Marrakech – or how to define authenticity

To me Morocco had always been a dream of colourful suqs and the smell of spices.

And Marrakech was the first place I got the chance to go to. It is interesting how much my perception of the city differed from what I had heard about it. Friends had depicted Marrakech as a tourist trap far from an authentic experience.

But when I arrived the first thing I did was genuinely getting lost.

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And I saw people. Couples going for an evening stroll. Families having a picnic in the park.

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People trying to make some money by talking tourists into buying completely overpriced products.

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A crazy mixture of old men riding their donkeys and car emissions, of beauty and dirt ( I am pretty sure the dirt was part of the beauty though).

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Then there are Marrakech’s many rooftops which sometimes seemed to offer a glance into local life.
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And the small slightly dodgy looking cafes selling the most intense mint tea. I have never regretted my lack in French skills as much as in that moment, sitting among locals trying to chat with me.

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On the other hand I avoided Djemaa el Fna.

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I’d much rather sit in a cafe listening to the muezzin’s call.

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In the end it is all a matter of perspective. To me in these moments  Morocco was a different world.

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