{"id":1982,"date":"2025-04-02T12:40:13","date_gmt":"2025-04-02T11:40:13","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/?p=1982"},"modified":"2025-08-24T16:58:03","modified_gmt":"2025-08-24T15:58:03","slug":"the-30-minutes-i-hated-marrakech","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/en\/storie-random-en\/the-30-minutes-i-hated-marrakech\/","title":{"rendered":"The 30 minutes I hated Marrakech"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><style>\/*! elementor-pro - v3.21.0 - 24-04-2024 *\/<br \/>\n@charset \"UTF-8\";.entry-content blockquote.elementor-blockquote:not(.alignright):not(.alignleft),.entry-summary blockquote.elementor-blockquote{margin-right:0;margin-left:0}.elementor-widget-blockquote blockquote{margin:0;padding:0;outline:0;font-size:100%;vertical-align:baseline;background:transparent;quotes:none;border:0;font-style:normal;color:#3f444b}.elementor-widget-blockquote blockquote .e-q-footer:after,.elementor-widget-blockquote blockquote 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.elementor-blockquote:before{content:\"\u201c\";font-size:100px;color:#f9fafa;font-family:Times New Roman,Times,serif;font-weight:900;line-height:1;display:block;height:.6em}.elementor-blockquote--skin-quotation .elementor-blockquote__content{margin-top:15px}.elementor-blockquote--align-left .elementor-blockquote__content{text-align:left}.elementor-blockquote--align-left .elementor-blockquote .e-q-footer{flex-direction:row}.elementor-blockquote--align-right .elementor-blockquote__content{text-align:right}.elementor-blockquote--align-right .elementor-blockquote .e-q-footer{flex-direction:row-reverse}.elementor-blockquote--align-center .elementor-blockquote{text-align:center}.elementor-blockquote--align-center .elementor-blockquote .e-q-footer,.elementor-blockquote--align-center .elementor-blockquote__author{display:block}.elementor-blockquote--align-center .elementor-blockquote__tweet-button{margin-right:auto;margin-left:auto}<\/style><\/p>\n<blockquote>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">Nothing good happens after 2 A.M.<\/p>\n<p style=\"text-align: right;\">Ted Mosby&#8217;s Grandma, <em>How I Met Your Mother<\/em><\/p>\n<\/blockquote>\n<p>&#8220;We&#8217;re staying in the same hostel!&#8221; I heard my flight neighbours say.<br data-start=\"121\" data-end=\"124\" \/>Their choice was the most popular option on the booking site I used, but, anticipating the inevitable chaos over the coming days, I couldn\u2019t resist the temptation to book a single room in a riad instead.<\/p>\n<h5>Had I gone to the hostel, I wouldn\u2019t have this story to tell.<\/h5>\n<p>It\u2019s the first flight of the year. Half past midnight.<\/p>\n<p>I land in Morocco: a new stamp for my passport and the chosen rendezvous point to celebrate my birthday with friends and their little ones, all arriving from different cities on different flights over the next few days.<\/p>\n<p>We make the (loooong) passport queue together.<\/p>\n<p><em>Three seconds later, it\u2019s 1:30 a.m.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Despite my decade-long experience as a travel agent wanna be, I couldn&#8217;t find a single flight landing at a more reasonable hour. The city, however, seems used to it\u2014an assumption based solely on the fact that check-ins are available until 2:00 AM, which has reassured me at the time of booking.<\/p>\n<p><em>All I have to do is get a taxi to drop me off at the riad\u2019s doorstep. I\u2019ll deal with the SIM card and currency exchange the next day\u2014nothing too complicated.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Still, a bit of caution and common sense (measured by my own highly questionable standards) never hurt, so I made sure to:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>Book a room in a hotel very close to the airport (5.6 km), just a 7-minute drive away.<\/li>\n<li>Download an offline map of Marrakech.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>That should keep me safe and sound.<\/p>\n<h2>A taxi and a forbidden road<\/h2>\n<p>I\u2019m in a country I don\u2019t know, where the primary language is Arabic\u2014a language I don\u2019t remotely speak (to put it mildly and avoid confessing that if someone said \u201cthank you\u201d to me, I\u2019d think they were verbally attacking me).