Morocco ... part five

In 1982, as an academic requirement for my journalism degree, I wrote an article about Marrakech.

In it, I described the excitement of Jmaa El Fna, the famous square whose name reflects the past horrors of a cruel Sultan.

In more recent centuries, it evokes the romance of one of the world's most intriguing locations.

I got a good mark for that assignment, as my memory of the place was fresh from my time in Morocco.

Now, almost 40 years on, the same scenes unfolded before my daughter and me as we stood below the Cafe de France and took in the whirling, pulsating kaleidoscope.

But the enchantment was short-lived, as a procession of botherers, beggars and bling salesmen distracted us with their entreaties.

Tourism is, of course, the lifeblood of Marrakech, but it has corrupted the exoticism of the place.

For hundreds of years, camel caravans from Timbuktu manifested dream-like out of the desert and found their caravanserai within the walls of the city.

In Jmaa el Fna, travellers and merchants were entertained by dervish dancers, snake charmers, monkey-handlers, musicians, drummers and story-tellers.

After nightfall, they ate from bbq stalls around the perimeter of the square. Here, mouth-watering smells wafted from lamb brochettes on charcoal, fanned by half-lit figures in hooded djellabas.

These days it is tourists who stream in from all parts of the world, but the entertainment seems staged and purely commercial. On the fringes of the square, look-outs scan the crowd for those who dare raise their cameras without paying a fee.

They tell me the tourist trap that was Marrakech got so bad the King decreed "Enough!" and tourist police were installed in and around the square to curb excesses.

Jmaa el Fna is a sensory overload, but the show now seems all rather routine, which is a pity.

Djmaa el Fna street level

the bbq stalls herald nightfall