When I was planning my time off from work, Morocco was a must-see place on my list. I wanted to experience the exotic spices, flavors and scents, the bright colors and bold patterns and the frenetic energy that I had only read about or seen in pictures. However, I also knew that I did not want to travel alone in Morocco. It would be my first time visiting a Muslim country, and after speaking with my friends who had visited, I knew I’d be a lot more comfortable making the trip if others joined me. 

Enter Tina, Heather and Niran, three of my best friends from San Francisco. The four of us all met through work when I also lived in the city and have known each other for ten years (some of us go back even longer). We have been taking annual trips together for at least four of those years, and previous destinations have included Healdsburg, California; New Orleans, Louisiana; Punta Mita, Mexico and Koh Samui, Thailand.

When I originally sent out my list of proposed destinations in 2019 to the girls, Niran jumped at Morocco. She had also been wanting to visit for a long time. Tina was basically willing to go wherever we told her to go, and after some coaxing and cajoling, Heather was on board as well. I chose late April since it would be spring, and the weather hopefully wouldn’t be too hot or cold, but just right. I had initially put together a two week itinerary including Marrakech, the Sahara Desert to the east, Essaouira on the western coast, and Tangier, Fez and Chefchaouen in the north. However, the girls all still had full-time jobs, so we decided to pare down the plan to four days in Marrakech, two nights in Essaouira and a night in El Jadida as a stop before Casablanca (where we’d fly out from). The trip was on!

Getting to Marrakech

While it is not that easy to get to Morocco from New York (there are no nonstop flights, so I booked a flight with a connection in Paris), it’s an even more ambitious trip from San Francisco. Heather ingeniously decided to plan a work trip to Paris the week before our vacation and then booked the same flight as I did from CDG. Niran and Tina planned to stop in London for a night to stay with Niran’s cousin, and then fly together from Gatwick. 

After a whirlwind four days at home in between my Japan/Singapore and Africa trips, I re-packed my bags and began the journey.

My first travel mishap of the trip occurred when I realized that I had left the folder containing the paperwork for my Egypt and Turkey e-visas at home. I was already in the Uber en route to the airport and had spent nearly 30 minutes fighting through city traffic, so turning back was not an option. I couldn’t miss this flight. However, everything I needed was in my email and Heather fortunately was able to ask her hotel in Paris to print additional copies for me. Life saver.

My Delta flight to Paris went smoothly; we landed early, so I had several hours to kill in the morning before the flight to Marrakech. 

The only item on my layover agenda: hitting up the duty free store to pick up some wine. I knew that it would be difficult to find alcohol in Morocco, and a dry girls trip was not an option for the four of us.

A couple hours later, Heather showed up with her own duty free bag. Yay! We sat at the gate and started to catch up while waiting for our flight to start boarding. And then we waited. And waited. Apparently, the Air France cleaning crew was late to arrive, and they delayed the flight by 20 minutes three times. Frustrating, but I reminded myself that at least Marrakech was our final destination, so the delay wasn’t going to mess with any connections. We were finally able to board, and the pilot was able to make up much of the one hour delay in the air.

Upon arrival, we cleared immigration (slower than it should have been, but not bad at all) and found Niran and Tina waiting for us at baggage claim. Hooray! This was really happening. We were actually all together in Morocco. Crazy.

I had arranged transfers for us through our riad, so we collected our bags, got through customs and went to find our driver in Arrivals. Next order of business: get dirhams from the ATM. Many businesses in Morocco only accept cash, so our credit cards weren’t going to get us very far. In fact, our riad didn’t even have a credit card machine, so I was already carrying a couple thousand euros on me to pay the balance for our Marrakech accommodations.

I told our driver I was going to the ATM and left him to watch over our bags. Then we heard a crash and the sound of some glass breaking. Heather’s duty free bag had fallen off of her suitcase, and we had lost two of our precious bottles of alcohol. A large pool of vodka was forming at the base of our bags. Hello, Morocco. We had arrived.

Dirhams in hand and a couple bottles lighter, we headed for the car with our driver and passed a group of men shouting and fighting. Welcome to Marrakech.

It was a quick drive to our riad, and we passed the historic La Mamounia hotel and the lovely Majorelle Gardens on the way. I knew the city was going to be crowded and dirty, but this was actually nicer than I expected. On the other hand, the traffic was not for the faint-hearted. Cars and motorcycles whizzed around with no regard for street lanes or turn signals. I definitely was not in Japan or Singapore any longer.