<\/p>\n<p>My flight neighbours wait for their pre-booked transfer to the hostel, and I book a taxi at the only authorized kiosk, where I\u2019m handed a receipt to present at the parking lot entrance.<\/p>\n<p>I pay my dues: \u20ac20. Excessive for 6 km, but if that\u2019s the price for my safety, it feels fair enough.<\/p>\n<h5>Or so I thought.\u00a0<\/h5>\n<p>At the parking lot, I show my ticket to a young man, who calls a taxi driver.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cI can drop you nearby.\u201d<br \/>\u201cNearby?\u201d<br \/>\u201cThe streets are too narrow in the Medina, I can\u2019t drive through. You\u2019ll have to walk a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n<p><em>&#8220;Walk?<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Alone? <\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>At 1:40 in the morning? <\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Without a phone? <\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Without internet?&#8221;<\/em><\/p>\n<p>He looks at me, puzzled.<\/p>\n<h4>I clarify, to help him understand: \u201cIs it safe to walk alone at this hour?\u201d<\/h4>\n<p>&#8220;Aadjjhmnjhmnjlkdfj*other words in arabic I don&#8217;t understand*jjhmnjhmnjlkd, <i>sure.&#8221;<\/i>\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>He looks offended.<\/p>\n<p>Apparently, my questioning the safety of a lone woman wandering the Medina at night was taken as an insult to the entire local population\u2014him included.<\/p>\n<p>He repeats my question twice more, shaking his head, as though it were such an absurd statement that he needed to repeat it to make sense of it.<\/p>\n<p>Noticing I\u2019d struck a nerve, to defend my insolent insinuation, I add: \u201cThere are cities that are safe by day but not so much at 2 a.m.\u2014especially for a woman alone. I have no idea how it is here.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>To be fair, I did have an idea, but it only fueled my worries.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>As we head to his taxi, I recall the advice from friends who\u2019d been here: avoid going out after dark, especially alone. And 2 a.m.? That\u2019s definitely well past \u201cdinner hour\u201d.<\/p>\n<p>The driver is adamant the Medina is safe. But since I insist, he calls the riad.<\/p>\n<p>I listen to the sounds of the call. I have no clue what\u2019s being said, but I can tell from his tone he\u2019s mocking me. I guess making fun of somebody must sound the same in every language.<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/gne-1.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"245\" height=\"200\" \/><\/p>\n<p>He confirms he can\u2019t drop me at the riad\u2019s door and leaves me at the beginning of a pedestrian zone.<\/p>\n<p>Two seconds of relief upon noticing there are still plenty of people around\u2014until I realize <em>what<\/em> kind of people.<\/p>\n<h2>The walk of shadows<\/h2>\n<p>I put on my neutral-serious expression\u2014the one that wouldn\u2019t suggest to anyone that I\u2019m a friendly person in the mood to chat. Paired with a confident stride that says I know exactly where I\u2019m going (entirely staged), it seemed my best bet for arriving undisturbed.<\/p>\n<p>I fantasize about having a Matrix-style implant installed at the base of my neck, loaded with a lethal combat program to drop-kick any potential threat with acrobatic precision.<\/p>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/giphy-16.gif\" alt=\"Matrix fight\" width=\"245\" height=\"115\" \/><\/p>\n<p>But alas, reality demanded I stick to Plan A.<\/p>\n<p>I walk, feeling a spotlight from the heavens illuminating me, judging by the stares I\u2019m getting.<\/p>\n<p><img fetchpriority=\"high\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-medium wp-image-574 aligncenter\" src=\"http:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean-300x265.png\" alt=\"luce Mr Bean\" width=\"300\" height=\"265\" srcset=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean-300x265.png 300w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean-1024x905.png 1024w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean-768x679.png 768w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean-1536x1358.png 1536w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/04\/mr-bean.png 1765w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Every man (no woman in sight) turns to look at me, and those close enough to be heard, say something. My large backpack and my ivory face scream, <strong>\u201cTourist!