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Marrakesh is wild. It is the one city in Morocco where I could really feel taht I was in Africa. The beat of drums, honking of cars and bikes, and the shuffle of bodies is constant throughout the city, and most prominent in the few blocks around Djemaa el-Fna. The famous square lived up to my wild expectations. All day long the square is bordered by stalls selling spices, fruits and nuts, and orange juice. In the mornings you can see herborists sitting on carpets covered with antlers, feathers, giant eggs, crushed bones and chameleons, as well as henna artists and snake charmers. Every night at dusk all the lights turn on as the food stalls set up, their grills spewing smoke everywhere, and all the drum circles let loose.
The drum circle is an interestin dynamic. The performers put on a great show: the intricate traditional rhythms halt only so they can tell you a story up to the climax where you have to cough up some change in order to hear the end (oh how I wish I understood Arabic). One performer sings and plays the banjo with a chicken on his head. The Moroccoan audience meanwhile is sure to show little enthusiasm--they stand stock still, unsmiling--as if this will lessen the pressure to pay up. At my f avorite drum circle they bellow call and response songs and make the audience get up and dance.
Djemaa el-Fna was one place where my expectations did not fail me--in fact it was my favorite part about Morocco. But of course, after spending an evening getting pushed and prodded for our cash it was very nice to retreat to our hotel and enjoy the deep rhythms from afar.
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