Discovering The Moroccan Magic Of Marrakech

The best things in life are free. At least that’s how the song goes. But in the mayhem that is Marrakech’s old medina, I could only assume that Luther Vandross never made it as far as Morocco’s Red City… Our stroll through the head-spinning souk had led us to an unmarked arched doorway along a quiet side street. Inside, the comforting smell of freshly baked bread pressed against the walls. The blazing furnace of the public oven, to which poorer families bring their doughy mixtures to be baked, was attended by a laconic man who stood in a small ashen pit. He stared ahead blankly as cameras clicked and dog-eared dirhams were dropped into his rusty tin. As the others shuffled out, I remained in the hope of striking up a conversation with the mysterious baker. “He won’t talk for free,” said guide Abbes. Everything, it seemed, has a price in Marrakech.

“There’s no doubt the city has changed,” added Abbes. “People are far more money focused and everything has become considerably more expensive in recent years, but there’s a Marrakech for every wallet.” Marrakech has, for years now, proactively courted those with deeper pockets – and it’s a trend that shows no sign of subsiding. In the past year alone, a string of new five-star hotels has opened, some costing upwards of £500 per night; several more are due to roll out their red carpets as demand continues to grow. With this in mind, I wondered whether Marrakech was still the good-value destination it once was. Having booked the cheapest tickets I could find (£113 return from Stansted with easy jet), I overlooked the inconvenient flight times and set off to find out whether Morocco’s Red City still fulfilled the brief for a budget city break.

Finest freebies – Much of what makes Marrakech so wonderfully enticing doesn’t cost a dirham. Just walking around, dodging the donkey carts and getting hopelessly lost in the maze of crowded alleys, is a pleasure afforded indiscriminately. On arrival, I headed straight for the Djemaa el-Fna – the world’s greatest public square, which plays host to a nightly spectacle of food, music and drama. As dusk draped over the snake charmers, astrologers and poor chained monkeys posing for photos, dozens of open-air restaurants commandeered the space.

Fielding off an onslaught of vendors clutching laminated menus, I eventually settled down to an alfresco feast of lamb, spiced and grilled to perfection, with salty olives and a hearty7 bowl of harira soup, a tomato and lentil broth usually eaten during Ramadan. The best bit? The bill was barely 40 dirhams (£2.95). Delicious and cheap, it was a far cry from the mediocre and overpriced lamb, prune and sesame tagine I later wasted 150 dirhams (£11) on at La Tagine, one of the city’s ‘best’ restaurants. Dar Yacout, located in a striking mansion with spiral staircases and hushed courtyards, offered a better fine dining experience, with tasty dishes served in tagines the size of small tipis.

Affordable attractions – The next morning it was time to walk off the excesses of the night before with local guide Abbes. Sightseeing in Marrakech needn’t break the bank – admission to most of the main sights costs 10-20 dirhams. Our first stop was the sprawling el-Badi Palace, built in the 16th century by Ahmed el-Mansour. Once a place of great grandeur, the marble, carved cedar-wood panels and glazed tiles were torn down by King Moulay Ismail, who dreamed of creating his own palatial pad in Meknes. “He came here and fell asleep in a grand room, only to be woken by a servant who nervously informed him he had been snoozing in the toilet,” laughed Abbes. Today, it’s a shadow of its former self: the walls are bare, sun-baked and crumbling. But it remains an impressive sight, its large sunken gardens filled with perfumed orange trees that sweeten the air.

Up on the terrace, I could see all the way to the jagged Atlas Mountains, which rose above the city like tall guardians with snow on their shoulders. Before them, Marrakech sprawled out in every direction: a sea of dusty rooftops, palm trees and satellite dishes. “Don’t try to count them,” chuckled Abbes. Storks with long pointy beaks flew overhead and landed in their bulbous, unruly nests. Below, headscarved women on motorbikes sped past old Mercedes taxis. More history and striking Islamic architecture awaited at the ornate Bahia Palace, where sugar was traded for Italian marble during its construction in the late 19th century. From there, it was on to the Saadian Tombs (the final resting place of past princes) and the exquisite Ali Ben Youssef Medersa.