Fortunately, we arrived at our riad safely, where we were greeted by Fadwa, the woman “in charge of us” (literally, that is how Alice, the owner of the riad, described her). I had booked four nights at Le Petit Yasmine, a three bedroom/three bathroom property adjacent to the larger Riad Yasmine. The riad had three floors, including a plunge pool on the ground floor and a wood-burning pizza oven on the rooftop. The pictures looked beautiful online, and we were excited to have the place all to ourselves.

We walked in and I found my already high expectations were actually exceeded. The place was stunning. I never wanted to leave.

We settled in and Fadwa served us mint tea on the roof while we discussed how to divvy up the three rooms between the four of us.

I reminded everyone that I had found the place, I had fronted the deposit and I had gone to a lot of trouble to attempt to wire the balance to Alice, only to find that it wouldn’t arrive in time (hence the reason I was traveling with a wad of cash). Considering this data, the girls were nice enough to let me have my own room. Then, I chose a random number between 1 and 50, and they all tried to guess the number. Niran guessed 35 (my number was 23), so she also got her own room, and Heather and Tina would share. I gave them their choice of rooms.

As much as we wanted to relax in the peaceful luxury of the riad, we also wanted to explore. Fadwa and her friend/co-worker Leila were preparing dinner for us (it already smelled delicious), and we had a few hours before it would be ready. So, we ventured out in to the medina with a map and some instructions from Fadwa. Our plan was to to head to Jemaa el-Fnaa square, check out the souks (the storefronts where Moroccans peddled goods such as shoes, textiles, pottery and more) and hopefully find a snack. Fadwa warned us not to ask anyone for directions, and not to follow anyone that offered to show us how to get to our destination. On our way out, she handed us an old cellphone (I’m talking feature phone) with numbers programmed to reach her, the owner of the riad and the main riad line.

Stepping out onto the street in the medina, we were greeted with chaos once again. The winding streets didn’t have any lanes, street signs or traffic signals, so cars and mopeds whizzed through crowds of people seemingly without rhyme or reason. Donkeys dragged heavy loads and horse-drawn carriages clacked through the roads, adding to the noise and confusion.

We made a meandering path toward Jemaa el-Fnaa and back, trying to acclimate to the new and different scenes around us. 

As it was our first day, we had no idea how the souks operated; we knew that we needed to haggle to get the best price, but we weren’t sure how best to go about that process. We quickly realized how aggressive the souk owners could be if you so much as looked at an item when passing by. Window shopping in Morocco was not going to be an option.

We eventually found Jemaa el-Fnaa, but then decided to steer clear when we realized that some of the “performers” in the square were snake charmers and learned about Niran’s intense phobia of snakes. Then we saw the Koutoubia Mosque, the first of many mosques we’d see on the trip, and we of course had to take some pictures. 

An athletic-looking man with an official tour guide badge told us that if we came back in the mornings, we could actually tour the mosque (it is the only mosque that women can actually enter). He then continued to list off some other sights for us to see in the area, including a cooperative where we could see a woman making argan oil. After attempting to give us directions, he offered to just show us himself. “Okay!” Heather said. And so we found ourselves following a stranger through the crowds, across a busy street and down an alleyway. Exactly what Fadwa told us NOT to do.

Once we realized that this argan oil cooperative was not as close as we thought it was, it began to dawn on us that we probably shouldn’t be following this man in an unfamiliar city. “Heather!” Tina hissed. “Tell him we’re going to go this way.” She pointed in the opposite direction. “What do you mean? It’s okay,” Heather said. “No! Let’s go this way,” Tina insisted. 

Well, he wasn’t too pleased when we told him we were backing out. “What? Don’t you want to see the argan oil? It’s just a little bit further. It’s fine! Are you worried? It’s fine!” As we started to turn around and head the other way, he got even more angry. “What did you think was going to happen? You don’t trust me? Why would you think that? Rubbish tourists!” He seemed pretty offended, which turned us off even more. Looking back, chances are good that he really was going to show us the woman making argan oil, but he probably would’ve have pressured us to buy stuff once we got there. Or maybe he would’ve kidnapped us and stolen our kidneys. We’ll never know.

We decided this was a good time to head back to our riad and open some of our duty free wine. It was a beautiful evening, and Fadwa and Layla served us a delicious feast on our roof. We got to taste the first of many tagines and an incredible aubergine soup.

