Horseback Pirate Happy Cookies

The seaside town of Essouira is known as a pirate town, but besides the canons at the fortresses, this is the only evidence of piracy I see.

It's a fishing town (fitching™ town?), with a hefty dose of "alternative" tourists (the ones who want Waikiki head up to Agadir) and historical remnants. It was a Portuguese stronghold in the 16th century, then Morocco's main trading port and link to Europe, then a French protectorate in the early 20th century till independence in 1956.

But by now, after nearly two weeks of cultural enrichment, the girls are a bit ho-hum about tourist sites and are thrilled just to play in the sand. It's not as perfect as the Sahara, but it makes for much better sand castles. You can see the architectural effect of our trip on their creation, which is 3 parts kasbah, 1 part ksar, and 1 part skala (coastal fortress).

The laid-back vibe and soft sand turns out to be ideal for perfecting an acrobatic street act. It becomes a huge gymnastics/cirque-du-soleil free-for-all which, if you know my girls, is just about heaven on earth. They're torn between staring and showing off their own tricks.

 

It's the kind of town where people come up to us repeatedly with trays, trying to sell us cookies and cakes. One asks if we want "Happy Cookies". I can't tell if he's trying to make them sound cute for the kids, or if they're laced with something, and he thinks all tourists are degenerates who would feed spiked cookies to their young children. After all, this is known as a kitesurfing town...

To round out our trip -- now that the girls have ridden their first camels, donkeys, mules, and even recently elephants -- we sign up for a horseback ride on the coast.  G has gone horseback riding before, but never in a setting like this, and it is P's first time ever. She is allowed to ride by herself only for a few minutes, and only Anthony and I are allowed to trot and canter, despite the fact that we barely know what we're doing. We're going slow enough on our scenic ride that we are accompanied the entire time by two mascots: a dog and the world's cutest lamb (thereby ensuring G will never eat that, either).

And the very last thing we do on our trip, as in India, is to get henna tattoos. In this case, we bargain down from 80 dirham
(8€) for one tattoo to 60 dirham for all three. They take about half the time of the hennas in India, and cost twice as much, but they turn out much darker and last much longer. That, and the sheer delight the girls get from them, make them well worth it.

Bargaining with Berber Man

The shops, stalls, and stores here entice you: by being cheap, plentiful, funny, beautifully displayed, beautifully made, fragrant, flagrant, shimmering, crammed, colorful, shiny, and all-around fascinating.

But for the shopkeepers, it's not about making you want to look. It's about making you want to buy.
And as many ways as there are to entice us, there are even more to try to get us to part with our money. If we so much as touch an object, we are immediately subjected to haggling and pleading. We try to keep hands off -- even eyeballs off, if we really want to avoid the hard-sell -- but sometimes it's just plain impossible. We encounter a wide range of sales tactics:

DISENGENUOUS
a.k.a. "Pay What You Want"

How it works:
Moroccan: "Shine shoes?"
Us: "How much?"
Moroccan: "Pay what you want. No worries. Clean nicely. What you want. Anything."
Us: "OK..."
Shines Anthony's beat-up leather sandals for 10 minutes.
Us: "Shukran (thanks). Here's 50 dirham (5€, about $7)."
Moroccan, yelling and pushing his hand away, "Not 50! 400 dirham! (40€, about $50). 400 dirham!"

Anthony's shoes probably barely cost 40€ in the first place. This guy must be high on shoe polish.

He is not the only one to take offense at our after-the-fact pricing. One taxi driver (yes, yes I know we should negotiate before the ride, but we just forgot) literally drives off without getting paid, so deep is the insult when we offer him 100 dirham for a ride for which we later find out locals pay around 70 dirham.

The snake charmers, below, on the other hand make out like bandits on this exchange because we don't have any small money on us, and Anthony forks over 100 dirham just for this. Excessive tipping in foreign countries always gets my goat, but our marriage survives it.

GENEROUS
a.k.a. "Here's a Gift for You"

How it works:
Usually cleverly aimed at the children, the shopkeeper or artisan gives what they assure us is a gift for the children, hoping we will be guilted into buying something. The man lathe-carving wooden handles with his foot makes little wooden charms for the girls. We agonize, but end up not buying the kebab skewers.

The natural products store gives the girls a little pottery bowl coated with a poppy-seed mixture that acts as a lightly tinted lip-stick. This time it works, and I do buy myself a block of wild jasmine paste. In the photos, it's the stuff that looks like bars of soap. Because Islam forbids alcohol, even perfume is considered mostly taboo in the local culture and stores. So, they make their own natural sented blocks that you rub on. One small cube should last a lifetime, and in the meantime my T-shirt drawer smells like a dream.