\u201d<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>The deeper I go into the alley, the fewer people there are.<\/p>\n<p>The most unnerving moments are when someone crosses the pedestrian area diagonally, directly in my path. Until the last second, I can\u2019t tell if they\u2019re going to crash into me or just pass by.<\/p>\n<p>Almost all of them head towards the opposite sidewalk and, when they\u2019re just a few inches from my ear, mutter what they think is a kind compliment\u2014but which sends my heart racing and makes me pray the riad is just around the corner.<\/p>\n<h2>The encounter with the water thief<\/h2>\n<p class=\"\" data-start=\"377\" data-end=\"657\">While I curse myself for not knowing the Medina is a pedestrian area, I spot a guy to my right heading straight toward me. For a fraction of a second, I stay calm, assuming he\u2019s just crossing the street like everyone else. But judging by his trajectory, he\u2019s about to run into me.<\/p>\n<p class=\"\" data-start=\"659\" data-end=\"847\">I speed up to get ahead of him. He just barely avoids colliding with me. He doesn\u2019t hit me directly, but he slams into my bag, managing to yank the water bottle from the right-side pocket.<\/p>\n<p class=\"\" data-start=\"849\" data-end=\"1058\">The tug spins me around, and I somehow pull off a ninja-like move that dodges the rest of the impact. When I come out of the unexpected pirouette, he\u2019s no longer beside or behind me. He\u2019s right in front of me.<\/p>\n<p class=\"\" data-start=\"1060\" data-end=\"1233\">For a microsecond, it feels like a scene from a period drama\u2014just before the dance begins, when the couple steps into an invisible circle, facing each other. That\u2014or a duel.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-575 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/giphy-2.gif\" alt=\"Danza duello\" width=\"480\" height=\"270\" \/><\/p>\n<p>He smirks defiantly, clutching my (now ex-) water bottle like a trophy and saunters back to his pack of friends, all the while keeping his eyes locked on me.<\/p>\n<p>Knowing full well that I don\u2019t have access to the Matrix combat program I\u2019d been fantasizing about, it doesn\u2019t seem wise to make a fuss (in what language, anyway?) or to fight (haha).\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>The smartest choice I can think of is to turn on my heel and walk away\u2014fast and far\u2014from this idiot. Maybe he is harmless, just trying to show off to his friends. But still, I don&#8217;t want to hang around to find out.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019d bought that water bottle at an airport <del>jewellery<\/del> bar, unsure if there would be vending machines or open cafes when upon arrival. But by this point, dehydration is the least of my problems.<\/p>\n<h4>How much farther to the riad?<\/h4>\n<p>The street grows emptier. My heartbeat grows louder.<\/p>\n<p>Reaching a vast, dimly lit square (later identified as Jemaa el-Fnaa, one of the main ones), I see even fewer people and fewer lights.<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019m dying to just stop, take a deep breath, relax, and tell myself everything\u2019s okay. But I don\u2019t know if the guy from earlier is still watching me, and I refuse to turn around to check and risk encouraging him. On top of that, if I stop to look around, I\u2019ll make it even more obvious that I have no idea where I\u2019m going\u2014and I don\u2019t want anyone approaching me under the guise of offering help.<\/p>\n<p>The last thing I need is someone offering to show me the way, only to take me where <em>they<\/em> want.<\/p>\n<p>So, I keep moving, eyes glued to the little blue dot on the offline map, which marks my location. Almost there. I just need to turn right and it&#8217;s done.<\/p>\n<p><strong><em>Where the hell is the sign?<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t see the name I\u2019m looking for anywhere.