Time to haggle – With the morning’s sightseeing barely making a dent in my finances, it meant I had more to spend in the souks. The crowd of shoppers moved as one through the densely packed and narrow alleys, dappled sunlight breaking through overhead. Where to look first? Multicoloured pashminas hung like rainbows on high rails. All around were rows of heady spices: bright mounds of cumin and turmeric clashing with the smell of sawdust and leather. Shop after shop sparkled, each an Aladdin’s cave of treasures. Haggling hard – but with good grace -is another essential Marrakech experience so I set straight to work.

My biggest success was bargaining two pairs of sequinned slippers down from 500 dirhams (£37) to 150 (£11). Then I got chatting to a chap called Abdel, a traditional herbalist who has spent the past 50 years working in the souk. “The souk was very quiet back then. Only a few shops. Not like today,” he said, glancing towards the throng. We sought refuge in his tiny shop, the shelves of which were stacked high with hundreds of glass bottles, their labels bearing Arabic scrawls. Each contained oils and ointments said to relieve all manner of ailments.

Suddenly whipping off his hat, Abdel reached for a bottle and sprayed himself with special rose water so liberally that it was soon dripping from his eyelashes and running down his neck. “It’s good for headaches and fevers. Now, your turn,” he said, turning in my direction before I had time to object. “Life is good in the souk,” said Abdel as I wiped the perfumed oil from my brow. “One day 10 dirham, the next day 50. It might be hard today but tomorrow will be better, lnshallah.” With talk of money raising its ugly head, I wondered whether Abdel expected a small donation or would begin pressuring me into making a purchase. But there was no such request, no hint that he wanted anything more from me than a handshake and a promise to return one day. I emerged back into the Djemaa el-Fna with renewed faith in the people of Marrakech.

I paused for a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice – a bargain at just 4 dirhams (2Qp) – and noticed the cameras flashing from the rooftop terraces surrounding the square. Most owners of these loftier establishments capitalise on their bird’s-eye views by insisting patrons order (poor and pricey) food to secure a table during the busy twilight hours. But while the higher floors are almost entirely filled with tourists, the cafes at ground level are more the domains of local men discussing politics and watching the theatrics of life unfold. I joined them for a nightcap, raising my tiny glass of sweet mint tea to a cheap – and very cheerful – day.

Bargain beds – Some things are worth splashing out on, principally where you choose to lay your head. There’s no shortage of cheap accommodation in Marrakech, most of which is concentrated in the modern neighbourhood of Gueliz, west of the medina. A double room in a perfectly fine three-star hotel will cost around 400 dirhams (£29) but it won’t be a place that gets your pulse racing. And the taxi rides to the medina are tiresome. More than anything, though, I wanted the full Moroccan experience and that meant staying in a riad, a traditional Moroccan house arranged around a central courtyard.

With more than 1,000 riad-hotels in the medina alone, competition is high, and there are options for most budgets. I opted for the tricky-to-find but lovely Riad Al Jazira, located down winding alleys in the heart of the old walled city. Instantly won over by its private hammam (steam bath), rooftop terrace, intricate latticework and cosy Berber blankets, the reasonable price of £72 a night only added to its appeal.

Beyond the city limits – Being in the thick of the action, mere steps from the souk and the square, was thrilling – but it was also nice to escape it. The road south left Marrakech, passing dusty suburbs and private ‘beach clubs’ with tempting swimming pools shaded by tall palms. Barely an hour later, 1 was crossing the biblical Asni Valley where brown foothills rose to become the mighty snow-capped Atlas Mountains. Standing proudly among them, the tallest soldier in the line-up was 4,167m Mount Toubkal, the highest peak in North Africa.

On the steep cliff’s outside the window, a serene scene of lemon groves, saffron farms and blossoming almond trees materialised. Smoke billowed from the chimneys of simple stone houses, lorded over by the local mosque. Donkeys navigated the rocky trails while children with Barbie backpacks skipped home. Our driver pointed towards a road that disappeared into views you couldn’t put a price on. Up there, he said, in those perfect hills overlooking the lush valley, was lofty Kasbah Tamadot, Richard Branson’s Moroccan retreat. The cheapest room goes for a mere 4,750 dirhams (£350) a night; the Master Suite 21,100 dirhams (£1,560). Perhaps a splurge too far…