I can imagine that in the 1960s when such exotic places were only seen on the pages of the inestimable National Geographic magazine the souks of Marrakech were completely otherworldly and I certainly don't mean to detract from their exoticism. It IS different. It is NOT Kansas, Toto. However, it is not completely beyond the ken of Westerners. Shopkeepers everywhere want to make a sale and if they can do so by claiming to have drunk whiskey in their youth when they learn you are from Scotland then so be it. It is up to the tourist to be up for the challenge of having a conversation and moving on, having a conversation and being persuaded to buy something, or ignoring the vendor and carrying on with their touristy day. I believe I fall into the first category. I am curious enough to want to talk to people, even on a superficial level and move on without buying into the idea that I suddenly owe the other person something (my money). However, I understand that the longer that vendor is in conversation with me he (it is usually a 'he' but not exclusively) is not making a sale and so I move on quickly having had the pleasure of some superficial, but entertaining (hopefully for both of us), human contact.
The souks are something to see. If you have a yen for travel and to see exciting places then I hope you make it to Marrakech someday. The dried fruit stall with a tiny square gap in the middle where the vendor stood surrounded by his wares, the lantern shop where the lanterns were hung in the shape of a door leading into an Aladdin's cave of lantern loveliness, the carts pulled by donkeys, the mopeds driven by middle-aged women in veils, the cats- there is a ginger tomcat in Marrakech that is completely shagged out after fathering half the cat population - these are some of the wonders of the souks. Turn left here, right there, suddenly you have no idea where you are. But, as Sean pointed out, the sky was still above us and the cobbles were beneath our feet.
There is much to be taken in by - scarves, bags, slippers, clothing, ironwork, saddles, candles - to name a few. Take your pick. Stop to take a closer look. Don't stop to take a closer look. Just remember if you stop someone WILL try to sell you something at an over-inflated price. If you think it is a fair price, pay it. If you want some entertainment and to get your chosen item at a better price, barter. You will walk away from the experience with memories you won't forget!
I had only one item in mind when I entered the souks - and it is a boundary you cross from the world outside the souks to the world inside. I wanted a Kaftan. I had been looking for a ball gown for the annual 'Oil Baron's Ball' and I thought I would go for the more exotic item in Marrakech. It took a lot of wrong turns and quite a few stumbles down quirky alleyways but we eventually found a shop. About twenty seconds of standing still in the relative vicinity of the shop was all it took for the owner to zone in. 'Hello, bonjour, where you from? You English?'' 'I'm from Scotland.' Ah! I am from Irish!' (Yeah, right!) 'Come in, Princess.' (to Sean) 'She is your Princess, She is beautiful. You are lucky man' It was suddenly his mission in life to find me the perfect Kaftan. I was a Princess after all!
Before I could even spell the word K.A.F.T.A.N. I was be-robed! I have been undressed by men before but this may have been the first time one actually dressed me! Slightly disconcerting! 'Try this colour.' 'What about this colour?' 'This one.' 'That one.' 'Doesn't your Princess look beautiful, sir?' He knew his trade. But he also knew that I knew what I wanted and - more importantly - what I didn't want. I told him where I would wear it. No, I didn't want velvet. I told him the colours I liked. Red will NOT go with my hair on any planet! It was a negotiation. An extremely entertaining negotiation for both of us, I believe.
In the end I made my decision and the real negotiation began. The price. He began with an outrageous number. I countered with an equally outrageous number. He was sad. I was heartbroken. Different numbers were thrown in the mix. The numbers became closer together. Closer together at his end of the negotiation, not mine. I have only done this once. He makes a living at it! I spent more than I wanted to but I had a great time. He got a great price for his kaftan. We hugged. Yes, we actually embraced and kissed cheeks twice! He said he liked me so he had given me the best price possible. I said I liked his so I had paid over the odds. He gave Sean a 'free' scarf. We left happy. I had a unique dress for the Ball. He had my money. Time to head home. Now, how the hell do I get out of the souk?
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