We chatted with Fadwa as we ate, and apologized for an earlier misunderstanding. As previously mentioned, the riad didn’t have a credit card machine, so I had to bring a couple thousand euros to Morocco with me to cover the balance for our stay. Then, with all the hustle and bustle, I had mis-counted and inadvertently short-changed Fadwa by 100 euros. She made the mistake of waiting to count the money until after we had left for our Medina adventure and then panicked, thinking that I would argue with her. 

Fortunately, I knew exactly how many euros I had brought with me, so I counted the remaining cash in my wallet and confirmed that I had in fact kept 100 euros that were meant for the riad. I felt terrible (Fadwa had been so worried that she tried to find us in the winding maze of the souks and had even torn her pants riding a motorbike in her anxious state). I assured Fadwa that it was my fault, and then urged her to count cash in the presence of her clients in the future. Fadwa was so apologetic; she told us some stories about other nightmare clients, and said she really wanted to be sure that we had a good experience.

After all the travel and drama, we were ready to call it an early night. Time for bed.

Day Two: Shopping Spree and Street Food Tour

We woke up to another beautiful day, ready to tackle Marrakech head-on after our initial taste. Tina and Heather had both woken up around 5am to the sound of the first call to prayer of the day (I had completely slept through it). Hearing the loud calls projected in Arabic from loudspeakers in the mosques five times a day was a brand new experience for me, and reminded me that I was indeed in a foreign place.

Fadwa served us a rooftop breakfast spread of yogurt, eggs, fruit and assorted breads. We loaded up on coffee and prepared for our first full day.

I had planned not one, but two tours for the day. I normally would’ve spaced things out a bit more, but couldn’t book anything on Sunday (the day we arrived) and I wanted to plan the tours for the beginning of our stay so we could get the lay of the land and then go it alone during the second half of our visit. So, in the morning we’d have a private shopping tour of the medina that I had coordinated through Riad Yasmine, and in the evening we’d have a small group street food tour (also in the medina) that I had found through TripAdvisor. It would be a busy day, but good to get some tips from locals that we could hopefully trust. After seeing how overwhelming the souks could be during our first venture out, I was glad that we had enlisted some guides to help.

We met our first guide, Ali, right outside our riad. Ali had grown up in Marrakech and was now raising his own family in the city. He wore a smart cap and sported Tom Ford glasses, so he seemed like a good choice as our shopping guide in his stylish attire. As he led us through the twists and turns of the medina, he also pointed out tidbits about Moroccan culture here and there. 

Ali promised to help show us the quality goods from the cheap items; however, he told us that when it came to haggling, we were on our own. “Bargaining is one of the national sports of Morocco,” he quipped. I guess it was time for us to try our hand against some of the local pros. 

Our first stop was a shoe store, where we could watch a couple cobblers handcrafting new pairs of leather, suede and raffia shoes. Ali showed us a few examples of the difference between handcrafted vs. factory-made shoes, then took a seat while a tall and charismatic salesman showed us around the store. “Anything you see that you like, feel free to try on.” We timidly looked around the shop, not sure where to start. I for one wasn’t really planning to go crazy with the shopping since I had a long trip ahead of me and didn’t want to lug a bunch of new stuff in my already full bags.

Well, so much for that plan. Niran was the first of us to take the plunge, looking for some cute shoes to bring home to her two daughters. I tentatively eyed the walls of shoes as Niran and then Tina began to try on shoes for themselves. Then I spotted a pair of salmon-colored suede loafers with cute tassels. And a bright yellow pair of raffia mules that also had cute tassels. Apparently I am into tassels now. Both pairs were well-padded and very comfortable, and so unique. There was no way I’d be able to find something like them at home. 

“How much?” We asked the salesman at first. “You just shop. Pick out as many as you like, and I will give you a package deal.” Okay… we would learn that this was a typical sales tactic.

After a frenzied hour in the store, we decided that we needed to end the madness. This was only the first stop. We each had our turn to negotiate our prices with the salesman. Niran in particular was a natural haggler. “What?! That’s too much,” she said at first. “I can’t afford that.” Then she named a price more than half what the salesman had quoted. He lowered his price by 100 dirhams or so. “I don’t have that kind of money,” Niran responded. The girl seemed to get true joy playing the national Moroccan sport. I on the other hand found the concept of haggling awkward. The prices being quoted were already much lower than what I’d pay for shoes in the US, and I felt bad trying to get a dirt cheap price. We were visitors in this country, and I was happy to help support the local economy. In the end, we all took home at least one pair of shoes. I bought both the salmon loafers and the yellow raffia mules for 600 dirhams total (just over $60). I probably could have knocked off another 100 dirhams (or more), but I felt fine considering that I already owned a much less comfortable pair of gray suede loafers that had cost me much, much more.

