces and mosques. At its centre lies Djemaa el-Fna, a square that has served as the city’s focal point for nearly ten centuries and is recognised by UNESCO as a Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritage.

Daytime: mixed feelings

Let us be honest: the first few hours are something of a disappointment. The square fills mainly with tourists. Street musicians beat drums and blow flutes, hats tilted towards passing wallets; men parade with monkeys on chains. When we try to photograph a snake charmer, he turns aggressive the moment the tip falls short of his expectations.

We find a table on one of the terraces at the edge of the square and order something cold. Here, too, the sense lingers that tourists are little more than walking cash machines. We watch the activity below with a certain unease. No, it does not make us warm to the place.

The souk is a different kind of challenge. Scooters move through the crowds at alarming speed. The air thickens with exhaust fumes. And then you are properly lost, because the souk is a river with a hundred tributaries: every time you think you know the way, a side alley pulls you somewhere else. Have we been here before? Left or right? The disorientation is total and, we gradually accept, entirely typical of Marrakech.

We had been told that a rooftop terrace offers a fine view of the square, particularly at sunset. We booked a table. Before long, a steaming tagine arrives as the sun slides behind the slender minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque. The light turns orange, then pink, then the sky fills with gold. In the far distance, the snow on the Atlas is still visible. It is the same snow we drove past this morning.

After dark, everything changes

As night falls, the square transforms. Stall by stall, the food tents appear. What felt uncomfortable in the afternoon now pulses with something warmer: dozens of eating places, music from several directions at once, the smell of grilled meat and spiced broth rising through the air. It has the feeling of a large family gathering, loud and generous, without the sharp edges of the daytime.

At each food tent, a man with a menu does his best to wave us in. We have already eaten, I explain, and gesture at my stomach. He studies me with mock gravity. “Oh, vous attendez un bébé? Come back next time?” Inshallah. We will. Despite the tagine still sitting with us, the smell of the square is making us hungry again.

Before we leave, we stop at a small mobile stall selling biscuits. So much choice. “Pas de problème,” the vendor says. “Try one.” We do. Not the expected blast of sweetness: instead, almond, orange blossom, a breath of cinnamon. We buy a box for five euros. Almost certainly too much. The experience, though, counts for something.

Taxi 737

At eight o’clock we are waiting near the mosque. No taxi. Five minutes pass, then ten. Then he pulls up. “Excuse moi, beaucoup de trafic.” We believe him: earlier in the day we had already experienced his approach to Marrakech traffic at close quarters. Someone on the campsite had mentioned it beforehand. “I’m from Amsterdam,” he had said. “I’ve seen a fair bit, but I am not driving in this city.” We understand completely.

Back at Le Relais, we sit on the terrace and let the day settle. Marrakech is somewhere you have to see if you are travelling in Morocco. By day, Djemaa el-Fna left us cold: too performative, the animal shows more melancholy than entertaining. After dark, the city becomes something else entirely: relaxed and lively in a way that draws you in rather than pushing you away. Next time, we will eat at one of the square’s food tents. Inshallah.

In our previous post, we explored the Ouzoud Waterfalls. After Marrakech, we head to Essaouira, where we spend a long time watching the fishing harbour and are handed our first glass of mint tea.