A Taste of the Third World

My first trip into the third world began as a side trip to Morocco in early 1972. I was on a Grand Tour of Europe. Doing the usual things in all the usual places, London, Paris, Madrid, but when I got to Granada I was struck by the Moorish influences around me and reminded that Africa was so close physically. I had seen the chaotic mix of African cultures in Marseilles, become friends with a Moroccan student in Paris, but now at the Alhambra I was reminded of Moorish dominance for hundreds of years. I would have to go, but because I was only halfway through a 2-month student rail pass, it would have to be a quickie. From Granada to Algeciras was an interesting overnight train ride. As we traveled south we found ourselves the only Caucasians in the third class coach. The majority were Moroccan laborers and the odor of stinky feet was overwhelming, aside from the smell their behavior was rude and offensive as well and I couldn’t wait to be off the train, but was still enchanted by Africa.
We arrived exhausted but eager and in haste we booked a ferry and arrived in Cueta to find we were still in Spanish territory. I blame this on the 2 Germans my traveling companion had aligned with during our contentious train experience. Cueta is a strange place on the border of 2 cultures and 2 continents and we were vulnerable intruders. It is full of seedy hustlers of every kind moneychanger, pimps, and drug pushers were everywhere. In the next 48 hours we were harassed and turned away at the border for reasons unknown 3 times. Finally we returned to Algeciras and took another ferry to Tangiers the fabled city of intrigue. Once there we breezed thru customs and were met by another group of young hustlers one of whom I recognized from Cueta. Since it is impossible to get rid the gang without choosing one, Salim became our keeper. Like most touts Salim spoke English and was charming and genuine, he took us to the Hotel Miami and made his first commission.
Feeling tired from our 4days of near constant travel we were laying low in our beds when Salim returned with the product for which Morocco is most famous. After a little smoke it we all went out for a meal and Salim insisted we visit his uncles shop located in the medina. The medina is a labyrinth of narrow streets and alleys filled with exotic sights and smells, easy to get lost in. Our senses being overwhelmed we followed Salim paying little attention, but when we reached the shop the mood changed, Salim disappeared, the shopkeeper and his not so charming assistant became pushy, backed deeper into the dark narrow interior I felt paranoid and fled followed by my companions. Without delay we raced through the medina until we stumbled into the European city and back to the hotel. At the hotel I couldn’t shake the paranoia and decided to leave the next day.
The bus to Casablanca took all day and had a positive effect on our mood. We arrived around 8pm and were immediately invited to have a cup of mint tea with a group of friendly locals. The lively conversation lifted our spirits even more, but we decided to continue to Marrakech that night and began to negotiate a taxi to take us. For the next several hours we sat 4 across in the back seat of a 1960 chevy. While the driver and another passenger sat comfortably in the front. Finally at 3am we arrived in Marrakech, the streets were dark and empty. The one bright spot was the tower of the Koutoubia Mosque, and in a garden with orange and palm trees we opened our sleeping bags and waited for dawn. At that moment I realized an incredible fantasy had become a reality and my perceptions would never be the same. Marrakech is a mind-bending experience, part menagerie, part sideshow, entertaining and intimidating, spiritual and sexual, filled with energy and excitement.
The Djemma El Fna (assembly of the dead) is the focal point of the Unique Marrakech experience. During the day the huge square is center stage for snake charmers, storytellers, musicians, dancers, assorted hustlers and benign lunatics who make their living off the mesmerized tourists. At night the square is crowded with a variety of savory food stalls lit by lanterns casting shadows and an ominous glow as the local’s line up at their favorites take home or eat and gossip while drinking in the atmosphere. After a couple of days we began to get comfortable when a confrontation escalated to a near riot. My hot-blooded companion banged on the trunk of a car that had brushed by in the crowded street. The driver took extreme offense and began to berate us, when he exited his vehicle and continued to verbally assault us a shoving match began and a large crowd gathered. As they surrounded us and shouted insults a policeman arrived and I thought we were saved but instead we were marched off to the police station where there was more shouting and confusion. Since they didn’t understand English and we didn’t understand Arabic they told us in very basic french that since it was Friday afternoon we would have to return on Monday and they confiscated our passports to make sure. This cast a cloud on our plans for a weekend on the beach at Essouira (formerly known as Mogador). The trip there was sunny and pleasant but soon turned dark and damp dragging our spirits with it. As the wind whipped the sand and surf an ominous mood reminded what awaited us in Marrakech.
On Monday morning when we arrived at the police station we were told to return on Tuesday. At 9am on Tuesday we were asked to return on Wednesday, no explanation was ever offered. On Wednesday we were finally asked to explain what had happened, with a 10-year-old street urchin acting as translator an officer wrote down our story in Arabic. When he finished he handed me the pen and told me top sign it. When I refused I was made to strip to my underwear and led down a flight of stairs and locked in a cell filled with dirty, smelly and mean looking criminals. It took me less than 1 minute to say uncle, and start yelling OK ill sign. Thankfully they didn’t make me sweat too long, within minutes I was dressed, my passport returned and I was freed. I never felt such instant relief, like being snatched from the jaws of death, it felt like I hit the lottery.