Our next stop was an herboristerie (an herbalist’s shop), where we’d get to sample some of Morocco’s famous argan oil products. A woman in a white lab coat led us up a flight of stairs to a bright room decorated in colorful tiles and shelves of colorful powders and herbs.

Again, I wasn’t really planning to buy anything, but the orange blossom scented cream smelled so good. And it came in a small container that would be easy to fit into my luggage. (Fast forward to a few days later and I was very happy with my purchase. Not only did the body cream smell delicious, but it also soaked right into my skin, leaving me feeling moisturized but not greasy – very important in Morocco’s dry desert air). We each chose our own scent and then headed downstairs to pay for our loot. “What is the best price for this?” Tina asked the cashier. “Set price. Everyone pays the same price,” the cashier responded, nipping Tina’s attempt to haggle in the bud. 

Ali then brought us to a textile shop to look at hand knit scarves, blankets and towels. I already had a couple of similar towels and a blanket, so I really should have gone with Niran to check out other goods next door. The salesman pointed out how soft the 100% cotton scarves were, and showed us a video on his phone (supposedly of his father hand-knitting a blanket). It really could’ve been a video of anyone knitting anything, but I appreciated the effort. Then the salesman pulled a scarf off the shelf and started to wrap it around my head and face. Before I knew it, I almost could have passed for a Muslim woman on the street.

Heather was admiring a pashmina in a brightly colored print; meanwhile, a gray striped towel with mustard yellow trim (and tassels) had caught my eye. The salesman leaned in to point out the quality of the towel and I got a whiff of his stale coffee-scented breath. Yuck. At this point, I was ready to get away so I asked him how much. He quoted 350 dirhams, which caught me off guard. Seriously, that was way more than I was expecting to pay. I told him that I wanted to pay less than 200, and then he started his sales pitch about how soft and tightly knit the fabric was. I finally got him down to 250 and decided to just take it.

Then Heather started her own bargaining game. He again quoted a price higher than she was expecting and began getting in her face. “Never mind, I don’t want it anymore,” she told him and we walked out of the shop. He proceeded to follow her into the street. “I’ll give it to you for your price. Because you are with Ali, I will lower my price” he told her. “Nope, I’m done,” she said. The salespeople could get overly aggressive, and this one had lost his sale by turning Heather off. By this point, we were beginning to intuit that Ali had some kind of arrangement with the souks, and he was probably getting a cut of each sale that he brought to them. It was unlikely that he had chosen these shops out of so many options just because they were his personal favorites.

We collected Niran and headed for our final stop: the rug store. Ali informed us that this was a family-run cooperative that had set prices. 

We were whisked upstairs and treated to some mint tea. I had no intention of buying a rug. I still had nine months of travel ahead of me and was not sure if I would stay in my apartment once I re-signed my lease in October. Home goods were the last thing I needed to buy.

“No pressure,” the sales manager informed us. “We greet you with a smile, and even if you do not buy, we will smile when you leave.” Then he basically snapped his fingers and a couple workers scrambled over. The manager shouted some instructions and the workers ran off, scurrying back with a large, brightly patterned rug that they laid out at our feet. The manager quickly began his sales pitch, asking us to feel the tightly woven loops of the rug, and then showing us the finished back as well. He showed us the fire-resistant wool as he lit a flame against the fabric. He pointed out the traditional Moroccan prints.

As the sales crew unfurled rug after rug in front of us, the wheels in my head started turning. “All prices include shipping to the US via DHL,” the sales manager informed us. Well, I could actually use a new rug in my living room. And if they shipped it back to the States, I wouldn’t need to worry about traveling with such a large, heavy item. Heather was starting to get excited about a couple different pieces for her vacation home in Forestville, CA, Tina picked out a smaller turquoise rug and then Niran began to get in on the action. FOMO was settling in.

“Do you have anything in different colors?” I asked. Nearly every rug they were showing us had a lot of red, which definitely would not go with the color scheme of my apartment (and I have no plans to decorate a future home with red either). “Anything with blue or yellow?”

