(If called Marrakech II ... is that there was a Marrakech I , if not read, just that.)
Taxi! TAaaaaaxii! Shouting
taxi in a Moroccan street becomes the same as shouting "I'm an idiot and I have money." And again that is scream "take my money .... I am an idiot." Luckily I quickly realized this (I'm an idiot) and kickback that however bad it may sound this word, it remains to be the noble act of knowing rectify. I kickback, you Reculas, they ... well, that. Traveler
time, next stop, Place Djemaa El Fna.
Take
seven seconds to get my crappy side but, being a man and not a tarnished with an old bag. It be fucking crappy
. Well, not quite. Vale, a crappy undecided. That. approached me a man, a Moroccan man with a mustache and a Moroccan Moroccan accent, look at me and says:
- "bullet jam jam jamb the taxi?" (And go with the ham)
A
what I say - "oui." But a tough-guy oui. Add "per quant" (which is because in the famous French Toledo.
I have read many stories about bargaining.'s A fucking art form of them is their nature. They are the best in the world, they invented the ancient trade, and anyone like them to negotiate. Enjoy!
of a lifetime of Allah (ala's life), an Arab wants to sell at a high price and he knows that you are asking more than they should, but lying is a serious act in the eyes of Ala, so you can not afford, so easily, the lie. They want you to give them another price once you do, the trader fails to lie to simply negotiate .... That you be a fool in the eyes of Allah, it means nothing. Allah punishes the liars, not idiots or smart. And ready, very ready. The theory is easy.
200 says Mohamed slippers, slippers 100 tell you, slippers 160 says Mohammed, say your slippers 150 in six seconds ... and you just sold mohamed slippers that cost 20 Dirham, for 150, which is the price you have offered him by As awareness of Mohammed, is in complete peace.
Many years of slippers.
But, oh friends! Have gone to me, dude among dudes, old dog, most dog of dogs. Tanning in a thousand battles, do not I'll put it all easy, you'll sweat to get my money excasos. I come for my silence and nobody will stop me. I have a lot of streets, many evening, comrades. Do not play with me ... you do not know losing.
There I was, my old black hat, my old ripped jeans and my hair lost before man driver and quieter than Steve McQueen, I ask:
- "You as a taxi?" (You have a taxi?, I say, right?)
"Oui, oui, 40 Dirhams cite au center? (Me says Mr between means of many, many words in Moroccan those pretty fast.)
to my old tricks with you speak too fast to get nervous. For a moment think that this man is believed to tie the dog with sausages. And lánzole the famous Red Buttler look as with the wind, asking: "Combien il
coute taxi? (My French is not enough for more)
-40 Dirham (she says as she puts face "it seems that it's hot" or "I have all day to tell 40 DHMS, friend").
-Tres bien (very good) I say.
Tres bien!
And I ride in the taxi
But haggling is this shit? "Tres bien?"
Why the hell have I told you three okay?
Where is the legendary "I hear 25?" .... or "talking to me" Robert De Niro?. But I told him not "make my day" (Make my day) to Clint Eastwood.?
Bah!
Maybe because they did not stop cars passing me by, honking and dodging, perhaps because people stop talking, go ahead, run, brake, accelerate, perhaps because the driver had a man look noble, or because I was afraid that if I had this 20 Dirhams, the world had stopped and everyone I have pointed the finger, perhaps because four fucking euros is what it costs me in Madrid to tell a taxi driver "looks like rain" ... perhaps whatever. But I accepted. I can fool me but my first haggling MARRAKECHI was a fucking disaster.
Maroc: 1 Jorge: 0. (Own goal)
man was endearing. Fifty years, a photo of their children in the age-old Mercedes taxi, a little music in your car, I guess the area Fari, and tranquility impossible in a crazy city. I love how this guy looks carefully your old car. I guess for him is his life.
I got to understand (read hand), would not go direct to Medina in order to see the palace. Passing through the palace, pointed out, proud, arrogant, and I watch while I did. Bonito. Perhaps
could kidnap me, take me to the Sahara, rob, rape and dismember, maybe ...
And? We
to Medina and before I got off the taxi, without realizing, I had "engaged" in the second bargaining. A viejete offered to accompany me to Riyadh (Hotel). Before that was done many illusions I told him that "merci mais je conais summoned" (thanks but I know the city). So the man decided to leave.