<\/p>\n<p>The right side of the square\u2014the direction I need to go\u2014is completely dark. <strong>Pitch. Black.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>I can&#8217;t see anything, I feel like a fish swimming in milk.<\/p>\n<p>There are just two guys sitting on a step, positioned squarely between me and what I <em>think<\/em> is my final destination. It&#8217;s just me, them, and the dark.<\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t have many options. I tell myself this is the final push.<\/p>\n<p><em>They won\u2019t even notice me<\/em>.<\/p>\n<p>I go.<\/p>\n<p>Eyes still on the GPS.<br \/>50 meters.<br \/>40 meters.<\/p>\n<p>20 meters.<br \/>10 meters.<\/p>\n<h4>I\u2019m here.<\/h4>\n<p><img decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/media4.giphy.com\/media\/v1.Y2lkPTc5MGI3NjExZmNucXR6Njh3NDd3dzFkcmUyOGF6eGl2OGFsbmhzNmF1OHlxc2VhYiZlcD12MV9pbnRlcm5hbF9naWZfYnlfaWQmY3Q9Zw\/R8KGQqarnMyt3D3oGI\/giphy.gif\" alt=\"Praise Pray GIF by The Drew Barrymore Show\" \/><\/p>\n<p><strong>Wait. Where the f*** is the hotel?<\/strong><\/p>\n<h2>The square and the first moment of panic<\/h2>\n<p>The little blue dot perfectly overlaps the red pin marking the riad. But it\u2019s not here!<\/p>\n<p><em>Does the riad not have a sign?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I knock without shame on a random door.<br \/>Nothing.<\/p>\n<p><em>Do I have the wrong address?<\/em><br \/><em>Is the GPS drunk?<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Where should I go now?<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>What am I supposed to do?<\/em><\/p>\n<p><em>Think, Filo. Think.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>Until now, I\u2019ve managed to hold back panic, discouragement, pessimism, and all their cheery travel companions\u2014mostly because I\u2019ve been certain I\u2019d soon arrive at the hotel.<\/p>\n<p>Now, I have no anchor.<br \/>Nothing to rely on.<br \/>My guardian angel doesn&#8217;t have a phone to hold out to call the riad. I can&#8217;t do an internet search to see which place is closest. I don\u2019t trust anyone I see nearby.<\/p>\n<p>I feel like sitting on the curb, burying my face in my hands, and waiting for dawn. Only four hours until sunrise, after all.<br \/><em>But if I do that, what are the odds I\u2019ll actually see sunrise? Or maybe I\u2019ll make it to morning, but without my documents, phone, or wallet?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>The worst-case scenarios are playing out vividly in my mind when I spot a group of about ten blonde tourists. I rush toward them, desperate to breathe and let a tear run without worring of keeping my guard up. I run until I catch up with the last two stragglers (the gazelles leading the group haven\u2019t even noticed me slip in).<\/p>\n<p>Apologizing for the intrusion, I ask if I can walk with them for a bit, giving them a quick summary of the situation.<\/p>\n<p>They barely acknowledge me. I feel in need for help, and since they are a big group, I ask the two girls in the back if they can help me find my hotel\u2014it\u2019s supposed to be somewhere in this very square.<\/p>\n<p>Flustered from trying to keep up with the faster members of their group, they apologize, pick up their pace, and explain that they\u2019re rushing to make a check-in and they are already late.<\/p>\n<p>I join their mini-marathon for a short stretch, catching my breath and calming my racing heart without having to worry about being careful who I have on my right, left, front and back. As soon as I feel my neurons reoxygenated enough, I plant my feet and watch the members of that group being quickly swallowed up one by one by the darkness.<\/p>\n<h4>Once again, I\u2019m alone.<\/h4>\n<p>I decide to ask someone for directions: the key is choosing the right person and be quick to avoid letting anyone else approach.<\/p>\n<p>I scan the scene and quickly formulate my selection criterion to avoid someone having the time to approach and take the initiative to help me.<\/p>\n<h2>The encounter with the corn seller<\/h2>\n<p>I see is a man in his fifties selling corn on the cob (yes, at two in the morning). A boy is chatting with him.<\/p>\n<p>Here you have my selection criteria.