Fear and Eating in Marrakech

A guest post by BeersandBeans.com
Written by Randy Kalp & Photographs by Bethany Salvon

I made the mistake of devouring our Morocco guidebook on the flight into Marrakech. By the time we touched down at the city’s airport, I felt pretty good. For once I was prepared—tipping, cultural traditions, greetings and, of course, eating and drinking—all my bases were covered.

On a whole the pre-trip preparation proved to be a valuable asset; unfortunately, it did have one side effect: I now knew too much, especially about dining precautions in Morocco. It took 72 hours for this parasitic knowledge to incubate, but when it hatched, I had the fear.

Beth and I spent the first few days of our five-day assignment with Low Cost Holidays at the Albatros Garden Hotel, a resort outside of Marrakech’s storied Medina. Staying in the resort was like being back in the womb. With several restaurants and bars, life inside the property was tranquil, unchallenging and quite conducive to our busy work schedule. In fact, the only time we ventured beyond the high resort walls was for a guided camel ride.

For three days everything we ate came from the hotel. To keep our costs down, we took advantage of the resort’s free breakfast buffet. Each morning we would fill up on a tasty selection of olives, cheeses, eggplant, yogurt, croissants, and then prepare another plate to take back to our room for lunch. At night we’d order two Margarita pizzas and a beer.

For good or bad, a resort is designed to be a destination within itself. We were in Marrakech, but could have easily been dining in Palm Springs, California. Indeed, we were sheltered from everything that makes third world countries amusement parks for adventurous foodies.

Following the Albatros, we relocated to our next property, Riad Barroko, located in the Medina. During check-in, we spoke to the hotel’s manager, Jawad, and he gave us some tips and suggestions for things to do in Marrakech. For the sake of our American stomachs, he said to stay clear of the juice carts and hot sauce from the food stalls at Djemaa el-Fna Square.

Having traveled extensively in Baja California as well as through Guatemala and Oaxaca Beth and I were no strangers to foods that may cause stomach issues. In the past, we’ve eaten at questionable restaurants and from suspect food carts without any major issues, but for some reason I gave more credence to his tip than I have to similar suggestions in the past.

At Djemaa el-Fna, a flavorful steam hung in the air from the recently assembled food stalls as petite sausages and other beefy delights sizzled over an open flame. Young men wearing long, white pharmacist coats paced the pavement in front of the establishments spewing witty lines to anything with a pulse and two legs.

“Ah, Starvin’ Marvin, you are too skinny, you must eat!” a barker at food stall 77 (numbers are used instead of names) yelled to me.

“No, I’m good. I just ate,” I explained, patting my stomach (a trick I learned from the guide book).

“OK, Ok, well later then,” he said pointing to the number above his head. “Remember, 77 will take you to heaven!”

This routine repeated itself at the next stall–just a few feet from Mr. 77–and then the next and so on. Overwhelmed, we retreated to one of the sit-down restaurants that lined the square to eat and escape from the marketplace hustle.

Shuffling from one menu stand to the next, we finally chose a fairly cheap joint with an authentic menu. The place mainly consisted of a bustling sidewalk patio and we took a seat at the front. All around us people dined happily on tagines and couscous plates, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness that swirled inside of me; this idea that beyond the view of the customer, ill-food preparation was taking place, and silverware and dishes were being washed in parasitic water. And it just wasn’t this restaurant, it was everyplace. I had the fear and it was beginning to consume me.

Crazy? Yes. The early stages of germaphobia? Probably. Over analyzing statements from the guidebook? Most definitely! I knew I was being irrational, but it made no difference. I ate my meal, a delicious meat tagine, with caution and sipped my Coca-Cola from its dirty, scratched bottle wondering if I would be better off pouring it into my water spotted glass. Beth, on the other hand, ate without fear. Taking a cue from the guidebook regarding the Djemaa el-Fna food stalls, she used her bread instead of utensils to eat her couscous.

Obviously, we had read the same passage about eating at the food stalls from our Lonely Planet guidebook: “Despite alarmist warnings, your stomach should be fine if you clean your hands before eating, use your bread instead of rinsed utensils and stick to your own bottled water.” Granted this was not a food stall (it was the next level up), but instead of creating a blanket of irrational fear for all restaurants, Beth used the guidebook’s suggestion rationally and to her advantage.

Stepping back into the happenings of the square after dinner Beth glowed with excitement, while I confronted my fears openly with her:

“I think I know too much,” I said. “I’m being overcautious and irrational, and I can’t shake it.”

“We should go to stall 32,” she said with a smile referring to a recommendation we got from travel blogger Jodi Ettenberg of Legal Nomads, who had been in Marrakech a few weeks earlier. “We could hit it up later before going back to the Riad.”

“Yeah, possibly,” I said wearily.

For the next few hours we wandered through the souks and open spaces of the market, haggling, getting lost and sucking up the atmosphere. I felt better. No longer overwhelmed, my earlier weariness of the market scene had faded, and now it was time to get over my irrational food fear. It was time for stall 32.

The intensity around the stall rivaled a college bar at last call. Several men worked the grill, while another took orders from the quickly changing clientele, who sat shoulder to shoulder at the trio of picnic tables placed into a U around the grill.

I did my best to dissect the hanging menu before sitting, but that did little good since the menu was in Arabic and French, and I don’t speak either. So as I sat down I looked around at the plates of the other diners and spotted some sausages that looked good, and pointed to those when the man came to take my order. Several minutes later a tin plate of sausages was placed in front of me along with several slices of bread, a glass bottle of Coca-Cola and a bowl of cherry tomato red hot sauce.

Before my irrational fears could take hold, I grabbed a piece of bread and swooped up a sausage into my mouth. “Jesus, this is really good,” I said to Beth. She smiled and then went back to taking pictures. One by one I gobbled up the sausages on the plate, each one as good as the last. As I got to my final sausage I knew I had to try a little bit of the hot sauce, which had been silently egging me on like the bungee jump crane at a county fair since we sat down.

Reaching out to dip, I looked at Beth and she gave me the go ahead nod. Putting just a little on the tip, I half expected my stomach to explode as I bit into the sausage. But, of course, nothing happened nor did anything happen later that night. In fact, the hot sauce itself was kind of flat and bland. And now looking back, I realize that maybe Mr. Roosevelt was on to something when he said, “the only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”

This story was part of our collaboration with LowCostHolidays.com. If you are interested in traveling to Morocco be sure to check out their great holiday deals for to Marrakech.

 

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Bethany Salvon and Randy Kalp are a freewheelin’, 30-something couple with a 7lb hound named Chachy. Beth is a professional photographer and Randy is a professional journalist, and they blog about their adventures on their eclectic travel website Beers and Beans.  Their travel stories have also appeared in USA Today Travel Tips, the San Diego Reader, San Diego Uptown News, BootsnAll Travel Network and other travel websites. You can also find them on Facebook & Twitter.