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Journaling at Djemaa el Fna

Filed Under international travel

It’s been a few months now since I’ve returned from Morocco, so now seems like as good of time as any to start sharing some of the stories of my trip here on the web. I’ll start with a passage from my journal after the jump.

December 10^th, 2007 – Marrakesh, Morocco - Day 11

9:30am – Sitting at cafe in the Place Djemaa el Fna. About fifteen men sit quietly at tables (can sit about 40-50). Most sit by themselves, watching the busy square come alive in the morning sun. Most are dressed in western clothing with traditional Fez hats. One older bearded man is dressed in a jellaba – a robe with a hood - over his plain white dress shirt.

In the large square, many of the dozens of orange juice carts open. A few pairs of tourists wander casually while locals are more determined in their pace. Where are they going? School. Work. Home. I don’t know. Some pass on motorized scooters, bicycles, and from time-to-time, private cars or beige taxis. Women who walk, walk alone or with a female companion.

There are many sellers walk though the cafe, making it hard to find solitude in my journal. Men selling cigarettes does not speak, but rattle a fist full of coins twice to signal to those around him that he is here. Children and women make their rounds with a platter of cookies strapped around their necks like a hot dog vendor at a baseball game. Shoe shiners and their shoeshine boxes also make appearances at this café every 20 minutes or so.

Bicycles and motorcycles line up haphazardly in front of the cafe, their owners apparently sitting or working at the cafe. The waiters dress in a white three-piece uniform with a little red jacket and walk at a quicker pace while helping their guests. They are polite and do not disturb the reflecting men at their tables unless the men motion for them.

An old man with a hunched back begs for money. A few minutes later, a teenage boy leads a blind man around to the tables asking for change. I pull out some change to give to them.

A horse and carriage are not just for tourists. Locals use them as well. Mules are rarely seen as vehicles for humans. They pull carts of produce or have bails of goods trapped to their backs.

As I sit here at the cafe, I find Saharan sand in my jacket pocket. Riding a camel seems so long ago, but it was just yesterday morning…

The journal I kept in Morocco is one of my favorites of recent years. I was able to capture so much of my experiences with the pages whereas in the past, I wouldn’t make the time to do so. Here are a few scanned pages from the journal:

Let me know what you think by leaving a comment!