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cIf the kid\u2019s standing there chatting (and not buying corn), it means they know each other. He must be a regular in the square, probably a friend. That means the corn seller is the kind of guy you\u2019d willingly stop and talk to\u2014even if you couldn\u2019t care less about corn.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Not a bulletproof theory, I admit, but considering the options, it\u2019s the best I can do.<\/p>\n<p><strong>Deal. That\u2019s my guy.<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>I breathe, approach with a smile (or something that aspired to be one) and ask if they know where my riad is.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;No idea&#8230;!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Not a great sign, considering I assume he\u2019s here every day.<\/p>\n<p>Thank God and every saint in heaven and in the calendar, the boy takes my phone, studies the map, zooms in, tilts his head for perspective, and finally signals for me to follow him.<\/p>\n<p><strong><em>At this point, I\u2019m almost relaxed. Maybe this is what happens when you surrender yourself to whatever outcome might show up. Whether it&#8217;s desired or undesired.<\/em><\/strong><\/p>\n<p>He walks (as I had before) toward the dark corner of the square and stops in front of a tiny, pitch-black alleyway that I hadn\u2019t even noticed before. It\u2019s exactly where those two guys had been sitting earlier. He raises his hand and points into the void.<\/p>\n<p>I look at him.<\/p>\n<p>I look at the alley.<\/p>\n<p>I look back at him, still pointing into the darkness.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cHere?\u201d I ask, incredulous.<\/p>\n<p>He nods.<\/p>\n<p>I only breathe when I realize he\u2019s walking away (so he\u2019s not planning to accompany me or drag me in there).<\/p>\n<p>Just then, two men walk into the alley, moving slowly and repeatedly turning to size me up from head to toe.<\/p>\n<p>Shivering at the idea of entering that road with those two just steps ahead of me, and sure by now the boy is cool (yes, met three minutes ago, but still the person I know most in Marrakesh), I ask him to come with me.<\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"aligncenter wp-image-2004 size-full\" src=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/come-cack.webp\" alt=\"Please come back\" width=\"480\" height=\"270\" srcset=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/come-cack.webp 480w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/come-cack-300x169.webp 300w, https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/come-cack-18x10.webp 18w\" sizes=\"(max-width: 480px) 100vw, 480px\" \/><\/p>\n<p>He waves me off, as if to say, \u201cDon\u2019t worry, it\u2019s only two meters ahead.\u201d<\/p>\n<p>Hoping it\u2019s no more than five steps, I venture in.<\/p>\n<p>I can only hear two sounds:<br \/>My heart pounding as if it\u2019ll burst through my chest and the two men speaking in Arabic.<\/p>\n<p>Those two, to make everything even more creepy, continue walking, exchanging words, and glancing back at me.<\/p>\n<p>They start talking again and look back once more.<\/p>\n<p>I take out my phone and loudly say in French, \u201cJ\u2019arrive, oui oui!\u201d<\/p>\n<p><strong>The reason for such a brilliant wit?<\/strong><\/p>\n<p>To make the two men think that someone is waiting for me to arrive\u2014someone who knows I am in the alley and might even be coming to meet me.<\/p>\n<p><em>Does this logic hold up?<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I\u2019ll never know, because I spot a hotel on the left. It\u2019s not mine, but I dart inside anyway.<\/p>\n<h2>The encounter with a hero in slippers<\/h2>\n<p>For the first time since I got out of the taxi, I feel safe. I breathe freely and let tears of relief flow.<\/p>\n<p>The receptionist, startled to see someone he wasn\u2019t expecting at 2 a.m. with a lost look and tear-filled eyes, stammers and asks how he can help.<\/p>\n<p>I hand him my phone with the map open, explain that I have a room at a nearby riad but don\u2019t trust my GPS and refuse to go back out into the street.<\/p>\n<p>\u201cCan I book a room here?\u201d<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;No need, it&#8217;s just here!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;I don&#8217;t want to go out!