After resting up from the terrifying ordeal in the Jemaa el-Fnaa earlier in the day, we boarded the bus for a ride to a caravanserai on the outskirts of Marrakesh. The caravansarai, an institution ubiquitous in the Islamic world, was an inn providing lodging for travelers, especially merchants, accommodations for their horses and camels, and storage for their goods. It was known under a variety of names, funduq being the commonest in North Africa. Typically located along major trade routes at a distance equivalent to a day’s travel, caravanserais supported a commercial network spanning North Africa, Asia and Southeast Europe, including the famed Silk Road of central Asia.
Our destination was typical of the genre – a rectangular one-story structure with one protected entrance and a central courtyard surrounded by dormitory rooms, storage rooms, kitchens and dining areas. There was also an outer courtyard where caravans assembled for departure and arrival.
We arrived at the caravanserai just before sunset and were given a brief tour of the inn, then treated to tea and refreshments as a preliminary to our excursion. Preparations for the ride included being fitted with blue cloth turbans, which could be partially unfurled to serve as face-masks in the event of a sandstorm.
I confess I had some trepidation about mounting the camels, which I had always heard were irritable and unruly beasts. However, this went quite smoothly. It’s not like mounting a horse, where you leap up into the saddle; the camel has to be made to kneel so the passenger can climb onto its back. Here the camel-driver plays an essential role. He has to whack the camel with a stick, crying “kutsch!” as he does so. This may sound a bit cruel, and the animal-rights people would doubtless object, but the camel doesn’t seem to mind. It kneels, and then placidly accepts its burden, rising and patiently waiting for the command to set forth. Or at least that was the way it worked for us. We heard later that these were young camels, easier to work with than their elders, who get crotchety and ornery with advancing age.
Never having ridden a camel before, I was prepared for a rough and uncomfortable trip, but the camel was no bucking bronco and the ride turned out to be surprisingly smooth and comfortable. I could understand how merchants and warriors traveled hundreds of miles on them over the burning desert.
It was not long before we arrived at our destination, which was a nondescript spot off a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, but what made it welcome was that our bus was waiting to take us to dinner at the Palais Baraka in Marrakesh. The camels munched happily on the thorny desert vegetation as we dismounted and checked to ensure that we were still functional. It was the highlight of a memorable day.
This was the longest day I can remember spending in Africa or anywhere else. We had packed a lot of adventure into that day, but it wasn’t over yet. The finale was a sybaritic dining experience that served as our sendoff from Marrakesh and Morocco. It was held in a palace that rivaled the one we had visited in the morning, and it validated the reputation of Marrakesh as a “party city.” Sandie and I were seated at a table with Chuck and Elouise Mattox, Bill Chermak and Bill Glenn. As we finished dinner, the entertainment began, which consisted of Moroccan music and, inevitably, belly dancing – the latter performed by an attractive and seductive woman who lured me into dancing with her. I’m a completely inept dancer and probably looked quite ridiculous, but it was all good fun.
We had only one full day to savor Marrakesh, but it was a memorable day. On the morrow we were scheduled to board a flight to take us to Madrid, but it departed in the afternoon, leaving us a morning to enjoy one more adventure in Marrakesh, which I’ll recount in the next post.