Shortly thereafter, I was led into a separate room for my own individual viewing session. The workers brought rug after rug that didn’t match my vision. “No red,” I reminded them. “That one has the right colors, but the print is too busy. I like that one, but it’s too small.” I was about to give up on my sudden urge to acquire a Moroccan rug when a salmon-colored rug caught my eye. I didn’t really have any pink in my apartment either, but i could envision the subtle pastel color working with the neutrals, blues and yellows in my living room. Or maybe I could just redecorate with some new artwork and throw pillows once my year of travel had concluded. I was getting sick of having the same accent pieces since moving to Seattle in 2012.

We still hadn’t covered price, however. The manager informed me that the rug that I liked was of the finest quality, so it would be one of their more expensive pieces. Of course it would. Then he whipped out a calculator to quote me the price. It was higher than most of what we’d seen, but still very reasonable compared to what I’d pay for a rug in the US. And the price included shipping. I took a picture, told him I’d think about it returned to my friends. 

“Your friend has very expensive taste,” the manager told my friend as we returned to the room with layer after layer of rugs. Great, this was not helping my reputation. A couple minutes later, the manager returned. “I can offer you a better price,” he told me. What?! I thought this place had set prices. He quoted a number 1,000 dirhams lower than what he had originally told me. Hmm… I still needed to think about it. At this point, I wasn’t really doubting the price, but I wasn’t sure if the rug would really go well in my apartment, and it didn’t seem very practical to buy a piece like a rug without a clear plan on what do with it.

As Heather narrowed down her choices, the manager came back to me once again and dropped the price by another 1,500 dirhams. He said he could drop it even further if I didn’t need shipping, but that wasn’t an option for me. No way I was going to lug an 8’x10’ Moroccan rug all around the continent of Africa for a month.

Finally, the fun of the moment got the best of me. We really were having a blast and I wanted to be able to look at my rug and remember our fun shopping trip. Plus, everyone else was getting something. I couldn’t be left out! I told the manager I’d take the rug. He shook my hand, wished me a happy life and led me into the office to make my payment and provide my shipping address. 

It was now after 2pm and we had worked up an appetite. Ali told us he’d bring us to a terrasse where we could eat a traditional lunch, and promised us that it was better than other well-known restaurants like Terrasse d’Epices. In the back of my mind, I figured that he probably had an arrangement with the place and would be treated to a free meal in exchange for our business, but the terrasse was super cute and the food was very good so it worked for me.

We headed back to the riad to rest and digest lunch before our food tour that evening.

Street Food Tour

I wasn’t sure what to expect from the food tour that I had booked. I’ve become a fan of these types of walking tours ever since my friend Vicki suggested that we try one in Amsterdam, but I had a hard time finding options in Marrakech. The price also seemed to be a bit high now that I had a better idea of the cost of a meal in Marrakech. Also, I figured that the tour wouldn’t include any alcohol, since many of the restaurants in the medina are dry. Of course we didn’t need to drink, but a food tour with booze is always more fun than one without.

We rushed through the Medina (I inevitably made a wrong turn and we had to backtrack once) back to Jemaa el Fna square, where we again avoided the snake charmers. Only a few minutes late, we met our guide and our tour mates, a mother-daughter duo from Vienna. Mohammed, our guide, wore glasses with rims the size of Coke bottles. I commented to Heather that he reminded me of the Eugene Levy father character in American Pie (but Muslim).

All in all, I don’t regret booking the food tour, but I’ll be honest: it was one of my least favorite things that we did in Morocco. We got to eat a lot of different food and visit a lot of different places that we wouldn’t have tried on our own. However, it did seem pricey for what we got, and I don’t feel like we really learned that much about Moroccan food and culture compared to food tours I’ve done in other cities. And of course, it would have been more fun with booze. Our final stop was for smoothies, but we had had enough sugar at that point. We decided to take them home to save as mixers for when we finally acquired a bottle of vodka to replace the soldier that had fallen in the airport. And then we headed back to the riad to drink some wine and play music with the Sonos sound system.

Lazy, Rainy Day Three

Rain was in the forecast for our third full day. Boo. We optimized our rainy day by planning our outdoor activities for the morning (before the rain was supposed to begin) and booking massages at our riad for the afternoon. The four of us have a good amount in common, but one thing that is a must: massages during our trips. When we went to Thailand last year, the massages were so cheap, we each had at least one every day that our schedule permitted (one day Heather had three). When we saw in-room massages listed as an option on the activity list in Morocco, we knew it had to happen. Then Heather upped the ante by asking if we could each do a 90 minute massage. There’s a reason she’s my friend.