&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>He steps out from behind the desk, motions for me to follow, closes the hotel&#8217;s door, and takes me into the alley himself.<\/p>\n<h2>A set for Stanley Kubrick&#8217;s films<\/h2>\n<p>I&#8217;m literally sticking to him like a three-month-old puppy dog who wants to play with the calf of those who have just adopted him.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p>The riad is just a few steps away, but dear God, it\u2019s a proper setting for a horror story.<\/p>\n<p><em>Here it is in the light of day, I leave it to your imagination to place it in the nocturnal context described. In the total absence of lights. At that moment, the idea of reporting had not been born from my neurons engaged in ensuring my survival.<\/em><\/p>\n<p><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" class=\"size-full wp-image-816 aligncenter\" src=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/wp-content\/uploads\/2024\/05\/gif-vicolo-3.gif\" alt=\"\" width=\"260\" height=\"462\" \/><\/p>\n<p>Once inside, I see the name of the riad, thank my saviour profusely, check in, and ask for a glass of water.<\/p>\n<p>I connect to the Wi-Fi and let friends and family waiting for updates know that I\u2019ve arrived.<\/p>\n<p>I don\u2019t add any details\u2014saying it all went smoothly would be a lie.<\/p>\n<h3>Epilogue<\/h3>\n<p>I don\u2019t recall many moments like this one, maybe just a few late-night trips back home when I lived in the outskirts of Milan as a college student who couldn\u2019t afford taxis. At least back then, I had pepper spray, keys positioned between my fingers as makeshift brass knuckles, and someone on the phone with me (either actually or just pretending).<\/p>\n<p>I\u2019d say this episode ranks straight to the top five experiences where I felt like clutching my heart tightly in my hands.<\/p>\n<p>I think tomorrow morning Cuqui is finally arriving with her little one. Tomorrow evening, another friend of ours is coming from M\u00e1laga, the day after, my sister and her boyfriend from Milan, and the day after that, our friend from Marseille will arrive and introduce us to her son.<\/p>\n<p>Sometimes, journeys don\u2019t start with the excitement of expectations but with a racing heartbeat, an uncertain step, and a series of decisions made in the dark\u2014literally.<\/p>\n<p>With a glass of water finally in my hands and lungs filled with the sense of security that only four walls and a locked door could give me, I set the alarm clock knowing that I will open my eyes with a completely different emotion from the one I have on me right now.<\/p>\n<p>I thank all the saints in the calendar once again, and ask myself before drifting off, <em>\u201cWhy on earth did I put myself in this situation?\u201d<\/em> I picture the faces of those I\u2019ll see soon, smile, and give myself the answer.<\/p>\n<p>I linger at the edge of sleep, waiting for Morpheus\u2019s embrace, as I read of Cormoran Strike taking his first steps into the mystery of Lula Landry.<\/p>\n<h2>Notes from the Next Day<\/h2>\n<h4><strong>Note 1<\/strong><\/h4>\n<p>It feels like I\u2019m in a different city. There\u2019s light, joy, movement everywhere. I leave my room and meet cheerful people. I ask for directions to exchange money and buy a SIM card. The riad owner sketches a little map on a piece of paper to show me the best place to get a good exchange rate.<\/p>\n<p>I tell him about the previous night\u2019s misadventure. He\u2019s sorry to hear it but assures me that there\u2019s no safer area than the Medina.<\/p>\n<p>&#8220;Sure, there might be pickpockets, like in any city in the world, but no one would dare commit more dangerous crimes.&#8221;<\/p>\n<p>Well, <em>good to know<\/em>. I take into account for the next time and for all those who will listen or read this story. Still, starting a trip without documents, money, a phone, or clothes wouldn\u2019t have been ideal.<\/p>\n<p>I step out of the alley and walk in the middle of the street\u2014it\u2019s all pedestrian, right? That\u2019s why the taxi didn\u2019t drop me off in front of the hotel.<\/p>\n<p>As I let my senses be overwhelmed by the visual, auditory and emotional stimuli of a new, alive and radiant city, to my great surprise, <strong>I\u2019m almost run over<\/strong>.