Morocco, Pg 4

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Marrakesh

the Marrakesh Express

The Casablanca experience was not a good one. For me it was a negative right from the get go, and all because of the Muhammad dude.
I think everyone felt pretty much the same.
If that asshole had not been part of the picture we would have had a great time in Casablanca over the next few days. He didn’t really have to be part of the picture, he was pretty much invited in.
For my money, I felt we’d be better off being lost somewhere out in the middle of the Moroccan desert than being on that scumbag’s hook;
but that’s all behind us now…
We’re Marrakesh bound.

When we bought our train tickets we opted for the cheap seat fare. No metal constructed coach, no soft padded seats, no clean bathroom, no hot meal. Our coach was quite different. It was an old wooden boxcar that had been converted to cheap seat transportation.
Pass through doors were cut into each end of the car. The windows were cut outs in the walls, two or three on each side, no glass, just sliding wooden shutters, and very drafty.
The seats were thick wooden slats, as were the back rests, really hard on the body, even our young bodies. The ride was also quite rough. I swear the train wheels must have been square, or at least hex.

The walls of the bathroom at end of the car was a piece of sheet metal bent in a 90 deg. angle and screwed to the floor. The toilet was a hole cut through the floor with a piece of sheet metal around it, you either stand or squat, no option to sit, everything goes out the hole and onto the track, there was also no door, there was however a very nasty urine stink.

For the guys it was no big deal, as long as you only had to have a piss. For the girls it was a whole different ballgame, whatever they had to do was going to require holding onto something or someone while squatting; holding it in if they could was going to be the more sanitary option.

Because of the square wheel ride and the car rocking from side to side so much, that while having a piss it would splash everywhere.
At best, this toilet area is so absolutely disgustingly filthy that you didn’t dare touch anything.

But on the up side …….. it’s the Marrakesh Express man, a total blast and I’m loving every minute of it.
And because this train ride was the biggest biggie for me that I didn’t give a rats ass about the toilet condition.

Now leaving Casablanca and heading south to Marrakesh I felt a sense of calm and relief come over me. My temperament seems to be on the road to recovery as well; as I’m not pissed off any more.

Aileen, Mel, Joe, Stephen, Al. Eve behind the camera,
our less than comfortable coach, but we didn’t care

This train ride experience will always be one of the highlights of my life. And really, when you think about it, other than local Moroccans how many hippie types from back in the day can say they rode on the Marrakesh Express? not that many I expect.

In 1975 there may have been a few hundred million hippie types spread around the world, so a million or so would still be not that many; and we are five of the – not that many – and I’m loving it man.
The only thing that could top this experience would be to know that I may have been sitting in the very seat that in 1966 Graham Nash sat in when he wrote the song “Marrakesh Express”, wouldn’t that be a total mind blower.

all the trains in the world were just trains, except one;
the Marrakesh Express.
Because of the songs popularity, the Express became symbolic within the counter culture hippie movement of the sixties and seventies. During that period it was perceived by many that riding the Express to Marrakesh represented some sense of riding toward an element of personal freedom and enlightenment.
I include myself in with the many.

Currently we have the whole car to ourselves and we’re having a great time. We were looking out the windows watching the buildings roll by. We were going through some really old sections of the city, lots of old warehouses and residential slums.
As we left the waterfront and inner city areas some neighbourhoods began to take on a bit more affluent look.

I’m absolutely loving this train ride man; I’m loving everything about it.
I could have a hundred more train rides in my life, but none of them individually or collectively could come close to this experience for me.
Oh yeah man, it’s absolutely the best .

Palm grove and mountains on the way to Marrakesh

It’s getting darker now and harder to see the scenery, but we’ll get to see lots in time.
We were soon joined by a couple of older Moroccan men dressed in their head wraps and hooded cloaks. They sat on one of the benches across from us; they were staring at us and giving us the stink eye.

After a few minutes they started stomping their feet in sync, soon after they also started clapping their hands and rocking back and forth, again in sync.
We just sat there eating our oranges and bread, pretty much ignoring them.

Palm grove on the way to Marrakesh

As their antics weren’t getting a rise out of us, they then started with the chanting, this carried on for a while; and it was very annoying.
I’m not sure if they were trying to intimidate us or just really into some kind of Muslim prayer thing, or what.
Before we came to Morocco we weren’t aware that they prayed multiple times daily, so maybe praying is what they were doing, we didn’t really know, nor did we care.

