Destination Review: Morroco

In the course of the generous sprinkling of oil over the African continent, the land of Morocco, had narrowly managed to escape the cosmic sprinkler. At least that's how Salim, our local tour guide, saw it. "We don't have any oil and we are happy about it," he emphatically told us. In light of the brewing social discontent there, perhaps his statement could be challenged but then again if Morocco had been deprived of oil, it had been rendered a cultural melting pot due to its characteristic blend of Arabic, European and African flavours.

Rabat
We were in the heart of the administrative city of Rabat. Our first destination was the Royal Palace of the present king, Mohammed VI. A few days earlier, following the Libyan revolt, demonstrators had rioted outside the Parliament house, some distance away. "And you are still going?" was the question hurled at me by almost everyone. The subtext of that question was clear. It either read 'Go on, belly-dance all over our frayed nerves' or 'Who do you think you are? Indiana Jones?' Three days later, I was tempted to post a video-byte of Salim allaying our fears, on YouTube. "Not to worry," he said, as we neared the Palace. "Except for a few isolated incidents, the protests were largely peaceful," he said. "Moroccans have been holding demonstrations outside the Parliament house for years. It's common." Common? Not how the news had reported it. But then again, unlike the other epicenters of the Jasmine Revolution, the protests here had been primarily directed at the Parliament, instead of at the more popular King.

From the Palace, we headed towards the historical Mausoleum of King Mohammed V, grandfather of the present king. The Mausoleum contains his tomb and that of his two sons. While the guide spewed other historical facts, I gaped in fascination at the Hispano-Moorish Mausoleum and the exotic guards manning it, not necessarily in that order. Opposite the Mausoleum, is the 12th century, Hassan Tower; a 44-meter beautiful red minaret, which stands desolately at half of its intended height amidst columns of an unfinished mosque.

Marrakech
It was evening when we entered the ancient pink city of Marrakech and I could see the city's landmark, the majestic Koutoubia minaret framed against the pink skyline. Later we were told that the Hassan Tower in Rabat was modeled along the lines of this minaret.

The next morning, we visited the beautiful and ornate El Bahia Palace. Interestingly, the palace, principally designed by Vizier Bou Ahmed, a former slave, was meant to accommodate his four wives, twodozen concubines and consequently, a truckload of offsprings.

"The Vizier named this palace after his first and favourite wife," whispered our Palace guide. Two words hung in the air: Ironic and twisted. Half expecting to get clobbered by some angry feminist in the vicinity, the guide hastily continued. "Many celebrities have come to this Palace. Martin Scorsese conducted a recee
here for one of his movies." Then surveying our brown Indian faces, he promptly changed track. "Amitabh Bachchan has come here too. I have met him. He is a gentleman." We tried to look impressed. He mopped his forehead and tried again. "Have you all seen Sex and the City 2?

Almost 60 per cent of the movie is shot in Morocco." Wow, we chanted, deciding to give the guy a break. He beamed. That evening, we went to the Djemaa el Fna square, the buzzing heart of Marrakech. Brimming with snake charmers, belly dancers, storytellers at one end and colourful souks of spices, tagines (clay cooking dishes) and babooshes (Moroccan sandals) at the other, this Mecca of madness draws similarities with parts of Old Delhi. I descended into the chaos, clutching my handbag for dear life, since Salim had warned us of the notorious touts here. An hour later, to my horror, a local began chasing me with a snake in his hand. Ignoring my shrieks he lassoed me with the snake, dragged me to the centre and made me pose for a photo. Not one to miss a Kodak moment, I temporarily gave up shrieking and summoned a painful, fake smile. Then I tossed the snake back at him and stood up, ready to flee. "100 dirhams," the tout said, blocking my exit. Apparently torture came at a premium. I blindly thrust 20 dirhams into his hands and bolted.

Later, we made our way through the food stalls, which served lamb tagines, couscous and bastilla. Ironically, despite being a spice-haven, I found the Moroccan cuisine rather bland and disappointing.

I flew out the next day, glad that I had not cancelled my trip, since all had been quite peaceful that week. Post my return; however, as I read about the fresh bout of protests there, I wondered what Salim would have to say about them. Whatever it is, I hope it helps douse the fears of yet another bunch of 'foolhardy' tourists.

Tips to get there
Currency: Exchange Euros or USD for the Moroccan dirham once you get there.

Shopping: Bargain for cosmetic Argan oil, dry fruits, tagines, and handmade Berber carpets.

Other places to see: The Mausoleums of Casablanca, the fortified village of Ait Ben Haddou and the sand dunes of Merzouga in the Sahara.

Caution: Check the latest status updates of the political situation online before you book your tickets and take necessary precautions when you travel.

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