Marrakech - Part One

I was going to blog from Marrakech but the internet connection at the riad was being tempermental so I had to leave it. Instead I scribbled down notes to help keep things fresh in my mind, to help me remember the details when I found the opportunity to blog again.

As soon as I stepped out of the plane, standing at the top of the stairs, I smelt the air. Whenever I arrive in a new place by plane, I always like to get out of the plane and feel the air on my face, see what temperature it is, what it smells like, if it reminds me of anything. It's always great going somewhere hot as you feel the rise in temperature, the heat and humidity as soon as you step out.

When you arrive in Marrakech, you have to fill in an immigration form. I'm not sure why they don't give you this on the plane, as so many other nations do. It was only when you went into the airport terminal that you found the forms that needed to be filled in. Once filled in, you had to turn back on yourself and get in line to see one of the immigration officials. When it was my turn, they asked me a strange question "What is your country of origin?" - they asked me this when I was leaving too. What is this meant to mean? The country I was born in? The country my parents were born in? The country they went to as refugees after the partition of India? I answered Pakistan but I'm not sure that's the correct answer but they didn't seem too bothered by my answer and I could leave and go to collect my luggage.

Waiting at the baggage carousel, there was that rising sense of panic when it became obvious that all the luggage had been emptied onto the belt but my suitcase wasn't there. I watched the suitcases of various shapes and sizes pass before me but no glimpse of my own. As I waited there, mentally going through the process of reporting my suitcase lost, I looked over to the right and there I saw lying on the ground, my suitcase. I don't know if it had tumbled off the carousel or if someone had picked it off thinking it there's but I did wonder why the people surrounding my suitcase hadn't put it back onto the carousel. Anyway, I collected my case and stepped into the main airport to meet the driver who would take me to the riad. In the airport, if you look up to the ceiling, it looks like some Daliesque melting candles but the effect is pleasing, in a spaceship kind of way - it reminded me of the airport in Osaka.

As we left the airport and headed for the riad, straightaway you noticed the increase in 2 and 3 wheel vehicles, weaving their way thorough the traffic. You'd see complete families perched on a scooter, putt-putting along. As I peered into vehicles going past, I noticed a lot of sheep enjoying their last day on the planet. As we sped along, it dawned on me that Marrakech reminded me of Karachi but instead of toffee-colour buildings, they were generally salmon pink. And of course the Atlas Mountains in the distance which you don't have in Karachi. The driver chatted away in French and I felt glad that I'm multi-lingual and could understand what he was saying and engage in conversation. Without speaking French, I would have been lost.