After a relaxed breakfast on the ground floor dining room, we headed next door to check out the main riad and see if they had umbrellas that we could borrow. I was very curious to see Riad Yasmine after seeing pictures online, and after seeing how beautifully decorated Le Petit Yasmine was in person. The main riad had to be equally stunning, at least. 

Next, Niran wanted to feed her shopping/haggling addiction, so we headed back to the souks. I had cut myself off after my bonanza the previous day and I didn’t want to even attempt to window shop knowing how aggressive the salespeople were. The other girls were feeling the same way, and Niran could sense our lack of interest, so the shopping trip was short-lived. 

Instead, we decided to check out Le Jardin Secret (“The Secret Garden”). We kept passing by the garden/museum and were curious to see the place that coined itself “one of the largest and most ancient roads of the medina of Marrakech.” Well, the place is actually made up of two gardens (one exotic and one Islamic garden). There is also a tower that you can enter with a separate ticket; it boasts great views of the medina and the Atlas Mountains, but we opted to pass since the weather was so iffy. We wandered the gardens and looked at the exhibits; my favorite part was actually the small pond that was home to a bunch of turtles. I could have watched those little guys forever.

Niran really wanted to get her shopping on, and Tina decided she would accompany her, so Heather and I were free to head back to the riad and do what we really wanted to do: chillax. I am always torn about making time to relax when I travel; on one hand I want to see and do as much as possible, but on the other hand I don’t want to pack so much in that I can’t truly enjoy myself. With my new, crazier-than-ever travel schedule, I was beginning to realize that I would go crazy if I didn’t give myself time to breathe. I had been reading the same book for a month, I was extremely behind on this blog and I still had a bunch more travel planning to do. I know I will get zero sympathy when I say this, but traveling full-time can actually be pretty stressful!

So I got some time to read and write at our riad, and then Heather and I took the first shift of massages at 3pm. By the time we were done, Niran and Tina were back with their purchases… and they had made it to the liquor store! I could shower and pour myself a post-massage glass of wine to continue the relaxing theme of the day.

We eventually needed to motivate since I had made us 8pm dinner reservations at Le Morocain, the Moroccan restaurant at La Mamounia. I had originally considered staying at La Mamounia for a couple days, but we ultimately decided to stay in one place and I’m so happy that we did. However, I knew we needed to see La Mamounia.

We made a mistake in the taxi back to the riad. At this point, we knew that we needed to confirm the price for a taxi with the driver before we left for our destination. 50 dirhams was a reasonable price for a small taxi (up to three people), or 100 dirhams for a large taxi. Well, we experienced highway robbery when our driver dropped us off at Le Petit Yasmine and demanded 250 dirhams. We tried to fight, but he was not having it and we quickly realized our mistake. In the grand scheme of things, it was only a few dollars per person, but of course it was the principle of the matter that bothered us. Lesson learned!

Final Day

For our last full day in Marrakech, we had saved some of our most highly anticipated activities: the Majorelle Gardens and the Yves Saint Laurent museum, located right next to each other. I will admit that the day started with a lazy morning after our big night out at La Mamounia, but after some coffee and scrumptious avocado toast, we were ready. Fadwa called us two small taxis which we made sure to confirm pricing for before departing, and we were off.

Majorelle Gardens

The entrance to the Majorelle Gardens greeted us with a long line for tickets. Wonderful. Definitely should have booked that in advance. Heather recalled that her friend had sent a tip for getting into both the Gardens and the YSL museum more quickly. If we planned to go to both (yes, we did), we could go to the entrance of the YSL museum and buy tickets for both attractions. Cool, where was the YSL museum? Looking at Google, we were faced with the disappointing fact that the YSL museum was closed on Wednesdays. Nooooo. Seriously, with all the planning I had done for this trip, how had I overlooked that fact?

Well, my punishment was waiting in line for the next 45 minutes. I decided that I actually did need some more retail therapy and convinced Niran to check out some of the shops up the street (not a difficult feat). I found some very cute, very reasonably priced clutches (in my opinion, at least) at 33 Rue Majorelle and decided to buy two. Tina and Heather had moved up in line by the time we returned, but we still had a bit to go before we could buy tickets and enter the gardens. So we entertained ourselves by making up stories about the strangers around us (okay, Heather made up the stories; the rest of us just egged her on). I never knew what a, um, creative mind Heather had.

