the Marrakesh Express:
When we bought our train tickets we opted for the cheap seat fare. No metal constructed coach, no soft padded seats, no nice bathroom, no nice hot meal.
Our coach was quite different. It was an old wooden boxcar that had been converted to cheap seat transportation. Pass through doors were cut into each end of the car. The windows were cut outs in the walls, two or three on each side, no glass, just sliding wooden shutters, and very drafty.
The seats were thick wooden slats, as were the back rests; really hard on the body, even our young bodies. The ride was quite rough also. I swear the train wheels must have been square.
The walls of the bathroom at end of the car was a piece of sheet metal bent in a 90 deg. and screwed to the floor.
The toilet was a hole cut through the floor with a piece of sheet metal around it, you either stand or squat, no sitting down; there was also no door, everything goes out the hole and onto the track.
For the guys it was no big deal, as long as you only had to have a piss. For the girls it was a whole different ballgame, no matter what they had to do it was going to require squatting, or holding it in until they got to a real toilet; holding it in was going to be the better option.
Because of the square wheel ride and the car rocking from side to side so much, that while using the toilet to have a leak, piss would be splashed everywhere.
At best, this toilet area was so absolutely disgustingly filthy that you didn't dare touch anything.
But on the up side................. it's the Marrakesh Express man, a total blast and I'm loving every minute of it.
I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
This experience will always be one of the highlights in my life.
And really, when you think about it, other than local Moroccans, how many hippie types from back in the day can say they rode on the Marrakesh Express? not that many I expect.
In 1975 there may have been a few hundred million hippie types spread around the world, so a few thousand would still be ...not that many; and I was one of the few; and I'm loving it man.
The only thing that could top this experience would be to know that I may have been sitting in the very seat that Graham Nash sat in when he wrote the song "Marrakesh Express" in 1966; how's that for a total fucking mind blower?
I'm absolutely loving this train ride man.
I could have a hundred more train rides in my life but none of them, individually or collectively could come close to this experience for me.
We had the whole car to ourselves and we're having a great time. We were looking out the windows watching the city roll by.
We're going through some old sections of the city along the waterfront where there's many old run down slums. As we left the waterfront and inner city areas and got closer to the outer regions, some of the neighbourhoods took on a more affluent look.
Shortly after leaving Casablanca and now heading to Marrakesh, I personally felt a sense of calm and relief.
The Casablanca experience was not a good one.
For me it was negative right from the get go; but the negativity was only because of the Muhammad dude, and I think everyone felt somewhat the same.
If that asshole dude had not been part of the picture it would have been great to hang out in Casablanca for a few days.
For my money, I felt we were better off being lost somewhere in the middle of Casablanca than being on that motherfuckers hook.
......and it's all going to be okay now.
When we bought our train tickets we opted for the cheap seat fare. No metal constructed coach, no soft padded seats, no nice bathroom, no nice hot meal.
Our coach was quite different. It was an old wooden boxcar that had been converted to cheap seat transportation. Pass through doors were cut into each end of the car. The windows were cut outs in the walls, two or three on each side, no glass, just sliding wooden shutters, and very drafty.
The seats were thick wooden slats, as were the back rests; really hard on the body, even our young bodies. The ride was quite rough also. I swear the train wheels must have been square.
The walls of the bathroom at end of the car was a piece of sheet metal bent in a 90 deg. and screwed to the floor.
The toilet was a hole cut through the floor with a piece of sheet metal around it, you either stand or squat, no sitting down; there was also no door, everything goes out the hole and onto the track.
For the guys it was no big deal, as long as you only had to have a piss. For the girls it was a whole different ballgame, no matter what they had to do it was going to require squatting, or holding it in until they got to a real toilet; holding it in was going to be the better option.
Because of the square wheel ride and the car rocking from side to side so much, that while using the toilet to have a leak, piss would be splashed everywhere.
At best, this toilet area was so absolutely disgustingly filthy that you didn't dare touch anything.
But on the up side................. it's the Marrakesh Express man, a total blast and I'm loving every minute of it.
I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.
This experience will always be one of the highlights in my life.
