Morocco: Finding the Riad in the Maze of the Medina

Sunday, January 4th
Claire and I are so so pumped for Morocco, even from the air, looking down on the vast and endless landscapes, with mountains capping off the horizon. As soon as we step off the plane, the sun gently greets us, and we just grab each other and sing "HERE COMES THE SUN!!" God, after a week in the UK, I've never appreciated the sun so much. At the airport, I flag down a taxi to get us to the medina. We see loads of bikes with two or three people balancing on the bars, and rows and rows of orchards outside the walled city. Our taxi driver keeps driving, right to the entrance of Jamaa El-Fna, now a World Heritage site for it's incredible culture all in one square in the center of Marrakesh.
So he drops us off there, and we walk....forever. We wind through all the souks, Claire with her huge backpack and me pulling my suitcase behind me. Not ideal for our first excursion into the madness of the souks. In the main square, there's snake charmers, acrobats, weird hats, tambourines, tale-tellers and PEOPLE! Then we start going through the souks...ooooooh la la what a delight. I am in heaven (!)
It's like Aladdin's cave has opened up, the streets spilling out silver lantersn, tapestries, carpets, colorful scarves, Moroccan slippers (babouches), silver jewelry, leather works, big grain sacks of colorful spices like vibrant curry or green oregano or yellow saffron or brilliant chile powder. And all the walls of the winding alleyways are this deep ocre red color, illuminated by the hot sun, giving the city a glowing color. We make it to the Cafe France and head in the (hopefully) right direction, until we don't know which (2nd?) right it is. We learn quickly that around here, the best you'll get for directions is "Just go straight"...except what makes it even more helpful is that "straight" and "right" sound exactly the same sometime : tout droit et droite. Great. These children obviously spot that we're lost, and I make the mistake of asking them for directions in French. Pretty soon, we've got a posse of a million little boys waving their hands, saying "This way Madame! I will show you the way!" I soon realize that they're gonna want some money for this, and unfortunately, I only have 100 notes. Well the bantering boys are leading us alllllllll the way down these alleys, saying "Just a little farther Madam" until I no longer hear the din of the marketplace and start getting a little freaked out. Claire and I say that we'll just find the place ourselves, but the damn kids are so persistent!
I have this moment when I'm freaking out that they're leading us farther and farhter down an alleyway and into a trap for the clueless tourist. I would fall for that one. We get to #17, as it says on the sheet but no where on the building does it read "Riad Medina Azahara", so I'm still freaking out that we're being led into the place where they first maim the clueless tourist before killing them! Door opening...Oh! Ok, it's a woman we're safe. She explains in a far-off mix of French and Arabic (let's call it Frarabic, shall we? Or maybe Arabench...) that this is only the reception, and that our lovely little shits of a tourguide will show us the way to the hostel. I try to explain once again in French that we have no money to pay them but the punk is either changing the subject or saying we'll pay when we get there...Well they say they'll show us the way, "Just down here! 2 minutes!" Down a few lefts, a few rights, past the flowing stream of Rue Dabachi, some more rights, lefts, straights until we get to a doorway. I'm now sweating profusely in clothes that are fitted for the UK dark ages, not the blazing sun of Morocco. A nice man opens and pays the little shits for us- well, I am partly grateful cuz they did show us the way, even though we said we couldnt pay them. But hard part is over!