Finally, we made our way to the front of the line and we could enter the gardens. They were gorgeous, and worth the wait, but I would definitely recommend getting tickets in advance so you can skip the line. And also don’t go on a Wednesday since both the YSL museum AND the Berber museum are closed on Wednesday. So much for our attempt at history and culture.

After the gardens, we decided to head back to our riad to relax before our last dinner out. But wait, then our chatty taxi driver started to talk about the Jewish quarter and the Bahia Palace. So, we decided to alter our course and head toward the palace. For some reason our driver did not drop us off right in front of the palace (this definitely wasn’t Japan), so we walked about ten minutes to the entrance where we were greeted by a guard that informed us that the palace was closed for the day (it was almost 5pm), but would re-open at 9am tomorrow. Oh man, we were really striking out today.

Heather had heard about a historic synagogue nearby. The guard overheard us and started to provide directions, but then offered to just show us to the entrance himself. “Okay!” Heather said. We had been down this road before… Tina was not pleased, and I agreed that we probably should just try to find the synagogue on our own. “It’s fine!” Heather assured us. Notice a pattern here?

A stand-off ensued, which resulted in Heather and Niran following the guard down a dark alleyway while Tina and I stood outside and waited for them. I did agree with Heather that it should be fine; we were watching other people enter and exit the alleyway, and I didn’t think that the situation presented any danger. However, the guard inevitably asked for money as he dropped the girls off at the synagogue (they pretended that they didn’t have any money despite his protests).

Meanwhile, Tina and I were the ones that probably experienced more discomfort waiting on the street. As women traveling on our own, we had experienced catcalls and unwanted attention throughout the trip. I had heard that this was to be expected and was fine just ignoring the comments and stares most of the time. There were moments where I had to stifle a laugh because the comments were so outlandish and clearly just meant to get a reaction (for example, “Are you looking for a husband?”)  I honestly never felt unsafe, and I also didn’t feel like the Morrocan men meant to offend most of the time. However, Tina was bearing the brunt of the attention, and she was sick of it. “China” and “Konichiwa” were two frequent comments that she received (she didn’t bother to educate anyone that she was actually an American of Chinese-Vietnamese descent). 

Heather and Niran returned safely about 15 minutes later (they said it was cool) and we unanimously agreed to go back to the riad for real now so we could leisurely get ready for dinner.

Dinner was at a French-influenced restaurant/cocktail bar I had found called Barometre. Located outside the medina, the restaurant and bar were two separate rooms in a basement. The place had a cool, stylish vibe, and I was excited to try some good cocktails in (mostly) dry Morocco.

Well, my cocktail (a twist on an Old Fashioned) ended up being too sweet for my taste, so I opted to switch to wine after my first drink. Then I decided to channel high maintenance Niran 😉 and tasted three different wines before I settled on one (in my defense, all three wines were served by the glass, so it wasn’t like they were offering brand new bottles each time). We ordered some food to share, and it was decent but not spectacular. The burrata wasn’t as creamy or mild as I was used to, but the seafood risotto was quite good.

After dinner we found a taxi driver outside the restaurant, but he was in a small taxi that could legally only take three passengers. However, he offered to take all of us if one person hid (obviously that would be Tina). This driver ended up being our favorite of the entire trip; he spoke a little English and told us about his family. I was expecting that he would be pushy like other Moroccans that we met, asking for a tip since he agreed to take an extra person. However, he didn’t ask for anything, which of course made us want to tip him even more generously. Sometimes nice guys do win.

Last Morning in Marrakech

At this point we were in full-on vacation mode, and our driver to Essaouira wasn’t arriving until noon, so we planned to have a lazy last morning in our beautiful riad. It was another beautiful day, so we enjoyed a final breakfast on the roof and gathered all of our stuff. Fadwa helped to load up the van and gave us each a big farewell hug. “It was a pleasure to look after such beautiful ladies,” she told us. I was really going to miss being addressed as a lady all the time (Rather than call us by our names, Leila just called us each “Lady” as if we all had the same first name. I didn’t mind at all.) We wished Fadwa well one last time and boarded our chariot for Essaouira. Marrakech had been a wild and stimulating ride, but I was excited for a more laidback city… and the beach!