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 clean bathroom, no 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, and I don't believe there was any glass either, 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 also quite rough. 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 option to sit; 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 holding on to something and squatting, or just holding it in until they got to a real toilet; holding it in was going to be the more sanitary option.
Because of the square wheel ride and the car rocking from side to side so much, that while having a piss it would splash everywhere.
So 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; and because this train ride was the biggest biggie for me; I just didn't give a rats ass about the toilet condition.
.
This train ride experience will always be one of the highlights of 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 - not that many - and I'm loving this whole deal.
The only thing that could top this experience would be to know that I may have been sitting in the very seat that in 1966 Graham Nash sat in when he wrote the song "Marrakesh Express"; how's that for a total mind blower?
I'm absolutely loving this train ride man; I'm completely thrilled by the whole experience.
I could have a hundred more train rides in my life but none of them individually or collectively could ever come close to this experience for me.
Oh yeah man, it's absolutely the best.
Currently we have 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 really old sections of the city, lots of old waterfront warehouses and residential slums. As we left the waterfront and inner city areas some of the neighbourhoods began to take on a bit more of an affluent look.
Leaving Casablanca and now heading south to Marrakesh I began to feel a sense of calm and relief come over me. My temperament also seems to be on the road to improvement as well.
The Casablanca experience was not a good one.
For me it was all negative right from the get go; and all because of the Muhammad dude, I think everyone felt pretty much the same.
If that asshole had not been part of the picture we would have had a great time in Casablanca over the next few days. But he didn't really have to be part of the picture, he was more or less invited in.
For my money, I felt we were better off being lost somewhere out in the middle of the Moroccan desert than being on that motherfuckers hook.
......but 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 clean bathroom, no 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, and I don't believe there was any glass either, 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 also quite rough. 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 option to sit; 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 holding on to something and squatting, or just holding it in until they got to a real toilet; holding it in was going to be the more sanitary option.
Because of the square wheel ride and the car rocking from side to side so much, that while having a piss it would splash everywhere.
So 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; and because this train ride was the biggest biggie for me; I just didn't give a rats ass about the toilet condition.
.
This train ride experience will always be one of the highlights of 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 - not that many - and I'm loving this whole deal.
The only thing that could top this experience would be to know that I may have been sitting in the very seat that in 1966 Graham Nash sat in when he wrote the song "Marrakesh Express"; how's that for a total mind blower?
I'm absolutely loving this train ride man; I'm completely thrilled by the whole experience.
I could have a hundred more train rides in my life but none of them individually or collectively could ever come close to this experience for me.
Oh yeah man, it's absolutely the best.
Currently we have 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 really old sections of the city, lots of old waterfront warehouses and residential slums. As we left the waterfront and inner city areas some of the neighbourhoods began to take on a bit more of an affluent look.
Leaving Casablanca and now heading south to Marrakesh I began to feel a sense of calm and relief come over me. My temperament also seems to be on the road to improvement as well.
The Casablanca experience was not a good one.
For me it was all negative right from the get go; and all because of the Muhammad dude, I think everyone felt pretty much the same.
If that asshole had not been part of the picture we would have had a great time in Casablanca over the next few days. But he didn't really have to be part of the picture, he was more or less invited in.
For my money, I felt we were better off being lost somewhere out in the middle of the Moroccan desert than being on that motherfuckers hook.
......but it's all going to be okay now.
|
|
|
|
Rolling to Marrakesh
|
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 on one of the benches across from us staring over and giving us the stink eye.
After a few minutes they started stomping their feet in sync, a few minutes later 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, ignoring them.
As their antics didn't 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 doing some kind of Muslim prayer thing, or what.
Before we came to Morocco we weren't aware that Muslims prayed multiple times daily, so maybe praying is what they were doing, we didn't really know for sure, nor did we care.
The chanting guys finally left the car. A few minutes later 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. Could this be some sort of gateway into an episode of - The Twilight Zone; at this point I felt anything was possible.
