Rasta and Elvis go to Morocco

We all decided to do a Sahara Desert trip. There are three types of trips 1, 2 and 3 days in length. We all opt for the 3 day. James and I had found a travel agency that did the exact same trip as our hostel for 100 dirhams less. So we set off to make reservations.


Usually when James and I walk around the markets of Marrakesh, we get a lot of attention from the local shop owners. We are easily recognized as foreigners which automatically makes us rich and dollar/pound/euro signs in their eyes. Right outside the road that our hostel is on is an antique dealer selling old jewelry and the type of the stuff the trader guy on the intro of Aladdin would try to pawn off. This guy even has old school Aladdin like lamps. Anyways, each time we walk by he always wants us to come into the store to have a look. His phrase is always “good price for you”. The fact of the matter is that every shop in Marrakesh says that phrase. We’ve been telling him next time for a while now and today is no exception and we continue our trek.

Finally we reach the busier areas and shouts of “Rasta!” and “Jackie Chan!” sound off like clock work. Usually James gets offers of drugs usually in the direct quote of “hashish, best in Morocco” everywhere he goes and today is no exception. A creepy looking guy runs out from the shadows of a dark alley and asks us how we are doing, where we are from, and finally the nonchalant pitch of “so you want some hashish?” We look straight ahead as we both say no and continue to walk.


Speaking of the question “where are you from”, it seems that in Morocco people don’t have the concept that I look asian and still be from the US. I’ve all but given up on telling people that I am from the States. They just don’t believe or think you are kidding. The usual response is “US? But ”. So from here on out I’ve been telling people I’m from China, in which their next response is “China wery good ” As my British friends would say “sorted”.


We reach the travel agency and finally book our trip for the following day. Our journey back is the same direction and the same shop owners give us the same pitch again as we walk by. This time however I hear someone shout “Elvis!” James and I both pause and give each other a look. “He wasn’t talking about me” I thought, then I look at this tall white man with dreadlocks next to me and realize that they couldn’t have been talking about James. Besides being called Elvis, I know that I have a super hot Sahara desert trip coming up and long hair isn't the most ideal thing to have in a super hot environment. At this point, I decide, not because of the numerous requests from facebook, that I need to get a haircut. 20 dirhams or 2.30 USD later I’d be damned if I got another Elvis shoutout.