An Unplanned Trip to Marrakech

(part II of III. You can read part I here.)

Journey to Marrakech

The views from the highway were breathtaking. Sloping green hills passed by in a blur. Small ancient towns built entirely out of large, crumbling stones surfaced intermittently. I felt extremely grateful again to be in this situation. 

Farid and I took turns napping and keeping Pierre company. As he drove, Pierre set about calling different connections to arrange accommodation for us in Marrakech. I grew more excited about our trip. I had always wanted to go to Marrakech, and had not expected to on this trip.

When we arrived in the city two and a half hours later, we were greeted with the hustle and bustle of motorbikes and cars honking from every direction. While Casablanca had been filled with white buildings, Marrakech was a sea of red. I drank everything in hungrily from the car window. 

Exploring Marrakech

We finally arrived at the apartment Pierre had booked for us. It was a very nice and spacious three bedroom apartment with several outdoor balconies. My heart leapt again. We had made it!

After we had set down our things, we left to explore. I was thankful that we had Pierre with us. As a local, he was able to navigate us both directionally and culturally. It felt like having a private tour guide. We walked through the famous Jemaa el-Fnaa market and garden across the street while the sun beat down on us. Although we were tired (having only gotten three hours of sleep the night before), we were all excited about seeing the city. Also, since Marrakech was a major party city in the Middle East, we were in for another long night. 

Pierre took us to Comptoir Darna, an extremely popular and stylish Moroccan restaurant, for dinner later that night. Although we had to wait for forty minutes, the meal was worth it. We split a couple of appetizers and each ordered our own individual tagines. I grew more comfortable with the two of them as I got to know each of them better. After dinner, we sat in the cute garden area outside filled with colorful poufs and lanterns, and set about ordering dessert. Pierre started telling me about his past. He had grown up in France and lived there his whole life. He had a good job and had been married to his wife for five years, until one day he came home from work, and found his wife in their bed with another man. 

Outraged, he got into a fight with the man and the cops were called. He and his wife got divorced. A month later his dad died. He entered a mid-life crisis as he began to re-evaluate his life. He realized that although on the outside he had had a wife and a good job and a house, he hadn’t been happy. He traveled for a bit and worked abroad, (which is how he met Farid), before finally ending up in Casablanca. He decided to go back to his Moroccan roots, which is something he had always wanted to do.

He had been there for two years and was very happy. He confided that although at times he felt freaked out about the fact that he was 41 and didn’t have kids, he’s calmed by something one of his friends told him - there’s no difference if you have kids at 45 vs. 41. As long as you’re doing what makes you happy, things will all work out in the long run. 

His story was incredibly inspiring. I was quiet, processing everything he had told me. But it made me respect him more. He was such a fun and loving person, and had so many great friends and life. There’s more to life than getting married, climbing up the corporate ladder, buying a house, and having kids. Pure happiness trumps everything. And that’s ultimately what I want for myself. 

Marrakech Nightlife

After dinner we headed to Theatro Marrakech, a popular club located in a casino. It was only 11 pm at that point, and the club was pretty vacant. (The nightlife there doesn’t get started until around 2 am on most nights). Pockets of groups sat at tables or clustered around couches talking and drinking while techno music blared from the speakers on the stage.

We got drinks and hung out as the club slowly got more crowded. Farid and I commiserated to each other about dating in New York and the dating app life. As more people began trickling in, the music got louder, and we started dancing. While it was very fun, I was ready to go home to go to bed. These past two days had been extremely tiring, and I was glad to have experienced a part of the nightlife in Marrakech. But Pierre would have none of it. He wanted to stay and party.

We ended up befriending a very nice Lebanese-French and Belgian couple on the dance floor, and started dancing with them. The girl ended up befriending two French guys and brought them over to us. I strained to remember my college French as I talked to one of them. He didn’t know any English, so that was our only method of communication. 

He was 27, and worked at a patisserie in Lyon. He was road tripping with his friend. They had been driving around and staying in a campion (that I took to mean an RV). We talked and danced more, and things eventually escalated.

Logistically, it made more sense for him to come back to the three bedroom apartment with me. However, Pierre would have none of it. He refused to have him come with us. I protested, but Pierre was adamant. I didn’t want to overstep as Pierre was the one who had driven us to Marrakech and booked our apartment, but I was upset and frustrated. I pleaded with Farid who tried to talk him out of it, with no success. Farid also cautioned me in a brotherly way that while I was an adult and could make my own decisions, I should be careful because I had just met that guy. I nodded, uncertain of what to do next.

I thought about going back to the apartment with Pierre and Farid. But to continue along with the yolo trend of this trip, I threw rationality and caution out the window. I told the guy I would go back home with him even though I worried about how I was going to get back to the apartment the next day. My phone was at 20% battery and I didn’t have service. I also didn’t have the address of the place I was staying at. 

