We wanted to get a head start on the day, and make sure that we could find our hotel in Marakech before sundown, so the alarm clock woke up promptly at 7am. Barry discovered that you could get up on the roof, so we went up and took some pictures of the city before going downstairs for the included continental breakfast. The Hotel Ibis clearly caters to western clientele, since they had cold milk and cereal as part of the breakfast.

After breakfast we packed our bags up again, while Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles played on the TV, dubbed in French.

With some shakey directions, we walked out to the road to hail a Petit Taxi. It seemed like they were all going the wrong direction, but eventually one turned around and came back for us. It was a 15 minute ride on the freeway, back to the Casa Voyageur train station. The meter read 55 dirhams (8 dollars); when I handed him a 100 dhm note he tried to keep the whole thing, making noises that our backpacks were reason enough for a 100% tip. "Vint", I demanded, and he reluctantly gave me back 20 dirhams.

Walking into the train station at ten to nine on a Saturday, the place was hopping, although the teleboutique was closed. I really wanted to get a Moroccan SIM chip for my cell phone, so that we could make local calls. The stand wouldn't open until 10, so we would just have to wait until we got to Marakech.

At the ticket counter we discovered that the 9am train was just about to leave. Clare bought tickets (84 dirhams each, or about $10), and we ran for the train, catching it with a minute to spare.

The train was packed and most cars were standing room only. We camped out in the space at the end of the car until we got out of the city, and then Barry went on a scouting mission for extra space. He came back with a report of success, down at the very end of the train. We hoisted our bags, and hustled down the very hot train, past legion people loitering and smoking in the narrow aisle. Eventually we reached our goal, an "air conditioned" cabin with only two boys sitting. We dropped our bags and set in for the three hour trip.

The train was hot, even though it was only 80 degrees or so outside. Eventually we set up a rotation of one person to sit and watch our bags while the other two stood by the door and aisle windows to get fresh air.

Leaving Casablanca, we couldn't help but notice the trash that littered the open spaces. Even out in the middle of the country, there was trash all along the tracks. In the towns, every vacant space was covered with litter.

The narrow windows on the train only gave an anemic airflow, so we would open the train door; every ten minutes or so the conductor would come by and close it. Clare's theory was that they just enjoyed sweltering in humid air.

The trains appeared to be about 10 years past their prime; it's quite disconcerting when you're peeing into a toilet that's full almost to the brim with human products. Knowing that at any moment an errant tie could cause a wave of offal to come riding onto your boots. Thank heavens I didn't have to sit down.

Only a day in, and already the French I've learned has helped a lot. In the month or so leading up to the trip, I had managed to work most of the way through a 30-lesson series of audio lessons. I wish I'd had the time to learn more, but knowing the counting system and some of the basic language constructs helped greatly.

As the train rolled on, we passed by lots of uncultivated farmland, punctuated with the occasional dwelling. Most were simple mud structures, with an exposed courtyard surrounding a small covered structures.

The earth is dry and rocky, with brown soil in most parts, and a deep red earth in some. Except for the architecture and the trash, it could just was well be the high Nevada desert, or eastern Washington.

We arrived in Marakech about three hours after we left; being in the back of the train, we were the last to step into the station, and the mass of people had turned it into a zoo. I hustled outside, and saw a teleboutique on the corner, so I went over and purchased a SIM, paying 50 dirhams for the chip and adding another 20 dirhams worth of airtime. $10 later I had a working phone, and the experience was surprisingly painless.

We called the hotel, and they sent a taxi to pick us up. The Mercedes sedan that arrived was beat up, but pretty roomy. As in Casablanca, traffic was nuts. Scooters, people, and donkey carts were everywhere.

Waiting at intersections for traffic lights, people would honk as soon as the light turned green. It took me a little while, but I eventually realized that this wasn't rudeness. In Morocco, the signal is on the near side of the intersection, so you can't actually see it if you're waiting at the line. The honking provides information the driver wouldn't otherwise have.

If traffic was nuts in the city, it turned into a madhouse once we entered the walled Medina. Twice as many people, twice as many scooters, all sharing a narrow 10 foot wide roadway with traffic going both directions. Here the horn was used often, and not informationally.

We wound through a couple miles of this, until the driver stopped the car and had us get out. You see, our hotel (riad, actually) isn't easy to get to. In fact, they provide a 10 page PDF file of instructions on how to get there. It starts off with "have the taxi drop you off by this landmark", and includes turn by turn pictures on where to go. We were on foot from here, with a porter to help us with our backpacks.

We wandered through the medina, on narrow paths between old decrepit buildings, eventually turning and stopping in front of a rather ornate door. Much like the home we visited in Casablanca, a run-down exterior disguised a wonderfully light and airy interior. An open-air courtyard, with many plants, was ringed by the three or four guest rooms.