The two chanting guys finally left the car. A few minutes later the train was beginning to come to a stop, but there was no station, we were out in the middle of nowhere, no city, no town, nothing, just a few small flickering lights way off in the distance.
I wondered if this could be some sort of a gateway into a Twilight Zone. Being in such an exotic country I felt that anything was possible.

After a couple of minutes the train started to go again, okay this was a bit weird, but we’re moving again so it’s all good.
A few more people were now making their way into our car and took seats.
We’ve been on the train for close to an hour, so we’re wondering why are people just now starting to find their way into our car? We wondered where these people had been for the past hour, another car perhaps. They must have boarded the train when we did; that was our first thought.

However, first thoughts like first impressions are not always right, as we would find out shortly.

A bit later an elderly man came into our car, also dressed in a long cloak. He had a shoulder bag that contained small drinking glasses and sugar cubes, he also had a two or three litre metal teapot, and was going from car to car selling little glasses of mint tea to the passengers for just a few francs.

He had about a half dozen two or three ounce glasses, so everyone uses the same glasses, wiped out but not washed, not very sanitary but what the hell, we had our shots before travelling here; hope we don’t come down with a dose of Moroccan mouth crabs.

So we had some mint tea which helped take away some of the night chill.
He made his way through the car then left. This whole scene was very unusual, but very cool. Unusual sights and scenes are something we’ll see many times over the next four weeks.

About twenty minutes later the train was beginning to come to a stop again, but again only for a few minutes.

We had already put two and two together after the first stop; but we still wanted a conformation that what we thought was reasonably correct.

A young Moroccan guy came into our car, he slowly and very casually walked to the far end, looking from side to side as he walked, as if scrutinizing the area. He used the toilet then left.
A few minutes later the same young guy came back to our car and took a seat at the far end.

Eve pointed out that he was sparking up his hash pipe. Well, it sure didn’t us long to gravitate toward him.
He told us his name was Stephen. We introduced ourselves and started chatting him up.
He was a university student in Casablanca and was on his way home to Marrakesh for a few days. He obviously came from a wealthy family.

We asked him about the train stops out in the middle of nowhere. He told us it stops anywhere along the line when people want to get on or off.
There was never a chance that another train would hit it as it was the only train in this part of the country, and the track only ran back and forth between Casablanca, the Twilight Zone, and Marrakesh.
His explanation pretty much confirmed what we thought was the reason for the train’s random stop and go.

Stephen was the first Moroccan person that didn’t try to fuck us over, and we told him how much we appreciated that.
He explained in defense of his fellow countrymen, in Morocco there are very few regular jobs for the millions that live there.
Most people have no money and due to emigration rules and financial regulations it’s next to impossible to get out of the country to better themselves.

So for most people that were unable to secure a regular paying job, their options were limited to begging, tour guiding, scamming, dope dealing, also some criminal activity at times.
What a shit way to have to live; but these were their only options.
The only people that had a variety of life choices of where they want to go and what they want to do were the wealthy elites, the poor masses were stuck in a government made rut filled with restrictions that by design would keep them all right there.

He got us all high with some really good hash. He also explained that a lot of young Moroccan men don’t smoke, but many of the older men still do, as it’s been part of their culture for almost forever.
Possession of any drugs in Morocco is illegal, but the law is not carved in stone.

The only people that usually get busted are tourists, but only the ones that are being obvious by their obnoxiously bad behavior, tourists are the the only ones that have money to pay fines.

He also told us, if you buy hash on the street from a local, get it and leave right away, as it’s not that uncommon for the guy you bought the hash from to go around the corner and get a cop, then you’re busted, and often the only way to get out of it is to pay off the cop, which is all of your money, watches, rings, pretty much everything you have, and then he may split the loot with the guy you bought the hash from.

During those few short hours with Stephen we learned some very important street savvy lessons and some pitfalls that we needed to be made aware of.

