Magical Marrakech

The Man Who Knew Too Much- Jimmy Stewart, Doris Day, directed by Alfred Hitchcock, 1956.

One of my favourite, and frankly one of the most underrated in my opinion, Hitchcock films, and probably one of the first movies I ever saw about Africa. It ties with Casablanca for surely the first, and perhaps only, film I’ve ever seen about Morocco.

Ever since I was first enthralled by the mystery of ‘the man who knew too much’, who was murdered  in the middle of the souk of Marrakech, but not before whispering a vital clue to Stewart, who would ultimately use it to find his son’s kidnappers, I have been dying to go to Morocco. The film’s early scenes, which depict amusing intercultural relations such as the Islamic custom of veiling a woman’s face, and Jimmy Stewart struggling to eat with his hands in a restaurant, would probably be a little politically incorrect now, but always used to make me chuckle.

So, Morocco was definitely on the bucket list. A few years ago I was able to travel in Jordan and Egypt, but Morocco remained elusive.

And then, I unexpectedly found myself needing to get out of the Schengen zone, and debating Morocco, Tunisia and Israel. So here I am.

There have been highs and lows, but without a doubt, I can say, the image of Marrakech that ‘The Man Who Knew Too Much’ created in my mind has not been disappointed at all.

I’m so happy I came here!

“It’s hard to be a girl in Morocco”

“It’s hard to be a girl in Morocco, huh?” A kindly looking middle aged man spoke to me out of the blue, peering out at me over his newspaper. He’d just been watching me shake off a persistent youth who had been insistent on “showing me around.”

I smiled and replied “ohh yes!” Before continuing my getaway. But in truth, I’m not sure Morocco has been as difficult so far as I’d imagined it might be.

I didn’t feel threatened; it was broad daylight. But this guy was certainly annoying. And that one comment suddenly made a huge difference in my day. It’s something I’ve encountered in Turkey, too- as annoying and juvenile as younger guys can be, odds are sooner or later you’re going to run into a man who treats you like his daughter, regardless of that fact you’re obviously a tourist.

I do admit that today, my first full day in Fes, may change the feelings I have at the moment about Morocco. The reports from recent travellers I’ve met have been very similar in stressing the overwhelming nature of the city, and it’s tendency for hassling girls.

But that aside, I’m really happy to report that in Marrakech I experienced far less hassle than I did in places in Egypt, and maybe even in India.

Yes, sometimes it’s difficult for a girl traveling alone in a country like Morocco, but thank god I can bitch about it on my blog.

Luminous London

Well, I’ve just landed in my 30^th country, back in Africa, where my journeys into overses travel first began at the beginning of 2009. But before I get into that, I’ve got to say something about London, in which I’ve just spent 5 full days happily tourist-ing myself out.

 

I really never expected to love London this much. I didn’t think I wouldn’t like it, I just never thought about it as much as I thought about Romania or Bosnia or Turkey. But after 5 days in London, I was in no way ready to leave- an interesting contrast to the end of my 5 or so days in Paris, which, despite being thoroughly entranced by, really stressed me out to the point of being ready to leave.

 

Perhaps I’m just more comfortable with the culture and language in London, although on that point, I didn’t find the French rude at all. People were always fairly helpful towards us. I honestly don’t know why two cities of comparable size/greatness should feel so different, but they just do.

 

I’ve recently spent almost 10-12 hours out every day, which is very different to how I normally spend my time. I’ve walked for an hour to get somewhere instead of using the tube, just so I could see more of London. I’ve taken fantastic, free tours of the National Gallery and Victoria and Albert, spent far too much on theatre tickets, and been shown some cool little spots by friends in the know.

 

I’ve also drunk Cornish cider (to the point of embarrassment, I fear!) eaten far too much (Camden markets!), been disgusted by post-mortem photographs (Jack the Ripper tour!) and been thoroughly entertained by many weird and wonderful stories from English history, including learning about the man himself, Winston Churchill, in the underground war rooms.

 

It’s only the fact that I know I’m returning to London in January that means I’m not sad right now. I feel that the final farewell in January is going to be tearful…

 

Concrete reinforcements in the War Rooms

 

Camden Lock

 

The band goes marching past, after the chaging of the guard

 

Christmas lights everyone make London seem magical