A friend called me the other day and said I sounded like I was talking to her from an empty swimming pool. That's because my apartment, with it's bare, tiled floors and sparse furnishings makes my voice reverberate against the surfaces. I am in need of some furniture and softening textiles and now that the worst of the offending dirt left behind by the previous tenants has been removed I am ready to begin decorating the space. And so with Hassan's arrival and eagerness to help make this place more homey, we set out for the second-hand market on Sunday.
Hassan befriends people wherever he goes and yesterday was no exception. A middle-aged man who works in the cafe next to my building named Mustapha told Hassan he wanted to help guide us to the marketplace. So the three of us piled into the trusty Hyundai that looks like a junkyard heap but is actually an amazingly steadfast performer and headed towards the vast open-aired market.
The market was huge but well-organized and Mustapha played his role of helpful guide to perfection, pointing the way to the most convenient parking, asking prices of each vendor who caught our eye, and grabbing the arm of the young boys selling 'mica' (plastic bags) and handing over a dirham to purchase the carryall for the potatoes, tomatoes and peppers we bought. This section sold vegetables, over there were the housewares, plants, and colorful rows of rolled up carpets made from plastic and within the vegetable market there was even a small cafe with a thatched roof and plastic tables and chairs. Plastic is plentiful in Morocco although I do everything I can to avoid purchasing something in plastic when a natural alternative (difficult to find but highly preferred) is available. There were tables with soft goods like the patterned polyester blankets so favored by Moroccans piled high. Each blanket was emblazoned with creative signatures meant to sound like a designer or evoke images of prestige. My favorites were Pierre Donna (perhaps a distant relative of Pierre Cardin and Donna Karan?) and Californa ... the second letter 'i' mysteriously omitted.
We plied our way through rows of rusted car bodies piled in tiers, an acre of motorcycles, scooters and bicycles neatly lined up and plastic tarps set out on the ground with extensions cords, aluminum cookware and used clothing. Foam cushions for sofas so hard you could bounce a coin off them were stacked here and there. Clusters of sheep wandered by and everywhere throngs of people and conveyances of all manner surged through the marketplace.
We found little of interest beyond the vegetables and fresh sardines so we made our way through the dusty, rock-strewn trails to our car and headed back into town to see if another market might offer something I was willing to exchange for my money. In the end I purchased a full-length mirror for less than $20. I asked for a receipt and was told I would have to pay extra for that. After some back and forth the receipt was provided, free of charge. I also bought a replacement light bulb for the bathroom and a very small carpet that seemed more like those you use inside a car than a plusher version I would have preferred for my bathroom but I needed something to keep me from slipping and sliding when my wet feet hit the tile outside the shower. Against my better judgement I resigned myself to purchasing a polyester blanket. I reasoned with myself that the offending synthetic fabric was to be ignored because it is getting pretty cold at night now and the fact that material doesn't breathe would act in my favor by keeping my body heat trapped against me. Also, the blanket was a rare solid color in a rich shade of jade green. Now, If only I could do something to hide the brand name, stamped in an oval of white at the corner of the blanket. But then again, perhaps reading the message "Shital" will serve to keep my sense of humor firmly in place.
Hassan befriends people wherever he goes and yesterday was no exception. A middle-aged man who works in the cafe next to my building named Mustapha told Hassan he wanted to help guide us to the marketplace. So the three of us piled into the trusty Hyundai that looks like a junkyard heap but is actually an amazingly steadfast performer and headed towards the vast open-aired market.
The market was huge but well-organized and Mustapha played his role of helpful guide to perfection, pointing the way to the most convenient parking, asking prices of each vendor who caught our eye, and grabbing the arm of the young boys selling 'mica' (plastic bags) and handing over a dirham to purchase the carryall for the potatoes, tomatoes and peppers we bought. This section sold vegetables, over there were the housewares, plants, and colorful rows of rolled up carpets made from plastic and within the vegetable market there was even a small cafe with a thatched roof and plastic tables and chairs. Plastic is plentiful in Morocco although I do everything I can to avoid purchasing something in plastic when a natural alternative (difficult to find but highly preferred) is available. There were tables with soft goods like the patterned polyester blankets so favored by Moroccans piled high. Each blanket was emblazoned with creative signatures meant to sound like a designer or evoke images of prestige. My favorites were Pierre Donna (perhaps a distant relative of Pierre Cardin and Donna Karan?) and Californa ... the second letter 'i' mysteriously omitted.
We plied our way through rows of rusted car bodies piled in tiers, an acre of motorcycles, scooters and bicycles neatly lined up and plastic tarps set out on the ground with extensions cords, aluminum cookware and used clothing. Foam cushions for sofas so hard you could bounce a coin off them were stacked here and there. Clusters of sheep wandered by and everywhere throngs of people and conveyances of all manner surged through the marketplace.
We found little of interest beyond the vegetables and fresh sardines so we made our way through the dusty, rock-strewn trails to our car and headed back into town to see if another market might offer something I was willing to exchange for my money. In the end I purchased a full-length mirror for less than $20. I asked for a receipt and was told I would have to pay extra for that. After some back and forth the receipt was provided, free of charge. I also bought a replacement light bulb for the bathroom and a very small carpet that seemed more like those you use inside a car than a plusher version I would have preferred for my bathroom but I needed something to keep me from slipping and sliding when my wet feet hit the tile outside the shower. Against my better judgement I resigned myself to purchasing a polyester blanket. I reasoned with myself that the offending synthetic fabric was to be ignored because it is getting pretty cold at night now and the fact that material doesn't breathe would act in my favor by keeping my body heat trapped against me. Also, the blanket was a rare solid color in a rich shade of jade green. Now, If only I could do something to hide the brand name, stamped in an oval of white at the corner of the blanket. But then again, perhaps reading the message "Shital" will serve to keep my sense of humor firmly in place.
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