After a minute it started to go again, okay, this was a bit weird, but we're moving again so its all good.
A few more people have come into our car and took seats.
We've been on the train for close to an hour; so we're wondering why are people are just now starting to find their way into our car? We wondered where these people had been for the past hour.
They must have boarded the train when we did, at least that was our first thought. However, first thoughts, like first impressions are not always correct, as we would find out shortly.
A bit later an elderly man came in also dressed in a djellaba. He had a shoulder bag that contained small drinking glasses and a bag of 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.
He had about a half dozen two ounce glasses, everyone used 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 rather unusual and also very cool; unusual scenes are something we will see many times over in the next four weeks .
About twenty minutes later the train was beginning to come to a stop again, but again only for a few minutes.
We now started to put two and two together about the train stops, but still wanted a confirmation that our thought was reasonably correct.
A young Moroccan guy came into our car and was taking his time causally walking to the far end of it, as if scrutinizing the area, he used the toilet then left.
A few minutes later the same young guy came back to our car and took a seat at the far end. Eve pointed out that he was sparking up his hash pipe.
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 a few days. 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 the track only ran back and forth between Casablanca and Marrakesh.
His explanation pretty much confirmed some of the thoughts we had about the train's stop and go.
|
|
|
|
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, 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, scamming; and also a bit of criminal activity at times.
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 want to go and what they want to do, were the wealthy elites; the poor masses were stuck in a government made rut filled with restrictions that by intention would keep them right there.
He got us all high with some really good hash. He told us that many young 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 in Morocco is illegal, but the law is not carved in stone. The only people that get busted are some of the tourists, but only the ones that are being obvious with their obnoxiously bad behavior; tourists are 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 lessons, and pitfalls that we needed to be made aware of.
After a four hour train ride we were now coming into the Marrakesh station. I'm not sure if I want to get off the train just yet; I looked so forward too it, but we're in Marrakesh now and I gotta go.
Stephen said he would take us to a hotel that wouldn't rip us off,
hmmm, heard that one before
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, we 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 huge open marketplace.
The hotel was inside the Medina somewhere through a maze of narrow alleyways, also too 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 remember how much but it must have been enough to satisfy him because he left.
Now we're all alone and left to our own devices; what in the hell are we going to do now?
It's cold, raining and dark.
It's the middle of the night, we're in an almost completely deserted marketplace in an African country 6000 miles from home.
Fuck man, we could really use some friendly help right about now...
Then suddenly, from out of the shadows from one of the darkened alleyways came two cloaked and hooded figures slowly moving toward us.
Fuck man, for all we knew these two people could be 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....
In the time it took us to decide whether to run or just ride it out they were on us.
Well how about that, they turned out to be two hot looking French chicks from Switzerland. They spoke reasonably good English but their accent was very thick.
They offered to take us to their hotel where we could get rooms for cheap.
They took us quite deep into the Medina, down narrow alleyways and around several corners. I'm starting to think, why would they take the time to backtrack to their hotel when they had left there to come out and into the open world. They're taking us into the same alleyway they came out of, so now a weird scenario kinda crossed my mind; was it possible that because of all the shit that we've experienced in the short time we've been here that this could be an example of how we can expect to to be treated the whole time we're here, and could they be leading us into an ambush where there were a couple of guys with clubs and knives lurking in the dark ready to pounce and kill us, or what?
too much drama man, take a deep fucking breath Joe, holy shit,...
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.
|
|
|
|
one of many alleys to our hotel in the Medina
|
Mel & Aileen, in our room
|
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 thereafter the clerk showed up and returned our passports. A little sigh of relief followed.
Us guys went over to the French girls room to see if we could score some hash, smoked some with them and bought a chunk. We hadn't been in their room for very long when Eve and Aileen showed up. They decided us guys had been in the company of our French rescuers a bit too long for their liking, so we had to leave...wtf
We thanked the French girls and went back to our rooms to crash out. It had been a long day.