Trust

Ring up the curtains, the ritual of theatrics begins yet again. As the afternoon sun floods through the exit doors of the train station, I take a deep breath before my performance. Three, maybe four taxi drivers walk up to me to unburden me of my bags. But I continue walking. What a game we play! I am not going anywhere far in this Moroccan heat - they know this, I know. But no one should accept the first offer, it is always ridiculously high. I emphasize this with an exaggerated gesture of unfairness. My hands wave him on as if I might actually prefer the walk, but I leave him with an even more absurd counteroffer. I know that, they know - I am dealing with professional actors. The second, the third, the fourth pushback without breaking my pace. A few of them stopped playing altogether. Finally, a pause for reason. I walk back to accept the final offer, shaking his hand as I hop in the back of his taxi. I need a strategy for nearly everything it seems - even the public toilet. For some, the art of negotiation is a beautiful human experience. It only exhausts me.

A few miles away, the driver parks in front of a giant, kaleidoscope door - the entrance to the old city of Marrakesh. “I will leave you here, I will not go inside the medina”. Fortified walls made traveling by car a nightmare. It is the gate that separates the new world from the old. People walk every which way as vendors crowd along countless alcoves, clamoring for your attention. Colorful, hanging merchandise overwhelms the eye. Don’t panic, where are you going? I follow the coordinates on my phone, leading me blindly through endless tunnels to nowhere. The signal pings off the century old walls, always guiding me to dead ends. I tried my best not to look vulnerable, but it did not take long for someone to notice. 

“My friend, you look lost. Where are you going? I will take you there”. A young man smiled at me, a seemingly opportunistic grin. I declined his assistance, insisting on finding it myself. I read somewhere that Marrakech had a reputation for deceitful men on bicycles who claim to work at nearby hotels, only to lead foreigners to local spice and carpet shops with an obligation to buy. Besides, I was close, I just needed a little more patience. Within the hour, I must have crossed paths with the man on the bike three more times. “Are you sure, my friend? I know where it is.” But every time I passed him, it was even more humiliating. “You don’t know where you’re going, do you?” His laugh crackled as he pointed me out to his friends. I have never felt so lost in my life - and to be the joke made me want to escape it all. Frustrated and defeated, I stopped looking for signs. I found a quiet, empty alleyway off the main street. To avoid any more confrontation, I sat beside a garbage disposal to hide from the chaos of color and noise. Twenty or so minutes go by, dark shadows begin to cast over me. Time was running out. Head down on my knees, I sensed movement coming from the dead end. A door shut. A motorcycle engine revved. He drove past me at first, but turned around, towering over my cradled frame. “Where do you need to be?” “Thank you, but I don’t need your help. Please, leave me be.” But he insisted. “Fine - I’m staying at Riad Belen”. The man laughed. “Well, you’re in luck. I am the owner of that hostel. Hop on and I’ll take you there. I’m running errands there anyways.” Bullshit. I tried to keep my emotions in check. “Thank you, but I’m okay. If you know where it is, just point me in the direction”. He insisted again. “Just get on.” At that point, the sun was no longer visible beyond the high walls. I feared motorcycles in foreign places, especially with my heavy backpack and with strangers. “Can I just walk beside you instead?” It was my final attempt to preserve any dignity I may have had. But I trusted him enough, at least more than I trusted myself. 

As we swerved at unbelievable speeds through the crowded markets, I held on for my life. No way in a thousand years would I ever find this place on my own. How could I be so far off? When he parked, the man grabbed his keys and opened the door for me. He was greeted by one of his employees, who handed him his mail. In complete disbelief, I thanked him for finding me, for taking me where I needed to be. He nodded. The man got back on his bike. I never saw him again.