<\/p>\n<p>In the famous square from which the Alley of Horrors begins, there are cars, three-wheelers, horse-drawn carriages, and\u2014surprise, surprise\u2014TAXIS.<\/p>\n<p>Suddenly, I think of Jesus&#8217; famous teaching \u00a0I try so hard to remember when I feel my fists clench.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p><em>Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.<\/em><\/p>\n<p>I think about it for a moment, focus on the face of the taxi driver, and decide to apply starting tomorrow.<\/p>\n<h4><strong>Note 2<\/strong><\/h4>\n<p>Two days later, my new go-to taxi driver, whom I met on the trip to the Ouzoud waterfalls, explains that traffic in the Medina is only allowed in the morning. I take back the bad words directed at his colleague and send him some virtual apologies. Apparently, <em>I was the only one entirely responsible for those terrible 40 minutes<\/em>.<\/p>\n<h3>Important info for you, if you want to visit Marrakech<\/h3>\n<p>The vividness of these emotions will fade over time, but know that I wrote this story in the very same riad at 3 a.m., when I still wasn\u2019t ready to fall asleep despite the hour.<\/p>\n<p>The experience in Marrakech turned out to be one of the most beautiful I\u2019ve ever had\u2014a birthday trip that I\u2019ll always cherish. The bad memory of the city is thankfully limited to the first night.<\/p>\n<p>Even if it doesn\u2019t seem like it from the story, I wholeheartedly recommend visiting Marrakech. Just keep these things in mind:<\/p>\n<ul>\n<li>If you\u2019re traveling solo and your flight lands late, avoid booking a room in the Medina.<\/li>\n<li>Be wary of GPS: according to mine (on a pretty decent smartphone), I could easily reach the first night\u2019s riad by car. Multiple times during the trip, it also gave incorrect directions.<\/li>\n<li>I met a reliable and punctual taxi driver who drove us everywhere, picking us up where and when agreed without ever missing an appointment. I doubt he has Instagram pages, sites and more to link here, but I&#8217;m happy to share his contact if he authorizes me to do so. If you know me in person, contact me, otherwise use the email of the site or the contact page.<\/li>\n<li>If you&#8217;re wondering (as did my friends and myself while reworking the adventure) why I didn&#8217;t keep running with the blond tourists to their facility, my answer as banal as it is humble is: BECAUSE I DIDN&#8217;T THINK ABOUT IT. Evidently the neurons had not oxygenated well after all.<\/li>\n<\/ul>\n<p>If Ted Mosby&#8217;s grandmother knew about this story, she would tell me in her own right: &#8220;See? I always say that after 2 a.m. nothing good happens&#8221;. And for this time, I should agree with her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Landed. 2 a.m. Local language: Arabic. No phone. No internet. What could possibly go wrong?<\/p>","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":3375,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_eb_attr":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[120],"tags":[186,151,192,194,126,190,228,188,226],"location":[36],"class_list":["post-1982","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-storie-random-en","tag-danger","tag-marocco-en","tag-marrakech-en","tag-medina-en","tag-misadventure","tag-night-flights","tag-real-stories","tag-riad","tag-stories","location-marocco"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"<!-- This site is optimized with the Yoast SEO plugin v27.6 - https:\/\/yoast.com\/product\/yoast-seo-wordpress\/ -->\n<title>The 30 minutes I hated Marrakech - Filomena Marsiglia<\/title>\n<meta name=\"robots\" content=\"index, follow, max-snippet:-1, max-image-preview:large, max-video-preview:-1\" \/>\n<link rel=\"canonical\" href=\"https:\/\/filomenamarsiglia.com\/en\/storie-random-en\/the-30-minutes-i-hated-marrakech\/\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:locale\" content=\"en_GB\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:type\" content=\"article\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:title\" content=\"The 30 minutes I hated Marrakech - Filomena Marsiglia\" \/>\n<meta property=\"og:description\" content=\"Landed. 2 a.m. Local language: Arabic. 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