Helpless like a rich man's son

Marrakech is huge. The nouvelle ville goes on forever and, unlike in Fez, the taxi drivers are crooks here... 95 percent of them anyway. Marrakech is the tourist centre. Cheap flights from all over Europe land here and most people don't go but within 2 hours of the city after getting to this country. Hence, getting to the closest sights to the city is a battle if you want to pay a fair price. The price to get to Imlil, in the high Atlas mountains, went from 600 dirhams for the two of us to 35 each. Imlil is 70 km away. Getting that price took a whole day and a visit to the Majorelle Gardens (to split up the haggling).

The Majorelle Gardens are kept by Yves Saint Laurent. Aside from the Djemma l-fna the garden is the other tourist hub of the city. 30 dirhams gives you access to viewing a lot of inappropriately dressed tourists, some beautiful cacti patches, a couple of ponds, a bamboo forest and an overpriced yet understocked gift shop.

Marrakech's medina is beautiful and seems straight out of 1001 Nights with its covered markets of carpets and lanters and magical shafts of light. Djemma l-fna is a huge square in the medina that was once the site for public executions but has since become the focal point for Morocco's tourism industry. In the evenings food stalls are set up in the centre of the square tempting passersby with the sight and smell of barbecued meats and vegetables.

The smoke wafts across the entire square giving the snake charmers, henna ladies, musicians and acrobats a mysterious hue. Standing too close or too long around any entertainment leads to being asked for money. Constantly. Most of the musicians don't play much but spend most of their time collecting donations. Our favourite musician carries an oude, picks two out of tune chords and then you pay him to stop playing, not to keep going. The instrument looks really new and completely unused. We didn't really know that he couldn't play until we passed a stall in the labyrinthian medina and spent some time sitting with the owner who should have probably been a musician rather than a shopkeeper. He took us on a little trip across North Africa with his oude and explaining and playing various songs from pop to classical.

Sitting at one of the stalls has been a great way of meeting some of the other travellers. The first night we met a couple that after being in the country for three days and without asking us anything proceeded to tell us all they knew about how to travel the right way in Morocco. They covered haggling, the prices of carpets, the pay phones, as well as the beggars and their outlook on life.

The second night we met a hiphop hipster from Chicago who had been living in Paris for the last year but still needed help odering his coke in French. He seemed out of his environment but turned out to be on a very interesting trip. His father had booked all his travels in Africa in advance and made up his itinerary. Hassani was completely shocked that the hotel didn't have internet in his room. Instead he had to trek all the way up to the roof terrace to get wifi reception. He was also generally frightened of Morocco and its people. All the day trips were organized through his hotel and he "ain't taking no trains" anywhere. All travel was either private car or by plane. We were completely surprised to hear his itinerary. Within the week he was going to be touching down in Chad. I asked him what he was going to do and why he was going. He simply replied that he had no idea and that "Chad is at war". Apparently his dad is going to explain the significance of his entire itinerary to him when they meet in Tanzania in a month, by which time he will have been in Morocco, Chad, Nigeria, South Africa, Kenya, Namibia and Ethiopia. I would pay good money to be a fly on the wall when that conversation takes place.

The third night we met a man we first saw in Chefchaouen but back then he was a shopkeeper. By now he had closed up shop and was on a last holiday in Marrakech with a friend from France before moving to Mexico for the next three years. His wife, an American diplomat, and he had already spent two years in Turkmenistan. Somehow the prospect of living in a Mexican border town and meeting his in-laws for the first time ever in Ohio didn't appeal to him.

By day number four Chris was tired of people trying to sell him hash every five minutes. The proposals sounded almost erotic with the dealer breathing it in his ear when he passed. A day of haggling and then finally finding the proper bus station at Bab er Rabb got us on a bus to Imlil in the high Atlas mountains for some fresh air.