we got stoned and walked to the the city wall to watch martins fly from their wall hole nests at 5 p.m. i asked how the birds knew when it was 5 o’clock, and was that daylight savings or normal time, but no one listened. no birds flew out.
we’re in the middle of marrakech, where walled old city meets new, and as we walk 4 blocks from new to old, we smell urine and rotting flesh mixed with sewage. we walk the wall waiting for the birds, and see that every zigzag of the wall was a urine trap. saw a lot of urined earth – “and poo too – don’t forget number 2” lady adds. people probably been pissing on those sections of the wall for 1,600 years. we should take soil core samples, see how human urine has evolved over the past millenium and a half.
in respect for the men we pass kneeling on rugs praying to the wall, she lets go my hand. yet the outside edge of the prayer rugs is lined with silent men displaying shirts and pants for sale. god and mammon, prayer and purchase. god’s worship is scheduled, mammon’s worshipped constantly.
lady mentions there are no other tourists walking about where we are. i watch the next hour – no non-natives except us. we dip in and out the old city, just wandering, then walk through a used souk – a flea-market auction bazaar. i figure we’ll be besieged to buy, but they’re so surprised to see 2 lone americans stroll through hand in hand, that by the time they realized they had stuff we needed, we were gone.
passed an endless parking lot of taxis outside the walls – hundreds upon hundreds of old taxis looking for food, this must be where used taxis come when they swim upstream to spawn and die.
near home i heard horse clomps, turned, saw tourists in horse drawn carriage. i pointed and said to lady “there’s one, there’s another european. we’re not alone.” lady k exclaims “how colonial was that!” three more carriages clomp by, all full of europeans – and they’re pointing at us. i wonder if lady and i are inside or outside the zoo bars here? i can never keep it straight any more.
just before home, purple petals on the ground, red flower falling. the purple from the jacaranda tree, the red maybe bougainvillaea.
mohammed said there are no public hospitals in marrakech. if you’re sick and can’t pay, you die. no need to worry about what to do because there’s “no solution.” said the same for old people – if you’re old and have no family to care for you, out in the street. too many poor here to worry about niceties. said there used to be water around marrakech and people grew grapes, figs, oranges, but the water’s gone, so more old and poor come into the walled city for work – and there is none.
after 2 nights up on the 6th floor, we spent 10 down here on the 4th. today we move back up to the 6th while the owner flies to begium for 10 days. the 7 days left over after she gets back, we’re not quite sure about. we paid upfront for them, but we’re not sure if or where or what’s going on. i gather that’s not unusual in marrakech. lady k was baking peanut butter cookies this morning to give to folk as thanks, but the stove gas canister ran out when she was half baked. places always try to push us out when our time is up – usually it’s the internet that goes, but we have none here, so the gas disappeared. reality has a sly sense of humor.