And really, when you think about it, other than local Moroccans, how many hippie types from back in the day can say they rode on the Marrakesh Express? not that many I expect.
In 1975 there may have been a few hundred million hippie types spread around the world, so a few thousand would still be ...not that many; and I was one of the few; and I'm loving it man.
The only thing that could top this experience would be to know that I may have been sitting in the very seat that Graham Nash sat in when he wrote the song "Marrakesh Express" in 1966; how's that for a total fucking mind blower?
I'm absolutely loving this train ride man.
I could have a hundred more train rides in my life but none of them, individually or collectively could come close to this experience for me.
We had the whole car to ourselves and we're having a great time. We were looking out the windows watching the city roll by.
We're going through some old sections of the city along the waterfront where there's many old run down slums. As we left the waterfront and inner city areas and got closer to the outer regions, some of the neighbourhoods took on a more affluent look.
Shortly after leaving Casablanca and now heading to Marrakesh, I personally felt a sense of calm and relief.
The Casablanca experience was not a good one.
For me it was negative right from the get go; but the negativity was only because of the Muhammad dude, and I think everyone felt somewhat the same.
If that asshole dude had not been part of the picture it would have been great to hang out in Casablanca for a few days.
For my money, I felt we were better off being lost somewhere in the middle of Casablanca than being on that motherfuckers hook.
......and it's all going to be okay now.
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Rolling to Marrakesh
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Our coach, left to right,
Aileen, Mel, Joe, Stephen and Al Eve is behind the camera |
Palm grove at dusk between
Casablanca and Marrakesh |
It's getting darker now and harder to see the scenery, but we'll get to see lots in time.
We were soon joined by a couple of older Moroccan men dressed in their head wraps and hooded djellabas. They sat in one of the benches across from us, staring over at us and giving us the stink eye.
After a few minutes they started stomping their feet in sync, soon they also started clapping their hands and rocking back and forth, again in sync.
We just sat there eating our oranges and chunks of bread.
As their antics didn't seem to get much of a rise out of us, they then started with the chanting, this carried on for a while.
I'm not sure if they were trying to intimidate us, or just really into the Muslim prayer thing, or what.
At the time, we weren't aware that they prayed multiple times daily, so maybe praying is what they were doing, we didn't really know for sure.
A bit later the two chanting guys left the car. The train was beginning to come to a stop, but there was no station, we were out in the middle of nowhere, no city, no town, nothing, just a few small lights way off in the distance.
After a minute it started to go again, this was good.
A few more people came into our car and took seats.
We've been on the train for maybe an hour; why are people just now starting to find their way into our car?
These people must have boarded the train when we did, that was our thought.
Shortly thereafter an elderly man came in, also dressed in a djellaba. He had a shoulder bag that contained small drinking glasses and sugar cubes, he was also carrying a two or three litre pewter teapot and was going from car to car selling little glasses of mint tea to the passengers for just a few francs.
I think there was only about a half dozen two or three ounce glasses, so everyone uses the same glasses, wiped out but not washed, not very sanitary but what the hell; we had our shots before traveling here.
So we had a glass of mint tea which helped take away some of the night chill.
He made his way through the car then left. This whole scene was pretty cool.
Very soon thereafter the train was beginning to come to a stop again, but again only for a few minutes.
We're now starting to put two and two together about the train stops, but still wanted a confirmation that our thought was correct.
Some young guy [no, that wasn't his name] came into our car to use the toilet, then left.
Several minutes have passed and the same young Moroccan guy came back to our car and took a seat at the far end. Eve pointed out that he was sparking up a bowl-full of hash.
Well, it sure didn't take us long to gravitate toward him.
His name was Stephen, at least that's what he told us. We introduced ourselves and started chatting him up. He was a university student in Casablanca and was on his way home to Marrakesh for the weekend. He obviously came from a wealthy family.
We asked him why the train stops randomly out in the middle of nowhere. He said it stops anywhere along the line when people want to get on or off.
There was never a chance that another train would hit us as it was the only train in this part of the country, and it only ran back and forth between Casablanca and Marrakesh.
His explanation pretty much confirmed what we thought.