After a four hour train ride we were now coming into the Marrakesh station.
I’m not sure if I want to get off the train just yet, I looked so forward to this train ride and it was so awesome that I don’t want it to be over yet,
but alas, it is.
The four hours we spent on this train provided us with an incredible amount of weird and bizarre behaviors; and a world of entertainment.
The whole Marrakesh Express experience was a total mind blower for all of us.
But we’re in Marrakesh now and I gotta get off the train…bummer
But it sure was a blast to say the least; I’ll remember it forever.

Marrakesh train station, as it was in 1975

We got off the train and hit the streets. Stephen said he would take us to a hotel that wouldn’t rip us off.
hmmm, heard that one before.
It was quite chilly and lightly raining. Stephen took us to a hotel, one of the nicer ones somewhere outside the Medina, but it was far too expensive.
We needed to find a less expensive hotel.
We shook hands, thanked him for his time and sharing his hash, we said goodbye to him and started walking.

We had only walked for a little while when a kid came along and attached himself to us. He said he would take us to a hotel. We told him we wanted a cheap hotel, he said okay.

It was now beginning rain a bit harder. A horse and carriage taxi came by so we grabbed it, it took us to the far side of the huge open marketplace. The hotel was inside the Medina through a couple of alleyways, also too expensive.

We decided to come out of the Medina and rethink our options. The kid was still with us, he wouldn’t leave until we gave him money, he wasn’t going anywhere until he got paid.
We gave the him some money, don’t remember how much; but it must have been enough to satisfy him because he left.

Now we’re all alone and left to our own devices, what in the hell are we going to do now?
It’s cold, raining and dark.
It’s the middle of the night, we’re in a huge almost completely deserted marketplace in an African country four thousand miles from home.

Fuck man, we could really use some friendly help right about now…

Then suddenly, from out of the shadows of one of the darkened alleyways came two cloaked and hooded figures, slowly moving toward us in a short step shuffling manner.
Fuck man, for all we knew these two people could be some kind of Moroccan ninjas that were going to slit our throats and take all of our stuff and leave us dead or dying and bleeding in the middle of the marketplace…
In the time it took us to decide whether to run or just ride it out, they were on us.

Wow, what a surprise this was, they were two hot looking French chicks from Switzerland. They spoke pretty good English but their accent was quite thick. They offered to take us to their hotel where we could get rooms for cheap.

They’re taking us quite deep into the Medina, along dark narrow alleyways and around several corners, something akin to a maze; I don’t like this.
Now I’m thinking there may be something wrong here. Why would these girls take the time to walk us back to their hotel just to get us some cheap accommodation, when they had just left the maze to come out into the open world.

I’m not even sure now if they’re taking us into the same alleyway they came out of, so now another heavy drama filled thought crossed my mind.
Was it possible that because of all the ‘negative shit’ we’ve experienced in the short time we’ve been in the country, could that be the example of how we can expect to be treated the whole time we’re here. it’s possible
And could these girls be leading us into an ambush where there were a couple of guys with clubs and knives lurking in the shadows ready to pounce and kill us…
or what?

whoa, way too much drama man, take a deep fucking breath Joe, holy shit…

At the end of the alley, wherever we are, we came upon the Hotel du Sud. Inside we go. We were cold, wet and tired, and the hotel was cheap…
we’ll take it.

We checked in and paid up front. The clerk wanted our passports, we said no. He assured us he would bring them back to us within a half hour.
We were cold, wet and in need of rest, we hesitated briefly, than gave them up. We went to our rooms to get settled in.
Shortly thereafter the clerk showed up and returned our passports. A little sigh of relief followed.

Us guys went over to the French girls room to see if we could score some hash, smoked some with them and bought a chunk. We hadn’t been in their room for long when Eve and Aileen showed up. They decided us guys had been in the company of our French rescuers a bit too long for their liking, so we had to leave…wtf, it’s not like we were going to have a five way.

We thanked the French girls for their help and went back to our rooms to crash out. It had been a long day.

One of the alleyways into the maze of alleys that ends at Hotel du Sud

This is the neighbourhood in Marrakesh where we lived.
Hotel du Sud is in there somewhere, but not to sure just where.

Hmm, wait just a minute… I’m not totally sure but I think I can see it;
oh yeah, I can, there it is,
I can see it, its right there at centre right, but you have to look long and hard because the buildings are all jammed together,
keep looking and you’ll see it eventually; its the building with the reddish/brown earthen colors…

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