"Over here"

Above: the dessert cart that came by our table.
Below: all the stalls and people in the middle of the square.
Below: our stall with meat kebabs in front and roasted vegetables at the back.
MARRAKESH
"Look over here"
"No, thank you"
"Come to number eighty four--we will give you free mint tea"
"No merci!"
"You look hungry."
"We will come back."
"Look over here."

For the past few days we've been in Marrakech, one of the main cities in Morocco. On our second night in the city we had just gotten back from a trip to the Atlas mountains, and we were in need of some dinner. We walked through the alleyways from our riad to the main square. After looking around at several of the cafes, we decided to walk through the food market before deciding where to eat.

As soon as we turned down one of the aisles between the stalls, we were surrounded by a men in white coats and hats, all pointing towards their stalls, shoving menus at us, and promising free mint tea (a staple drink in Morroco). I felt like a piece of fly paper. One man pulled out the bench behind a table, and we sat down. There was much fussing, and then the men all disappeared back to the beginning of the aisle to start over.
 
Bread and sauces were brought over from behind the stall holding all the food. Three of us ordered couscous, and Dad had a selection of fish. We ate while we watched other people being shepherded to other stalls surrounding ours. As we finished our meal a man with a cart full of little pastries came by, and we got a selection. Dad had to pay with a big bill, and the man didn't have enough cash. He ran off into the crowd (with the money), while we nervously kept an eye on the cart in case the man took the whole bill. Finally he reappeared with the change, and we started in on our dessert. A few minutes later, one of the men working at our cart came over and pit a few euros on the table. At first none of us understood what he wanted, but somehow we managed to figure out that he wanted to exchange them for dhirmas (the Moroccan currency). We tried to ask him what the rate was, but we ended up just setting it ourselves and giving him a bill. He promptly came around to serve us each another glass of mint tea. As we left, one of the men told us to remember Number 97, and to come back tomorrow.

The next day we walked through the square on our tour of the old city, only to find a slab of cement where a tent city had been the night before. Our guide explained to us that everyone comes to set up at about five, and then they knock it down at the end of the night. Sure enough, as we walked through that evening the stalls were back and a group of men was surrounding a family of confused tourists. 

Lily