Marrakesh isn’t our Cup of Mint Tea

Marrakech was our final stop before flying home, and the drive from Fes is five and a half hours, so we left as early as we could manage. We had made it through countless Gendarmerie checkpoints across the country without incident, each time being waved through the moment the officers got a look at us on approach. We had read about tourists picking up speeding tickets entering towns where the limit drops without much warning, and we had filed that information away as something to watch for. We did not watch closely enough.

Coming into Marrakech on a relaxed stretch of highway, roundabouts appearing every half kilometer or so, we were pulled to the side for the first time on the trip. I was already reaching for the folder of rental car documentation and Matt's International Driver's License when the officer approached and made clear he wanted neither. Just the passport. Eighty-two kilometers per hour in a sixty zone, roughly fifty miles per hour in a thirty-five. One hundred and fifty Dirham, about fifteen dollars, and we were back on our way. Matt found the subsequent kilometers of strict speed limit adherence genuinely painful. 

The City

Parking near our riad meant navigating streets and sidewalks thick with vendors selling secondhand goods and food, bikes and scooters threading through at all angles. We found a spot and were immediately approached by a man who quoted us the overnight rate and offered to keep an eye on the car. We thanked him sincerely and took that assurance at exactly face value.

Riad Laila was a short walk inside the Medina gate, with a distinctly historical character and a room that surprised us with its size: a main floor with a fireplace and a loft above holding two additional twin beds. The welcome was warm and traditional, mint tea and a small snack while they sorted the paperwork. The downsides were the limited natural light that kept the space fairly dim and beds that were genuinely hard and uncomfortable. At just under four hundred dollars for three nights with a full breakfast included, however, you adjust your expectations accordingly and get on with it.

It took about ten minutes of walking to understand that Marrakech operates by entirely different rules than every other Medina we had visited. Scooters are permitted inside, and that single fact changes the entire experience. Narrow alleyways lined with vendor stalls and filled with pedestrians moving in both directions suddenly have scooters appearing from behind or ahead, weaving through at speed with no warning. Keeping track of your feet and your arms becomes a genuine priority. It made walking, looking, and shopping feel like a contact sport, and neither of us warmed to it.

Marrakech is unquestionably Morocco's premier tourist destination and it leans into that fully. The old Medina is almost entirely oriented toward visitors, with only the occasional spice stall or homeopathic shop hinting at local life underneath. Venture down the side streets away from the main tourist corridors and you find children playing soccer and a quieter version of the city that breathes a little more freely. We appreciated that there were more genuinely artisanal shops here than in the other cities we visited, makers selling things that were distinctly their own rather than the same inventory we had seen repeated everywhere else. We stopped for a bite at La Terrasse des Épices with a view over a small square that made for lovely people watching, then made our way to Jemaa el-Fnaa, the famous main square at the heart of the Medina. It was, honestly, a mild disappointment. A handful of snake charmers, some palm readers and henna vendors, tables of souvenirs and counterfeit AirPods, and roughly twenty juice stalls because fresh juice is apparently having a serious moment in Morocco. We had expected an evening food market transformation that did not materialize, at least not at the hour we were there.

We had deliberately double-booked that second night, leaving ourselves the option to either stay if we had fallen for the city or escape to Ait Benhaddou if we had not. We did not hesitate for a moment. See our Ait Benhaddou post for that story, because it was absolutely worth the drive.

Finding Our Rhythm

Returning to Marrakech after our night away, we found the experience noticeably more enjoyable now that we understood what we were working with. Once you accept the scooters and find your rhythm within the chaos rather than fighting it, the city opens up a little. We picked up a few last-minute things we had been eyeing: Moroccan argan oil in an orange almond scent that will transport me directly back to the middle of the Medina every single time I open the bottle, and eucalyptus crystals we had encountered at one of the homeopathic pharmacies during a food tour. The smell of those crystals is so intensely potent I can still conjure it as I write this. They are used to clear the nasal passages and treat mild ailments, either wrapped in cloth for direct inhalation or dissolved into boiling water. They could probably wake the dead, and I mean that as a compliment.

We also visited Musée des Confluences, home to gorgeous Moroccan architecture and a wonderful maze of Islamic and regional art, mosaics, and outdoor spaces that were genuinely tranquil. The museum also houses the now Instagram-famous Bacha Coffee house, which had drawn a two hour wait and a waiting room full of influencers with phones at the ready, visibly suffering through the queue for their moment on camera. We poked our heads in, visited the gift shop, and moved on. That is simply not how we want to spend our time.

The Last Dinner

We had passed several shawarma rotisseries during our wandering and the craving had been building, so for our final dinner we landed at La Table Berbere. It turned out to be one of the best meals of the entire trip. Chicken Pastilla to start, which immediately joined our short list of trip highlights, followed by a platter piled with freshly sliced shawarma, chicken skewers grilled right out front, falafel, pita, and all the accompaniments. We were completely stuffed. The total bill was twenty dollars.

Morocco, Overall

Morocco exceeded our expectations in ways we did not fully anticipate. The roads were genuinely impressive throughout. The scenery was spectacularly diverse, something we later learned is largely due to a seven year drought finally coming to an end and the landscape returning to life. Western toilets, while rarely up to American standards, were far more available than we had braced for. And the country felt safe in a way that allowed us to relax and move through it freely. Everyone is working an angle in terms of tips and tour guiding, but even that felt moderate compared to many other places we have traveled.

The food, however, was our genuine surprise and disappointment. I say this having expected to eat magnificently, convinced that a country overflowing with spice markets would translate into endlessly layered and complex cooking. The reality was a short rotation of the same five or six dishes: chicken tagine with lemon, beef tagine with prunes, a couscous plate with protein and vegetables cooked well past any remaining character, burgers and fries appearing on every single menu, and baskets of bread that are dry and dense by design because they exist as utensils rather than something to enjoy on their own. Most dishes were noticeably mild. It is a paradox that still puzzles us.

If you are planning your own trip, do not shortchange Fes. It genuinely felt like the cultural soul of the country and we would both go back in a heartbeat, whether to spend more days exploring the Medina, settle into a few more afternoons at Riad Laarousa, or finally work up the nerve to try a proper Hammam. Morocco gave us a lot. Fes gave us the most.