For the final leg of our journey, we were passed off to another young man. The Closer? He whisked both of us even further north of the Square to, as could be predicted, a leather goods shop. I was genuinely in the market for a new wallet, even more so after having had first-hand experience of the mystifying process of making Moroccan leather. Unfortunately, I steered clear of garish colors and made it kindly (though foolishly) known to the shop’s proprietor. Unlike Ali Baba, we were unable to elude the den of thieves. As we stepped out of the shop to head back to familiar territory, we were surrounded by the young man and a number of his co-conspirators, demanding a sizable donation for their fruitless “tour” services.
I was infuriated beyond belief. Like an enraged headless chicken, I drug poor Bob from one dead end alleyway of the Medina to another, literally growling at the young children who were generously pointing in the direction of the Square and shouting “Jemaa! Jemaa! Jemaa!”.
TRAVEL TIP: Should a visitor become lost in the souks of Marrakesh, ask the elderly shopkeepers for directions. They are less motivated to provide incorrect information. It is no easy feat to pack up shop and disappear.
Everyone was in on our humiliation! From the little brats to the wrinkly old farts, even the donkeys seem to be snickering. These dirty desert people and their wicked ways! Why did I fall for Morocco? How could I exact my revenge? They must feel my wrath!
Bob thought this all comical and part of our adventure. Thankfully, he was able to calm me down before any real damage was done, reminding me that the bandits got away with the measly equivalent of twenty US dollars. Don’t we routinely get robbed of that amount at McDonalds?
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