After half an hour walk in a city where everything and nothing is impossible is possible, I gave up. I felt like a mouse loose from an airplane in mid-Atlantic, completely lost.
I read minds. Children in Marrakech, I read your fucking mind. While in my head, creating the idea of \u200b\u200bhow the hell will go my Riad, a boy of that year I was up to me I see my role and I said that I can carry to the Riad. Exhausted from
travel, accept the help of young and want to guess its tip. But in this city of little use to think, he heard it all before. Ali told me his name, so I guess it is called in any way less ... Ali.
Walking with the kid, watch me, see how greets another child, who joins our way to greet little later a third party who does not hesitate to join us. For a moment, I feel like the Pied
Amelia ... The guys are missing, which I suspect at the moment is nothing but an old trick that I think the Riad is really hard to find and eventually lead me to the door in an alley .... end.
giving them a tip, 20 dirhams, the young false-Ali gets angry and tells me that there are three, who wants more.
Let's see,
Alley, three against one, Morocco, Allah, crossing eyes, hand gestures, Allah, 3> 1 ... This was not very good. The search for my silence was lost in an alley where three boys about 15 years ago I spoke at once asking for more money. Bruce Lee well, but ... I? With one I get, maybe two ... but three.
Then I remembered something I never knew, and that was always within me. One of those treasures that we all have inside, completely hidden, hard to find. And then I was going to get to know .... Learning to smile.
We live immersed in a world so false as our smiles. We filled our mouths "I'm glad to see you" "I missed you" or "well that this or that" and do not feel ... it is sad but not sorry. That does not mean we are bad people, no, not at all. We just have a fucking shield against all, what shield? What shield? Fear.
We live with a fear of everything and anything (nothing is after all, do not forget). We live in fear of the abyss of loneliness, failure, shouting or crying of a loved one, live hidden behind a stone called fear. And forget precious treasures as simple as real smile. Come a time in life to smile because if, for that muscle we hide in our jaw feels the need to loosen up, and accompanied by the glow of a glance, are the most sincere smile. Now that's living hell. Smile, nothing really smile. And there I was, surrounded by three young Moroccan, in an alley in Marrakech lost, and recalling a phrase I read in one of those old books "are kind, be kind to them." Forget appearances.
And not without a tight grip on my old haversack, but not neglecting what at any time can be unexpected, smile at the boys, and tell them I will give you no more paste, I understand and do not push.
was not the best of my smiles, but did little good. The kids, of course followed in his insistence, but this time, they knew that "there was nowhere to scratch."
may need that smile, true, to find my friend the silence.
Silence
lives in the smile ... 's smile is not forced, just comes to you. Everything else, they are stories not to sleep.
Like a thriller it were, going in the taxi, I realized that all the bikes, and many, had the mirror tucked inside. For a moment my idiot side, which is much hand, thought it would be tradition. There must be an idiot. Everything would reply later and later is now.
Five in the afternoon, the sun is in Marrakech. I have to rent and put on the city. Fuck that hot, Cádiz me laugh. ('m In that picture!)
I go through the long, empty alley Riyadh, turn left, take another long, empty alley, turn right and ... the world went crazy.
The best gift I've done in a long time was this little time travel. Everything is for sale in the society we live inevitably. All "you know" everything belongs to everyone and to your mind has to share. Television, your spouse, your parents or your children live so into you, it is impossible not to bare your mind. Welcome to the first world. This is our legacy, we are all equal, think the same.
When that is not going, when you go on living in the seventy Mahou peel, and still remember the melody of Casio Vl, white. When your child's day ended at ten to news of José Luis Marín, when UHF was that where you saw who knows where ... when everything was different, you were happy. Now, everything is the same ... and you can be happy, but do not overdo it. No passes like you happy.
Marrakech is a gift. I can not not be! write you a feeling so new to me. It must be like to fly hundreds of years ago. You walk the streets, donkeys, motorbikes forward you will whistle, children who are sellers of all you speak, others come and go around you, in the middle of it, you feel awkward. I remember as a child, came running, flying through the crowded streets of the old Toledo. John greeted the baker, and scared me with Felipe crabs the fisherman, an older lady sold me one at sticker and marbles. And people came and went. Or live on the moon or nothing is the same, everything changes. Thyme is no longer smell the streets of Toledo ...
