Marrakesh Express

It’s been a dream of yours for years. Now you’ve arrived on the ferry from Spain. You check your bag at the train station and spend a few hours strolling around Tangier before heading back to la gare. With dirhams you’ve obtained from an ATM, you approach the guichet to purchase a ticket for a single cabin. Your train leaves around nine o’clock in the evening and you’ll arrive in Marrakesh sometime after eight in the morning.

You were meant to be traveling with a friend, but bad news from New York caused her to fly home early from Madrid. Now you’re on your own for this last leg of your journey. In your cabin, you open your suitcase, grab your toiletries bag, and brush your teeth. Then, removing your shoes, you read a few chapters of Paul Bowles’s The Sheltering Sky. As you adjust your breathing to the train’s rhythmic cadence, you’re reminded of the old Crosby, Stills & Nash song from the ‘60s. You fall asleep and dream.

The next morning, descending from your train compartment, you exit the station, and procure a petit taxi to take you to the medina. Along the way, your mood is elevated by the palm trees and bougainvillea lining the boulevard. As you take in the sights of this red city near the High Atlas, you notice the snow-capped mountains in the distance.

Your taxi driver drops you off in the old Jewish quarter called the Mellah and you make your way to the Riad Palmier. You ring the bell and a woman wearing a caftan opens the arched wooden door. You exchange greetings in French, hand over your passport, and are shown to a second story room with a balcony. It overlooks a reflecting pool in the courtyard. Your bedside table has a charging station for your tablet and phone, and the décor is exactly as you’d expect: red Berber carpets, leather poufs, and bronze light fixtures that leave geometric patterns on the ceiling. The lower walls and bathroom are lined with geometric tiles.

Downstairs, you’re offered some mint tea, as well as a brochure with a map of the city. You learn that the French owner will be back later in the day. You retrieve your passport and set off for the main square, Djemma El Fna. You’ve done your homework and know that one of the possible translations of the Arabic name is Assembly of the Dead. But you also know that it’s a thriving marketplace harking back centuries with its acrobats, snake charmers, storytellers, and food stalls. You follow an alley-like street lined with shops until you arrive at your destination. The bustling square is a mixture of old and new with djellaba-clad locals side by side with colorfully-attired tourists.

At the Café de France, you order a latte and a croissant as you plan your day. You feel giddy with excitement anticipating the sort of adventure that being in a totally different environment can inspire. The sounds and smells of the square cast an almost magic spell, while the majestic Koutoubia minaret provides the perfect backdrop.

You head in the direction of the souk and brush off any would-be guides. You deliberately attach yourself to a group of tourists for both safety’s sake and to eliminate potential harassment. The souk itself is everything you’ve dreamed of: the lattice-covered passageways, the mounds of spices, the jewelry shops and rug merchants. But today is just for “le plaisir des yeux,” as the French would say. You’re just looking…and taking photographs with your inconspicuous iPhone camera.

Having travelled from Barcelona to the Andalusian region of Spain during the latter part of February, you haven’t been keeping up with social media and the news as much as usual. Now, you overhear some of the tourists talking about a virus out of China that’s also been affecting victims in Italy. You wonder if it’s as dangerous as ebola.

You exit the souk, hail another taxi and head for the Amal restaurant in Gueliz. You’ve heard from friends that it’s a cooperative that trains disadvantaged women. But it also has a charming courtyard and delicious home-style fare. You order the poulet au citron tajine and offer a bite of chicken to the patio’s resident feline. Then, you follow with a crème brulée for dessert.

***

Time to visit the Jardin Majorelle with its vivid blue colors offsetting the garden’s exotic vegetation. Once again, you try to capture the stunning outdoor setting with your cellphone. You wonder what it was like when Yves Saint Laurent owned it and it wasn’t overrun with tourists. As liberating as it is to be free to wander at your own pace, you miss your travel companion and make a mental note to contact her tomorrow.

You decide to walk a bit and end up on the Avenue Mohamed V where you shop for a bottle of wine, some cheese, a baguette, and some fruit. Tonight, you’ll have an inexpensive meal on your balcony.

Hailing a taxi you head back to the Riad Palmier. This time when you ring the bell, a young man answers the door. You head for your room and take a refreshing shower after a day when your cellphone’s step counter has surpassed 15,000.

You go downstairs to request a wine opener and run into the riad’s patron in the courtyard. He wishes you a pleasant evening and hopes the accommodations are to your liking. Returning to your balcony, you pop the cork, pour yourself a glass of gris rosé, and reflect on your day. Your friend has sent an email saying her father is really sick. Given the time difference, you decide to call her in the morning.

After your picnic style supper, you once again pick up your Paul Bowles novel, but quickly decide you’re not in the mood for existential angst. You check your favorite media websites and see that Wuhan, China and Italy are figuring more prominently in your condensed news feed. You decide to turn in for the night and fall asleep to the starry sky outside your balcony window.

***

The next morning, breakfast is served at a table in the downstairs courtyard. You’re up earlier than the other guests, but as you finish your café au lait and pain au chocolat, other people drift down for the petit déjeuner. When you return upstairs to call your friend in New Rochelle, you discover that her father and others have contracted the coronavirus. You express sympathy for a speedy recovery and end with what will become almost a mantra in the coming days: “Miss you” and ”Stay safe.”

Clicking on your New York Times app, you realize how out of touch you’ve become. And you wonder what will happen in this part of the world. After all, ebola got its start in Africa, so it’s highly unlikely the coronavirus can be prevented from spreading here as well.

You leave the riad and make your way back to Djemma El Fna. Yesterday, you noticed a used book stall that carried paperbacks in an assortment of different languages. No doubt left behind by tourists. You head for that area of the square and pass by some trained monkeys who appear to have a mischievous streak. That reminds you that the coronavirus is thought to have spread from a wet market.

At the bookstall, you discover a novel by John Le Carré and several slim volumes in French. You pay with dirhams and make your way to the souk. You’ve decided to return to a jewelry shop that had some antique-looking Berber crosses in silver. You’re not superstitious, or even religious, but you like the idea of protective amulets and objects with mojo. You find what you’re looking for and attach the leather cord with its Tuareg cross around your neck.

You decide to eat lunch at an outdoor café in the Place des Ferblantiers near the Badi Palace. Like yesterday, a feline friend is attracted to your table, so you order some fish. The grayish tabby is so friendly it wants to jump on your lap, but you try to confine it to a nearby chair.

After a glass of mint tea, you return to the riad and go to your palm-shaded balcony to read. You pick up one of the French choices, L’Élégance du Hérisson (The Elegance of the Hedgehog) by Muriel Barbery. But you set it aside, choosing instead to read Albert Camus’s La Peste (The Plague).

“Will history repeat itself, “ you ask yourself, “in North Africa, around the world?“