Amina, the concierge of sorts, served us mint tea and cookies, and then checked us in. She pulled out a tourist grade map, pointed out some good destinations in the medina
and gave us a recommendation for dinner. We told her about our plans to go to Todra Gorge the next morning, and asked her if she'd help us find a taxi to get there.

As we headed out for a half-day of sight seeing in the Medina, Amina called around, looking for someone who would be willing to do the many hour drive on short notice.

On foot, without our heavy backpacks, the medina was a bit more tractable. However, direction finding was nigh-impossible. The map didn't have any street names and, even if it did, most of the intersections were unmarked. Further, with the high walls and narrow streets, GPS was pretty unreliable.

Fortunately, the taxi drop off point was open enough that I could mark it on my GPS, and we set off search of some mosques and palaces.

The first notable building we arrived at was the Koutoubia Mosque. However, lacking any signage we didn't actually know this, instead options to do the tourist "take pictures first, learn later." We walked around the mosque and then turned south, winding up in the Kasbah, near the Dar el Badi mosque.

We stopped at a stall and loaded up on scarves for friends and family; they were all nice patterns and, at 30 dirhams ($4), priced reasonably. Amina had told us before we left that 30 dirhams would be a good price, so we were armed with information.

As we stood and took pictures of the Dar el Badi mosque, I noticed a cage of small turtles outside a shop. I asked what kind of turtles they were, and the owner said "They're not turtles, they're mutant ninja turtles!" Amused, we ventured into the shop, which sold spices and essences. Barry got a couple of chunks of frankincense, Clare got some Argan oil for mom, and I picked up a small amount of a 7 spice mix.

We walked along, trying to find our way into a palace garden, which was surrounded by 30 foot walls, eventually getting lost in the Kasbah, a mostly residential maze of narrow walkways with constant scooter traffic.

A young 6 or 7 year old boy tried to "help" us, but he really just walked us in circles until we gave him a dirham, at which point he point us back the way were originally going, and ran off to get some candy.

A second, older boy approached use mere minutes later, and led us on a route that wound up at his brother's shop. We looked inside, saw the same things that were at the previous herb shop, and left. As we walked away, the boy protested and asked for a "tip", but we refused and kept walking, heading back towards the minaret of the mosque. Sure, if he had genuinely helped us, I would have given him some money, but all he did was try to sell us stuff.

We crossed a busy street, walked by a park, and then the walls opened up into a huge open square, packed with people, the Place Jemma el Fna. What people think of when they hear Morocco, there were food stalls, vendors and performers. Most of the performances seemed to cater to the locals, so we passed on by. We got some fresh orange juice from a stand (our eventual downfall), and then headed off in search of the restaurant we had been recommended.

The souk, an area with lots of shops, was packed to the rafters with merchants, people, and the smoke belching scooters. I managed to find a shop with men's underwear; I was so excited that I forgot to haggle on the price, paying 40 dirhams ($5) a pair for basic cotton briefs. Barry found a t-shirt he liked, and I managed to talk them down from 150 dirhams (~$20) to 80 dirhams, although the bastard only gave me 10 dirhams change for my 100 note.

Around the next corner we found the restaurant Chegroui, which Amina had recommended. We were pretty hungry, so we hiked up three stories and found a nice seat on the edge of the balcony overlooking the square.

We all got tagines, dishes baked in dome-shaped clay pots. I got the kefta, a dish of ground beef an eggs, Clare got a chicken dish with onions and limes, and Barry got the vegetarian option. Barry was disappointed to discover that most of the restaurants don't serve beer, what with the country being predominantly Muslim. We had a great view of the square, with the setting sun turning the peaks and minarets into silhouettes.

We ate next to a group of men who were traveling together, who hailed from the UK, Australia and India. They had just come from the Todra Gorge area, so we talked about climbing a bit, and then shifted to US politics. Everyone seems concerned about the election, hoping that Obama wins. We'll see.

After dinner we were pretty tired, so we decided to call it a night, and headed back to the hotel. It was getting dark, and the still air made the scooter smoke linger in the air. The walk was long, but we found our way back to the hotel in the dark with no problems.

When we got back to the hotel, Amina gave us our options for getting to Todra: We could take a grande taxi with a driver who didn't speak English for 1700 dirhams (~$210), or we could have an English speaking driver with a 4x4 who would gladly stop and let us take pictures, for 2500 dirhams (about $100 more). We opted for the latter, and then retired to our rooms, packing our bags for the early pick up.

My journal contains a scrawled note in the sidebar, just before the end of the day: "I found the A/C, yay!" It was warm and muggy, and even after taking a shower you still felt sticky. Figuring out how to turn the cold air on was definitely a happy moment.