Tuesday, 2nd of June 2009. Hopped on the local bus to Ait Ourir. Not really a bus actually. It was a 10 year old green and rusty transit van good for about 1o people but had 25 including me. and a goat. Being a Tuesday it was market day, which is really why I wanted to go. I love nothing better than getting stuck in with the locals. There’s something about the sun beating down, mud and dung on the floor, banter going on all around, tagines, fish, cous cous and all the rest cooking away sending out the most beautiful smells. The smell of sweat and oil, sheep and chickens, dust and petrol and the heat. The smell of life. People living.
My first stop was a local cafe for breakfast.
I ordered some scrambled egg – or at least they brought me some scrambled egg. It was amazing. Buttery and salty. Mint tea and berber bread. It had to be one of the best breakfasts ever. The owners son was introduced to me as he spoke a bit of English. He was so proud.
He hadn’t finished his breakfast but he wanted to show me the town.
You have no idea how long these sort of things are going to last and how much they are going to cost you. I was thinking, this is cool, but also – how can I get away from this kid, is 10 dirhams going to be enough, will he be insulted if I give him that, will he be insulted if I give him anything – is he genuine? I had no idea and just went along with it. He spoke good English and he told me that the Pasha’s brother, the Glaoui had a country residence in Ait Ourir which he came to each weekend.
Such an incredible building. Built in the 1400’s apparently. There is nothing about this in any guide book. Outside it looks like a fortress. Inside it is decaying, with walls falling down, trees and bushes growing and local peasants using it as there home. I had a quick sneak inside and the old doors and tiles are all still there. What a great hotel it would make!
He then invited me to his house for lunch. We went via the Koubba of a local Saint – Sidi Bin Hussein. A Koubba is a little shrine on a hill that people walk to and pay there respects. There are 7 or 8 in Marrakech and loads all over Morocco. Surprisingly the shrine was covered in graffiti inside and out, but there laying on the floor inside was good old Sidi’s skull. Everyone picks it up and kisses it, puts it back down and then moves on to the next Koubba. The outlook from the Koubba was amazing. It was easy to see why Marrakech was built here on the plains, nestled between the Atlas and a smaller mountain range heading North. So beautiful. Almost like a crater might have landed here millions of years ago and flattened just that area for Marrakech to be created.
Lunch was a feast and a long time. He was very proud to show me his home but also slightly embarrassed. It is one of many modern Moroccan homes that have just been built of breeze blocks and then left unfinished. Inside it was spotlessly clean but very clearly a poor home.
We had the most amazing meal. Doghuts and sweets to start with, the sweets were kind of biscuits really. The best chicken tagine ever to follow with some amazing salads with beetroot. A fabulous experience. Where else can you go in the world where you are invited in by someone you have only just met, the family rushes around to produce an amazing meal, treating you like a king, for nothing.
He walked me back to my bus afterwards. Again I thought of whether I should give him any money and I decided not, I thought he would be offended. I will go back with a gift instead in a week or so.
As I sat on the bus waiting to leave the view out of my window was of the Koubba. Sitting their monumental on the hill with the skull of a long dead saint inside.
