From swords, antique silver and spare parts of anything, to some of the world's most colourful and fragrant spices; a visit to the Arab/Berber market was more than a sense stimulating experience.
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| Early Morning at the Market |
Said’s warning to watch out for pick pockets was still
running through my head as we were lured across the duel carriageway towards a
mass of bodies, bicycles and bellowing stall holders. Had we paid more
attention to two men leading a calf along the road, it may have prepared us for
the sense stimulating experiences we were about to encounter as we entered Taroudant’s
largest Berber and Arab market.
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| Fresh Veg at the Market |
Overnight, the wasteland beside the desiccated tributary of
the River Souss had transformed into a market the size of a small Moroccan town.
Although busy, there was no sense of
urgency and there seemed plenty of time for the men to stand around and chat.
From their makeshift stalls of ripped tarpaulin and angled
wooden sticks or the back of an old truck, sellers vociferated as we walked by,
while others squatted silently with their goods in mounds on the ground. Young boys milled around with wheelbarrows
made from reclaimed wheels, wooden boxes and some skilful welding, as bicycles and noisy mopeds,
laden with produce, scurried around the overcrowded labyrinth.
The weekly market was the place to purchase all those flavours
that when cleverly blended gave Moroccan food its wonderful taste. Rows of brightly
coloured mini-mountains of turmeric, saffron, cinnamon and ginger next to tree-sized pyramids of
oranges, carrots and green beans became an arena filled with a heady aroma of
cooking, mixed with herbs and spices and unfortunately, the fumes from 2-stroke
moped engines.
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| Mopeds in the Market |
We
stood out as tourists, attracted opportunistic pick pockets that followed us around the
market and were watched by every pair of eyes in the male dominated souk where
even a discreetly dressed western woman was an alien sight. Smiles however, were returned and a
toothless Berber beckoned us over to his stall of unpriced nuts, dates and
other dried fruits. Upturned wooden
fruit boxes covered with newspaper made an adequate table from which he offered
us some freshly brewed, hot sweet tea in a glass clouded with grime. It would
have been impolite to refuse.
Live meat was sold in the form of goats, sheep and calves. Transported
from outlying villages that morning, the goats lay on the ground; still and helpless
on their sides with their front and back legs tied together at the ankles while
the sheep and calves were free to stand but tethered. Intrigued, I watched a buyer purchase some
fresh meat and carry his goat away with its bound feet over his shoulder,
leaving the goat dangling like a leather bag by his side.
As we emerged from the lively atmosphere of the market, slightly
disorientated and battle worn to colours, noise and scents, one last vision took
us by surprise. On arrival, the market
had commanded all our attention and somehow we’d failed to notice the mighty
rugged peaks of the Atlas Mountains as they rose from the vanishing point of
the hazed duel carriageway and engulfed the panorama.
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| Atlas Mountains |
We travelled with Naturally Morocco for this tailor made cultural experience of Morocco
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