CONTENTIOUS
a.k.a. "Guerilla Attack" or "Let's Get Physical"

How it works:
The woman in the Marrakesh market who grabs the girls hands and dashes off a 20 second hand henna that we have not in any way requested is so angry when we hand her a couple dirham, she actually pinches me. Hard, and on purpose, as we are walking away. I would like to say I am an ambassador of goodwill, a diplomat, and an excellent role-model for my children. But I would be lying. My kids have turned away already, so instead I just give Guerrilla Henna Woman the finger. I consider this to be showing great restraint, because at least I don't hit her.

CONTEMPTUOUS
a.k.a. "What is That?!"

How it works:
After helping you out, your tip is met with a scornful glance, a shaking of the head, a certain repeated shoving of the collection hat in your face, such as with these musicians. Or, in the case of the boys who help us (unnecessarily) across the small stream to get to Ait Ben Haddou, they may actually vocalize it. The young boy looks at the couple dirham in his open palm and asks, incredulously, "What is that?!" That, my dear boy, is a 2 dirham coin, worth about 25 cents. Perhaps you've never seen a denomination so small.

DESPERATION (yours)
a.k.a. "We've Got You Where We Want You"

How it works:
You are in the desert, and you are already paying 150 euros per night for a hotel room, which is beautiful and, yes, Kate Winslet stayed at this same hotel when she was already somewhat famous, but still, you mostly chose it because it was actually the least expensive room or option for a family of four that you could find for the one night before you go into the Erg Chebbi to spend the bigger money on the main event. And you are looking at items carved from stone found locally that is embedded with fossils leftover from millions of years ago when this desert was an ocean and is, therefore, really quite unusual. Where else are you going to buy something like this? So you bargain, but really only half-heartedly, because you know that all the effort in the world is only going to budge the price down about $10.

After the negotiation, the salesman tries to butter you up by saying, "Madame! Are you a Berber?!" You think of replying, "No. I am a walking dollar sign." But you do not. Because it's not his fault. And because that's just the way the system works. And, perhaps mostly, because you cannot figure out how to translate this into French, Arabic, or Berber.

Sadly, though you pack it ever so carefully, your $40 fossilized stone cheese platter will irreperably shatter when you take it back to Paris.

Under the same sales tactics, you will also pay too much for a calèche ride through Marrakesh (a Mara-calèche?) and two little butter/oil tagine-shaped ceramic dishes from the airport on the way out.

DESPERATION (theirs)
a.k.a. "Wait! OK, That is Best Price. No, Wait! This is Best Price.Wait!"

How it works:
There are five shops selling the same thing, one right next to the other. Or, in the case of driving over the mountain pass from the desert to Marrakesh, there are more like 20-30 street-side crystal geode sellers, one right after the other, at each and every turn out. In fact, we turn out at one place to get some fresh air since G is feeling car sick on the winding mountain road, and we are accosted by rock salesmen.

Though we have obviously just come over the mountain and passed by the previous 20-30 crystal geode guys, we are flagged down by another rock seller. He know he's got competition, and he's also just a guy waving a rock at the side of the road, versus some of the more elaborate set-ups we've seen. We wonder aloud why would somebody sells rocks after so many other competitors, but after having passed by the other 30, we've now decided we might like a rock after all. We go in with 100 dirham per rock (10€) as our upper limit and since we don't really care if we get one or not, we start to drive away when he quotes 400 dirham per rock. We are stopped by the fact that Berber Man, as we've named him, refuses to take back the rocks or take his arm out of the window. "Wait! OK!," he shouts. "Best price! 300!" Each time we try to drive away, he stops us. "Wait! 400 for two! That is best price!" "Wait! 350 for both!" It becomes obvious even to him that it's either 200 dirham for the two rocks we like, or we're about to throw them out of the car at him and race away like we're escaping a bank robbery.

SYMPATHETIC
a.k.a. "It's So Little For You" usually coupled with "And It Means So Much to Me"

How it works:
Especially for smaller items. It's the direct approach. The scarf for 50 dirham you're trying to bargain down to 40 dirham? "Madam, just 10 dirham. Only 1€. It's so little for you. And it means so much to me." It's a hard-hearted customer that can withstand that one. Especially when you know it's true.

