Animal Carpet Wall to Wall

After winding through the congested streets of Casablanca, no small feat, Max and I finally found ourselves outside the city limits and on our way to Marrakesh.  In what may have been slightly on the cheesy side, I put in the CD I'd burned for the occasion that began with Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young's "Marrakesh Express".  It quickly became the theme song of our weekend away and, cheesy or not, I do not regret it. 
 
Animal carpet wall to wall
Ducks and pigs and chickens call
American Women 5 foot tall (...?)

Wouldn't you know we're ridin' on the Marrakesh Express. 

So many scooters!

After a long and sweaty ordeal trying to get our parking situation figured out we hopped a cab from the new city to Bab Doukkala found along the north side of the Medina walls.  Like most places in Morocco there is an old city or Medina and a newer French city built during the French occupation  between the early 1900's and the 1950's.  While the new city is easier to maneuver and if you are carrying a lot of luggage much easier to traverse, we are light packers and much prefer the medina when we travel - what's a few extra gallons of sweat?

We arrived at our riad, Riad ZamZam, at about 5 o'clock in the evening and found it a very welcome respite from the heat and the commotion of the outside streets.  In honor of our anniversary we splurged a bit on the Riad and we were not disapointed.  in fact, we were the only ones there the whole weekend and we felt like Kings.  But not in a sterilized-white-tiled-bathroom-with-shiny-fixtures kind of way, but a funky-cave-like-shower-molded-to-the-wall-and-tiny-rustic-chairs-made-of-zebra-skin kind of way.  The small court yard had a freezing plunge pool that delighted Max to no end and an ancient date tree that rose above the roof and swayed back and forth.

Despite its lovely atmosphere, we fought the urge to spend all of our time at the Riad.  That first night we made our way across the medina to a restaurant a friend had recommended.  While we were told about the amazing pastilla (chicken pie with almonds and cinnamon and sugar) and slow cooked lamb with preserved lemons we were not warned about the fire dancing woman.  Belly dancing is a big touristy thing in Morocco.  Many upscale restaurants aimed at tourists (guilty) have belly dancing late into the night.  It's not something that either of us really knows how to handle.  Should we appreciate and applaud it on the merits of its skill?  Should we avert our eyes because of its scandalous-ness?  Or should we feel ooky that women are dancing in front of us, scantily clad, for money?  We usually feel the latter. 

Anyway, there was one dancer in particular (very modestly dressed) that danced with a plate of candles on her head.  At one point she leaned over the table, hips still swinging, and offered her hands to me in a gesture to join her.  If you know me, I'm not a dancer.  To the extent that in Highschool I hid out in the hallway during dances.  It's true.  But one of my favorite things about travel is that you are so free to redefine yourself.   Sure I'm afraid of dancing when I'm myself at home, but why shouldn't traveling Brooke be more fun, more adventurous?  My awkward wiggling was only compounded when the woman put the plate of candles on my head.  I held it firmly in place, but still felt a bit of terror at the prospects of lighting myself on fire.  Of course I dutifully tipped her and, tourist trap or no, it was a pretty awesome experience. ( I would have put the picture of me with the candle plate, but I definitely looked like a googly eyed crazy person trying to move to the beat while not start myself on fire - it isn't pretty)

We passed through the main square, Jemaa El-Fnaa, on the way home and though we didn't spend a lot of time there that night because of the hour, we were there long enough for me to get chased by a man holding a snake and buy some fresh squeezed orange juice.