The guy went over to the bar where his friend was. After much back-and-forth he got a paper and pen and wrote down the address of where he and his friend were staying so that the friend could find the place again the next morning. I guess they didn’t have phones either (which was the first bad sign I ignored about the situation). We all finally parted ways - me with the French pastry chef, Pierre and Farid, and the French guy’s friend. Please text me the address once you’re home and keep your phone on tomorrow morning, I pleaded to Pierre and Farid. They nodded.

An Unexpected Detour

I got into a cab with the French pastry chef. I couldn’t believe what was happening. A few minutes later he turned to me and asked, “Do you have a condom?” I shook my head. He turned to the cab driver and mumbled a few words in French. The cab driver turned the car around suddenly and drove us to a small convenience store that was miraculously still open. The French guy jumped out, mumbling that he would be back soon. I laughed to myself. Thank god this guy was at least responsible and thought ahead. That was a good sign.

He got back in and we drove off. A few minutes later, I found myself on the side of a road by an expansive gravel parking lot in the middle of nowhere. I started panicking a little as the cab pulled away. I scanned the parking lot nervously. There were no RVs in sight. There were empty coach buses, a few parked cars, and two white vans. My stomach lurched. “Campion” meant van, not RV. Well great, now I’m stuck here, I thought to myself.

He led me down the parking lot toward one of the white vans. In my mind a tangled mess of horror stories involving strange men and vans clamored for my attention. He fumbled with his keys, unlocked the van doors, and pulled open the front door. A tiny whimpering Jack Russell terrier poked his head out. I immediately perked up. He hadn’t mentioned a dog before. “Il est très mignon!” I exclaimed. He laughed, agreeing with me. He let the dog out and then put him back in the front of the van. Then he opened the back of the van for us to get in. 

I climbed in apprehensively. He and his friend had pushed down the seats so the back was flat, and they had a large sleeping pad in the space. There were two sleeping beds on top of it. They had cups and various utensils strewn around the edges of the mattress. It was definitely not where I pictured myself spending the night, but it was cozy enough. I thought longingly of my nice bed at the apartment Pierre had rented for us, and felt a pang of regret. I also realized I needed to pee. 

He got me paper towels and a cup of water. I took a long sip. Then I clambered back out of the van with a paper towel, and squatted behind the van to relieve myself. I stared out at the field of grass in front of me and the stars in the dark night sky above me. How had I ended up in this situation? Going to Marrakech with two guys I met on a train was one thing, but this was something else. Also, of all the guys I could have met, of course I found one with no WiFi, no phone charger, no phone, and no bathroom. Well, at least it would make for a good story to tell later, I thought to myself.

We started making out again once I got back into the van. I began to let my guard down a little. Although the language barrier made communication difficult, I could tell he was an extremely nice and respectful guy.

Afterwards, I curled up next to him, feeling a lot more comfortable with him and the situation. While I had originally thought about trying to leave afterward, it was now 5:30 am and I wasn’t sure if the guys were still awake to be able to let me in. I burrowed in the sleeping bag next to him and tried to get some sleep, but my anxiety about how I was going to get back to the apartment kept me awake.

Unlike his promise, Pierre had not texted me the address of where we were staying, so I had still had no idea where they were. I was now at 13% battery, and it was cold in the van. I kept my phone close to my body to keep it warm. I also set an alarm for 8:30 am.

I finally fell asleep at the crack of dawn and slept fitfully. I awoke with a start to my alarm. I tried calling Pierre. He didn’t pick up. Frustrated, I texted him and went back to bed, but not before setting another alarm at 9 am. This continued on for sometime until at around 9:45 am, with still no response, I started debating my options. We weren’t that far from the club from last night that was in a hotel. I could walk there, charge my phone and connect to WiFi, and then get a cab. Or I could get a cab from the van, and then throw a rock at their window to try and wake them up to let me in once I had arrived at the apartment. I quickly vetoed that idea. 

Pierre finally called me back around 10:30 am. I was down to 11% battery. I sprang up and quickly got dressed. The French pastry chef walked me to the side of the road where I hailed a cab. “I had a great time with you, and it was so nice meeting you. Maybe we’ll meet again” he said to me in French. Then he kissed me, and I got into the cab, with Pierre on the phone to direct the driver to the apartment. I smiled out the window as we pulled away. I didn’t even know what his name was. 

I was immensely relieved when I finally got back to the apartment. Pierre greeted me outside. Farid hugged me as soon as I walked in. “You’re alive” he said happily. I smiled. I couldn’t believe how at home I felt with these two men that I had just met two days ago. I also couldn’t believe what had transpired over the past 48 hours. 

to be continued…