SIMPLISTIC
a.k.a. "Local Price, Small Charge, You Choose"

How it works:
One of our favorites, but it only works for certain non-touristy items and activities. You are quoted the same ridiculously low price that the locals are quotes, and you can take it or leave it. 5 dirhams for 5 minutes of trying to get a rubber ring at the end of a fishing pole on a soda bottle, for example. Well worth the 50 cents. Olives at 10 dirham (1€) per kilo. Egg sandwiches at 4 dirhams (5 for free range eggs). No haggling required: it's practically heaven.

EDUCATIONAL
a.k.a. "Let Me Teach You About This Craft (Till You Want To Buy It)" and when coupled with "Let Me Teach Your Kids" it's almost unbeatable...

How it works:
You don't have to buy it, of course, it's just they want to show you how this beautiful handicraft is made. Or to teach you something about this little aspect of our culture. And then (sinister laugh) once we spend the time to teach you all about how we make it, you will be near powerless to resist (see: buying carpets at place with hand-knotting; buying leather jacket at tannery; buying scarves at place with loom, once shown how to tie proper turbans). Between the genuine Moroccan love for children and the genuine Moroccan savvy for bargaining, the kids are often the targets of all this wonderful cultural enlightenment. And it's not just the snakes that the charmers are charming...

DELUSIONAL
a.k.a. "You Just Bought This. That Means You Like It. Now Buy Another" often coupled with...
CONFRONTATIONAL
a.k.a. the aggressive and rarely successful "Why You Buy From Him Not Me?"

How it works:
Whether it's by government edict or simply tradition, we find that neighboring stores and stalls often sell not just the same sort of thing, but the same exact thing, displayed the same way, for the same price. This makes it oddly difficult to choose where to buy something, and it means that if it's not quite right for you at one place, odds are it will be not-quite-right for you everyplace. In Marrakesh on the first night, Anthony hones in on stall #42 for orange juice, mostly because the neighbors on both sides were too aggressive. From then on, we are loyal #42ists. And numbers #41 and #43 on either side are not exactly winning us over with a constant barrage of dirty looks and entreaties to buy from them instead. By the end of our stay, we are ostentatious in our support, and make a big show of enjoying the incredible deliciousness of the juice (hands down the best, fresh-squeezed orange juice we've ever tasted, for 4 dirham, or 50 cents, for a large glass that they like to top off for free) to entice other customers. We also walk by chanting "Forty-two! Forty-two! Quarante-deux! Quarante-deux!"

We cannot figure out why nobody differentiates. Not the juice guys. Not the rock guys, costmetics shops (see above: Desperation (Theirs), Generous, etc). Not the restaurants, the clothing shops, the jewelry stores, the cheap trinket stalls. But the most mind-boggling thing is their logic. They see you leaving a shop with a bag of pottery. And instead of thinking, "Damn. She bought the pottery from them," they think, "Aha! She likes pottery! Now she will buy from me, also!" So having just survived whatever other haggling approach you endured, you must now run the gauntlet of delusional/confrontational shopkeepers trying to get you to buy more of something you didn't actually need in the first place.

After all of this bargaining, G has greatly improved her skills from our time in India, when her bargaining went like this:

Salesman: That is 50 rupees.

Me, thinking: My God, that's cheap! We could buy ten of them. Must look like I'm shocked by the high price, however.

What I should say: 50?! For this? No, no. This is 20 rupees. For two!

What salesman should say: No. 60 for two (etc. until we arrive at the price of 45 for two)

What G says, out loud, before the salesman or I can get around to it: My God, that's cheap! We could buy ten of them. Even I could afford that on my allowance! Come on Mom, let's get some!

What we end up paying: 90 for two. All the wind is taken out of my sails.

Now, on the other hand, G is a force to be reckoned with. When I go to buy a platter and some ceramic bowls, I am willing to cave at around 250 dirham for the lot. G refuses to let me pay that much, and though I suppose I could overrule her, she's so eager to drive a hard bargain, and I'm so hot, tired, and ambivalent (there are twenty other ceramics shops in sight, and we've already looked at and started bargaining with half a dozen of them), I don't. And sure enough, she gets us down to 170 dirham. You can always tell by the expression on the faces of the salespeople -- after the fact -- just how successful your bargaining was. If they smile, want you to take photos, and possibly throw in an extra gift for the girls, you know you've paid generously. If, on the other hand, it's taken you quite a while and a few attempts to leave and, like this pottery salesman or Berber Man who sold us the rocks, they mutter and walk off without a smile, you've probably paid a price that's about as low as they're willing to go.