Marrakech is not written, breathes, looks, lost, think. Because if there is something that time does not want to do, is to travel in, and this city at the very scary time. Here, perhaps, in the Medina, all worth less, even worthless, but you can feel more person in a fucking mall. I hate those sites, so cold. Callejas the souks, souks shady, hidden from the sun and weather, markets which do not hesitate, you're going to lose, you want or not, you lose because they have no beginning, no end, and go from one sound to another. The smell of leather to spice, reflex of the thousands of mirrors the grim streets lined with tapestries. Everything is sold, everything is for you if you offer a good price. Wrath of one side to another, fleeing from vendors, tumbling like an intruder in the past. For my eyes, my lips my hairs are present, and only my new smile, invited me to this journey through time.
Amigo, amigo. I whisper in his ear at all times. Friend friend. They keep their commitment. Every friend I hear, I return a smile. Friend, smile, smile, friend. Is the path of silence. You ask me
business I will smile. You insist, I smiled back. Does not matter. I'm fine, I give you my smile.
I missed by a souk in Marrakech, is one of those things you need to do. They say all roads lead to Rome ... I got a Roman in a souk. Let's see if it comes out.
Take a plane in the souks is like a deer head goal in a pond in the Serengeti for drinking water, before a hundred crocodiles. They lost. Children will intuit, is touching a plane and go to you. Tell you what it is.
guy asked me what I was looking, is the large square? I said, does koutoubia ? Tell me again. With a smile, I said as I kept walking if "I had seen my silence."
Obviously I said yes, they follow him, he would take me to my silence. For a moment the boy did not know if I was to me or I him. Walk streets and roads, while he kept looking at me and smiling. I turned to tell who would not go to the plaza, and he said "no no, not square." Finally, I'm taking the square, put his hand, gave him some coins, and went on my way.
acknowledge that runs (almost as much as read to me), the bargain runs out. All up, it lives strong. Intense spoken. They are intense. They show slippers, while I say "friend slippers slippers" and when they see your face I do not want slippers, whispering tone down the "cost rich, good hashish, hashish friends" and to see your face "do not tell me your life Ali" raise your voice again "friend slipper slipper." At that time you smile, ever so sweet smile, and a brother-bye, off you go. Whatever. I do not care. Everything they do not care! I have come to hold, lost in Zouk, the following conversation. MARRAKECHI Friend, friend slipper, bongos, you, what do you friend? Do you? "Slippers? "Cost rich? "Armani? Tallinn nice, cost, "pores" Buono, friend friend, lamp? Friend, go see a friend.
say conversation because in his words, I watched smiling, made me deaf, the blind, autistic, the left. But whatever. All do not care. Say, they say, and then ... say. It's amazing the skills they have to "modular" your voice and the words pass through cost, has, pores, or smoke, gently lower the tone.
There is something beyond my reason, and that something, in Marrakech, is ... Everything.
Looking for my silence, on a train, with Ghita, I found my ego. Learning to smile, in a souk, I gave up my soul. I swear I thought for a moment buy it, was half price. Barata, friend, your soul ... cheap. But I decided to look at other posts, if I could get a better price. Without silence, smiles for all and friends all over, got out of the souks. Juice in Dfema Fna square, only asking that. Orange juice and a break.
And you get to the plaza and walk around the square and
... Who are you? What are you?. Where did you leave your clothes, your schedule, clubs, jams, messages, careers, meetings, discussions? Where have you been? Or ... What about you?
Djemaa El Fna sound ... so its corners when it falls night.
... Santeros, snake charmers, children, comedians, magicians, guys dancing with a chicken on his head, walkers monkeys, Moroccan gypsies sing and call to me that pussy. Tribes, and trobar trubis! juice vendors, tattoo artists of gena, witches, preachers (preachers), children boxean, dances and more dances each with a small light in the center, marauders, many merodearodes ... all there. Is Djemaa el Fna square ... crazy.
not been invented points defining the square. There, everything is crazy. A feast for a fool ... but the guy in the cobra, the soothsayer, the Frenchies, the hammam, "Jorge come" and my silence, are already part of another story ...
3:25 a.m.
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