Tuesday, November 9th, our last day in Madrid, was the day to go to the Museum of the Americas to look more closely at the Alaskan objects. Sven was able to get up early and go back to the Prado, and after a breakfast of unhealthy baked goods, we headed off on the subway to its inauspicious location far outside of town. When we got there we saw that the gates were barred shut and after scrutinizing the sign on the door we realized that the museum is open every Tuesday-Sunday of the year- except Christmas and November 9th. November 9th?
Sadly, we walked on and eventually we were able to find a Starbucks where we could google what the heck was happening. Apparently, November 9th is the feast day for Saint Almudena, Madrid's patron saint. And we'd missed the parade. boo hoo. So we carted the kids off to the Natural History Museum; it sounded like disney land inside but didn't have anything for the kids to actually touch or do, so it was loud and crazy- and tortuous. The saving grace of the day was that we had a long, slow walk back on a green strip of park that runs through eastern Madrid in the middle of its busy city streets and, for me, a return trip to the Prado where I was riveted by the Spanish history painting. The only interesting thing that happened to us is that we got cussed out by some shady looking teenagers when we refused to give them money to start a school for the deaf in Madrid. It was a moment when I was happy the kids didn't speak Spanish. The evening was full of packing and a quick dinner out at a Thai place, which was the best food we'd eaten yet in Spain. But the restaurant very quickly became filled with cigarette smoke. Bleh. Again.
Early on November 10th, we got the kids up and out of the apartment by 6:30 (amazing, for us) and Fish got in 600 steps of exercise before his morning coffee, running bags down to the street. We checked two bags into long-term storage at the airport and got ourselves checked into our Easy Jet flight. It was our first time flying Easy Jet and it was disconcerting not having seats, but all ended up just fine, and it was only a two hour flight to Marrakesh. Flying in, we saw huge expanses of desert interrupted by small groves of trees and more dessert-red colored specks of settlements. We saw smoke from cooking fires and the blocky outlines of apartment buildings crammed together. Quite a bit different from Madrid.
We had been dreading the thought of getting a taxi, as we'd read online that tourists very rarely get a taxi into town for under 100 dirhams (about $12), even if the public advertised rate on a big sign outside the taxi queue is 50 dirhams. True to form, the scene was chaotic and disturbing. The 'coordinator' of some sort was yelling and running back and form organizing prices for the fresh off the plane tourists, and we even witnessed a lady in a wheelchair whose stuff had been removed from a taxi by her husband who was yelling at the driver about the unfair price. The drivers were un-phased.
When we got our quote of 200 dirhams which they immediately brought down to 150 when we looked shocked, we decided that we didn't want to be sucked into their insanity and went to catch a bus. When one driver saw us head to the bus stop he chased us down and agreed to 100. Argh. But all was well, and the trip in was fascinating- the sounds, smells and sights were as different as we could imagine, and when we pulled into the Medina (old town) through its massive 1000 year-old red gates we were transformed into another world of zooming motorbikes, spice salesman, veiled women and stray cats. We got dropped off as close to our Riad (old house converted into a bed and breakfast) as possible, but still a fair ways away. We paid a couple of young men 5 euros to walk us to our riad when they insisted and we were thankful we did when the walk ended up being 4 blocks of twists and turns and streets marked only by Islamic script.
-The Riad Azukar was fantastic except for one thing (which I will mention in a moment)! We were greeted with sweet mint tea by a friendly French manager. The riad from the outside is completely unremarkable. Just a sign in a busy alley-way filled with kids playing and moms yelling at them. But enter through the little door and we were greeted with a central courtyard filled with tables and a little pool that this time of year must be purely ornamental. The 2nd floor lining the open interior square is taken up by 5 or 6 rooms, while the roof terrace one flight up has a nice view over the medina. The rooms were clean and full of character. The only problem: our room had a nasty smell of bleach with a very subtle sewage after-odor from some sort of drain problem. But we decided to brave through one night, as we were to get picked up for our desert trek early in the morning anyway. And the manager brought us a bunch of candles and room spray. We were to find out the next day that the medina has such an old sewage system that anytime there is wet weather the whole town smells of sewage. I had been checking the weather before we came and didn't remember rain in the forecast at all and when I mentioned that the manager shrugged and said, "well, it happens when it is cloudy too."
-After we had put our stuff in a closet we got out as fast as we could and walked towards the main square. Along the way we observed a man turning wood pieces by hand and he gave Eilidh a little good luck charm. Young men left and right stopped and pinched the cheeks of the girls. Morocco must be one of those countries that open themselves up for children, which make us appreciate having brought them. We popped into the Bahia Palace, which is an old, gorgeous, slowly crumbling palace in the medina. Eilidh decided that it is her favorite palace so far. And then, suddenly realizing that we hadn't eaten lunch at it was 3 oclock, we headed up to a roof-top terrace to see what we could find. It ended up being a dream. 4 courses for around $12. We got two meals and still had food left over! The first course was harira soup and a salad with a succulent lime dressing, all served with a big pile of bread. The 2nd course was a big pile of couscous topped with a stewed vegetable and chicken sauce and a chicken tagine served with the largest basmati rice I've ever seen. Then came a big plate of oranges, dates and pomegranates just at the right time, when we thought we were stuffed. To end it all were Moroccan nutty cookies and the traditional Moroccan mint sweet tea, poured with a dramatic flourish into little glass cups (the higher up the tea is poured the more respectful of a gesture it is).
After lunch we jumped in a horse-drawn carriage ride around and through the medina and at a couple points we even found ourselves in a high-speed roundabout in our little carriage (one time even next to an old man pulling a cart filled with firewood)! The driver took us through the main market districts, past a historic mosque, out of the medina walls, and back again. He stopped for a smoke break at a "traditional Berber market" which seemed to be a group of his friends, but was actually quite interesting and had a huge amount of Argan oil in different forms and for different uses. The Argan tree is one that grows in this region, and has deep roots for soil durability and water retention. The oil is made by hand by Berber women and is extremely healthful, so thus it is quite expensive.
Our walk back home brought us through some amazing, winding markets where spices were heaped up high in pyramid shapes, whole spices were bought by weight (ginger, garlic, star anise, cinnamon), bright fabrics, tassles and beads were sold alongside pointy, sparkly shoes. The smells and colors were amazing. When we got home and to our dismay we realized that the smell was not gone from our room, we decided to head out one more time for a snack before bed. We found a little tea shop where we had crepes and little tarts and after that were finally so overwhelmed and exhausted that we could brave our stinky chamber. Two chapter of Harry Potter later, we were all asleep.
A word about Picasso's 
