Marrakech: a father-son adventure

by sean cuttle (Ireland)

A leap into the unknown Morocco

My parents split up when I was very young. So young in fact, that I have no memory of them being together. My dad was always in my life, but we’ve never lived together. So when he came to me with some hair-brained scheme to go on a father-son adventure in Morocco, I was apprehensive. Especially since this was a man who hadn't renewed his passport since I was two-years-old. Before I knew what was happening, tickets were being bought and time off work arranged. Little did we know what we had gotten ourselves into. Our flight landed in Marrakech airport in the early afternoon. The first thing that hit us was the heat. It was like someone was blowing a hairdryer turned up to its highest setting at your face. We were sweating before we made it into the terminal. The journey from the airport to accommodation was traumatic, to say the least. After having a Moroccan taxi driver fleece us 200 Moroccan dirhams (an exorbitant rate as our Riad manager later told us), and having been dumped on a street corner in the medina (the old city of Marrakesh) with little more than a hand gesture towards an alleyway, father-son communication had been reduced to dirty stares and sarcastic comments. By the time we had reached our Riad (boutique hotel), we were terrified. I remember lying on the bed, sick with the thought of having to leave the safe confines of our hotel room, and venture out into the unknown. People always talk about culture shock, but this was the first time I had actually experienced it. It felt like everyone in the entire country was out to get us (which of course was entirely untrue). We sat in our room for a few hours until we finally summoned up the courage to venture out. To our immense surprise, although I'm sure it was obvious to anybody reading this, we were not robbed or attacked as we explored the Jemma El Fna, the main square in Marrakesh, and the surrounding souks. Over the next week, we immersed ourselves in Moroccan culture. We ate traditional Tajines: a searing hot, cone-shaped dish, filled with chicken and vegetables in a lemon sauce. We stepped into the magical Souks, or covered markets, to haggle with local traders and discover the array of spices, fine clothes, and craftsmanship on offer (and the high-street imitations too). We took a trip into the Atlas mountains which can be seen on the horizon, a personal highlight of the trip for me My time in Morocco taught me a lot of things. I’ve learned that to cross the road here as a pedestrian, you just walk. The scooters and motorbikes will go around you. I’ve learned that a little French goes a long way when it’s accompanied with frantic hand gestures. I’ve even learned to appreciate the air conditioning in my Riad. But, by far the most important lesson I learned while here in Morocco was how lucky I am. Marrakech exposed me to a level of poverty that isn’t present in Ireland, certainly not to the same magnitude. Absolute poverty. Homeless children walk the streets selling packets of kleenex tissues for €0.10 a packet to try and survive. Most make enough to afford a house, a scooter or car and put food on the table for their family. The thing that amazed me most was the resilience of the people. Despite not getting dealt the best hand in life, they work hard, they’re friendly, and there’s a palpable feeling of contentment walking through the streets and lanes of the old city. They get on with what they have and find enjoyment wherever that can. I would be miserable in comparison. It was only when we were sitting in the airport waiting for our flight home, that it dawned on us. This was the longest amount of time we’d ever spent together. Most importantly, what started as a voyage outside our comfort zone, turned into a bonding adventure that we’ll both never forget.