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the old Marrakesh train station,
photo from 1975 |
dinner time in the Marrakesh
market place |
where we lived in Marrakesh,
Hotel du Sud is in there somewhere |
Stephen was the first Moroccan person that didn't try to fuck us over, and we told him how much we appreciated that. He explained in defense of his fellow countrymen, that in Morocco there are very few regular jobs, most people have no money, and due to emigration rules and financial regulations, it's next to impossible to get out of the country to better themselves.
So for many people their options were limited to begging, tour guiding and scamming.
What a shit way to have to live. But these were the only options they had.
The only people that had a variety of life choices of where they wanted to go, and what they wanted to do, were the wealthy elites; the poor masses were stuck in a government made rut.
He got us all high with some really good hash. He told us that many young Moroccan men don't smoke, but many of the older men still do, as it's been part of their culture for almost forever.
Possession of any drugs is illegal in Morocco, but the law is not carved in stone. Usually the only people that get busted are the tourists, but only if they're being obvious with their behavior; they're the only ones that have money to pay fines.
He also told us, if you buy hash from a local on the street, get it and leave right away, as it's not that uncommon for the guy you bought the hash from to go around the corner and get a cop; then you're busted, and the only way to get out of it is to pay off the cop, which is usually all of your money, watches, rings, pretty much everything you have, and then he may split the loot with the guy you bought the hash from.
During those few short hours with Stephen we learned some very important street savvy things that we needed to be made aware of.
We were now coming into the Marrakesh train station. Stephen said he would take us to a hotel that wouldn't rip us off,
"hmmm, heard that one before".
After a four hour train ride we have arrived. We got off the train and hit the streets. It was quite chilly and lightly raining.
Stephen took us to a hotel, one of the nicer ones just outside of the Medina, but it was far to expensive. We needed to find a less expensive hotel.
We shook hands, thanked him for his time and sharing his hash, said goodbye to him and started walking.
We had only walked for a little while when a kid came along and attached himself to us. He said he would take us to a hotel. We told him we wanted a cheap hotel, he said okay.
It was now beginning to rain a bit harder. A horse and carriage taxi came by so we grabbed it. It took us to the far side of the Medina.
The hotel was inside the Medina somewhere through a maze of narrow alleyways, also to expensive.
We decided to come out of the Medina and rethink our options. The kid was still with us, he wouldn't leave until we gave him money, he wasn't going anywhere until he got paid. We gave him some money, don't know how much but it must have been enough to satisfy him because he left.
We're now all by ourselves, left to our own devices.
It's cold, raining and dark; we're in the middle of the marketplace, and it's sometime after midnight, we're in an African country six thousand miles from home.
Fuck man, we could really use some friendly help right about now...
Then from out of one of the dark alleyways we see two cloaked and hooded figures slowly approaching us. Fuck man, for all we knew they could have been some kind of Moroccan ninjas that were going to slit our throats and take all of our stuff and leave us dead or dying and bleeding in the middle of the marketplace....
It turned out to be two hot looking French girls from Switzerland. They spoke pretty good English, but the accent was very thick.
They offered to take us to their hotel were we could get rooms for cheap.
Everyone wants to take us to a cheap hotel, I was starting to feel like some kind of cheap common whore.
The girls took us quite deep into the Medina, down narrow alleyways, around many corners. I'm thinking, fuck man!, are we going to get screwed or what?
,.....deep breath Joe, deep breath,...
At the end of the alley, wherever we are, we came upon the Hotel du Sud. Inside we go; we were cold wet and tired, and the hotel was cheap...we'll take it.
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one of many alleys to our hotel in the Medina
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Mel & Aileen, in our room
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Al & Aileen at the
entrance of Hotel de Sud |
We checked in and paid up front. The clerk wanted our passports, we said no. He assured us he would bring them back to us within a half hour.
We were cold and wet and in need of rest, we hesitated briefly, then gave them up.
We went to our rooms to get settled in. Shortly there after the clerk showed up and returned our passports. A little sigh of relief followed.
We went over to the French girls room, smoked some hash, I think we even bought a chunk from them. We hung out for awhile then went back to our rooms to crash out. It had been a long day.