A Tale Of Two Cities

See what I did there? I had you all ready for some sort of clever spin on a classic title. Nope. Actually, that's what I read recently.

Althoooooooooooooough...

We did go to Murrakush and Kaza this weekend. Those are two cities.

This tale of two cities is nowhere near as interesting as the first, though.

(For anyone who did not like ATOTC; thought it was boring; didn't like the writing style; etc: come here so that I can knock some sense into you. This is a parenthetical, so technically I have to keep it brief, but I could rant for quiet awhile about this [or really any] book. I wasn't sure at first what I made of Sydney, because on the one hand, the initial declaration/admission seemed like a really jerk move, because honestly, what was going to happen? What was it going to change if he already knew the outcome when he entered and started talking? But on the other hand, how many people actually have the guts to say what they feel? Not that many. It took courage to go into that room and say what he said, with the aforementioned pre-knowledge that there was nothing to be gained by the admission except of the act of the admission itself. Good for him. But then I was still undecided as to my feelings towards him because he really didn't do anything in those years and years to change his situation, though his lot was terrible. [Also: Really? Ten years plus and you're still pining after the same person?]  But then I remembered that this was 18th century England, a time not exactly conducive to "pulling yourself up by your bootstraps" and "reversal of fortunes," and also, that by incorporating this self-destructive/stubborn trait in Sydney, Dickens made his character much more realistic. And so then, at the end, I teared up, because that was an incredibly unselfish thing to do (or maybe, in a way, it was selfish?), and because he realized that should a certain event come to pass, neither of them would ever be happy again. But he also realized that by altering that certain event there was hope and happiness for the one. This followed by a bitter sting of annoyance that the story did not include a certain scene of realization/reunion. However, this was immediately proceeded by the realization that what Sydney "sees" voids the necessity of that moment, and that honestly, it's irrelevant, because that is not the point of the story. What is done has been done, and what has been sacrificed has been sacrificed; there is no reason to focus on what we know will happen, when there is this greater idea to be considered. So there you have it, folks. My take on ATOTC, abbreviated, though it doesn't look like it. Also, I know that if you haven't read ATOTC, none of this makes any sense, and for that, I am sorry.)

Back to my two cities.

First up: Casablanca, called Kaza by many people, or, if you want to be proper about it, ad-dar al-baida'a (a rough transliteration; for those of you who read/speak Arabic: الدار البيضاء, which still translates to "white house"). We were only there for two-ish hours, to see Hassan Mosque, which happens to be the largest mosque in Morocco, and the 7th largest in the world. (It has the capacity for 105.000 people. I think we were all a bit grateful that we were not there during call to prayer.) That was it; the city was otherwise dead, as it was early in the morning and Ramadan.

From Kaza, we bus-ed it to city number two, aka: Marrakech (which I will henceforth be referring to as Murrakush, due to pronunciation. Those of you looking for the Arabic script, it's مراكش‎ so that you don't have to go through the trouble of opening another page and Googling it.) Murrakush was suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuper touristy. I mean, I think I saw more tourists there in my first hour than I've seen since coming to Rabat. And let me tell you: They were culturally inappropriate. To anyone with notions of possibly traveling to Morocco: No matter what you do, you will look like a tourist, but please, for the love of all that is holy, do not dress the way many of these tourists did. Yes, it was hot; yes, it will be hot; but there is no need to dress that ... distastefully, for lack of a more polite word.

We were actually quite lucky; Murrakush was experiencing unseasonably cool weather, meaning it was in the 32-34 range, and only peaking at 36 or 37, as opposed to being an average of 36 or 37.

Next: I'm not sure where, exactly, people actually film when they are shooting a scene in "Murrakush," but I am willing to bet that it is generally not actually Murrakush. It did not look anything like it seems to be depicted, except perhaps for the red color of buildings. That's not to say it wasn't beautiful (it was).

Also: Murrakush always sounds like the be-all and end-all of Morocco. It's as if there is nothing else here. (Heck, when I first found out that I was going to Morocco, I thought that Murrakush was the capital, because it was so hyped, and the only other city that I knew was Kaza.) Let me tell you a secret: it's not. (The be all and end all, that is.)

I enjoyed Murrakush; I really did. I wish that we had another day or two or three there. But I much prefer Rabat, Tanga, and Chefchaouen to Murrakush. The souk was impressive, but you can find most of the things here in Rabat that you can find in Murrakush. The streets/buildings were lovely, but the novelty wears off after a little bit (I'm still wearing off the novelty of Rabat after a month, but in Murrakush it was starting to wear off after a day and a half). It's true that you can negotiate more in Murrakush (although that's partly because the prices start higher) and oh, goodness, are the vendors aggressive. You better be ready to bargain for real, because these people are pros. (Although, they also know how to flatter you so that you feel better about getting ripped off; I guarantee that you are not a good bargainer, even if they say you are. That was always when I knew that I was getting a particularly bad deal [respectively; it's still cheaper than the States], and once, I was able to get away, even though that was the time I was actually negotiating a decent price; it's a long story, and I was just too tired to argue over the last 10 DH, but I knew I could get the same product for just a little more in Rabat, and that I would be treated much better; I'll be damned if I gave that particular vendor anything.) You will be exhausted after a day or two of constantly keeping your guard, fending off vendors who want to sell you something you didn't express a whit of interest in, and constantly negotiating to get a fair price. (Don't fall for the "student price" either; and if you're looking to use it to your advantage, get the initial price before they know that you are a student, and then complain about how you're a student, have no money, and are trying to learn Arabic. That way they can't give you a bogus price that looks terrible compared to the price they quote you. Darn it, I know that that Argan Oil is not worth 500 DH anywhere so don't you dare pretend that you're going to quote me half of that like it's a good deal. I still got ripped off, because I wasn't sure what the appropriate price would be; the vendor agreed way to quickly for it to have been decent, but of course I couldn't drop lower after he agreed; that would have been rude. But at least this particular one was nice, so I guess I was paying for salesmanship and personality, which was honestly worth it by the end of the second day.)

You would be bored listening to every detail of bargaining, I'm sure, and the above is probably already too extensive. I'll wrap it up by saying that the experience was definitely worth having, and I would go back, but there are other places I would go (Meknas, Faas) before returning to Murrakush.

That is definitely not as good as the book, especially due to my atrocious grammar and sentence structure, given the nature of the hour here. It is with many apologies that I bid you all goodnight.