27.11.2018
I arrive at noon at the Pikala Bikes Organisation. The big sign “Holland Bicycle Atelier” is placed over the entrance of a big Hall. Inside this hall a little mess. Art Bikes, Bikes for rent, standing around, Tandems and mountain bikes hanging from the walls. In the back part there is the reparation shop with all the tools needed to repair anything. Three dogs and a cat roaming around and make some noise from time to time.
Pïkala come here! Pikala is the name of one of the dogs. It is strange to call a dog bicycle, this is what Pikala in Moroccan language means.
I introduce myself and get invited to eat lunch with them. I takes a moment in this new environment until I thaw up but I eventually make a lot of friends.
I separated the story for Pikalabikes as I want to support the project with the article about it.
You find it here.
I am invited to stay at the house of the founder of the project where also the other European crew lives. But I have to wait until the evening until I can get there, so I use the time and prepare my bike for the desert. New Gear oil, painting and stuff. I get every help I need and talk a lot with the people.
There is an Art exhibition with music this evening and they present their artistic bikes, so I help them to put all the bikes in the right Position.
As we finally go to the house, I am offered a couch in the living room. I like it there and with the people from Pikala and from planned 2 days, it becomes a 5 Day stay in Marrakech.
I spend a lot of time talking with the guys and girls from Pikala and as they are locals and we soon become friends, they show me around the city and help me with everything I need. They take me to a hill from which I can take amazing Photos and we have a good time.
One afternoon, I go on my own to the medina. I want to buy a scarf and a Djellaba for the desert. I don’t feel well in this market streets. Everybody just wants money from me and I feel like a running bag of money. I can’t even take good photos, either they want money for it, don’t want to be in the picture or there are always people in the picture.
I finally sit down next to a merchant and we start talking. Mostly about my trip. As I tell him, that I look for a good scarf and Djellaba, he takes me to a store, where he says that the originals are sold. The owner shows me a dark blue and black one and shows me how to put it on. We are chatting and talking about my journey and I feel good. Then we discuss the price. He says 800Dirham. I say 600 Dirham. He says 700 Dirham, I say 620 Dirham. He says 650 Dirham. I say ok.
Out of the shop I just realised, that I got scammed. This might have been too much for this clothes. But I am astonished about their acting talent and cooperation.
I go to the great place of the medina, where they walk around with monkeys and show snakes around. I talk a little with a guy with snakes, to gain some information about the snakes in the desert. Afterwards he wants money. Nope! Fuck you! I got already over this and have long ago stopped giving anybody money for nothing.
Back at Pikala, they tell me that I only paid the double amount for my new clothes. I laugh. Just another good story to tell!
One day I take a bike tour with Pikala. I have my cam and Gopro with me and make some photos.
There are 5 other tourists from Holland and we ride with the guide through the city. We see how a Hammam is heated and how bread traditionally is baked. We stop at a fancy café and as we come back to the bikes my Leatherman, Multitool and pepper spray are stolen. But Ayub the guide know this neighbourhood and know who has the stuff. He promise me to get it back.
One of the guys, Issam, at Pikala is a Berber and he explains me that he and a colleague want to set up a Berber school for tourists in order to guard the language and culture.
I agrees to make some Videos and Photos, while they give me a free lesson.
I meet the teacher, Hamid, at Pikala and while we walk to the café where the lesson is hold, he explains me some things. What we call Berber is actually Tamazhirt, and it is language and culture with many variations. The origin is from all over North Africa and just recently they became again aware of their cultural heritage and started to beware it. The young generation just does not speak the language anymore but the 90s Generation has now began to collect all the ancient memories and accents.
Even Gran Canaria has a Berber background and the people there are now fighting to get their language as an official language.
We arrive at the café and two young girls, who I know from the Pikala tour join us. While I do the filming and photographing from time to time, Hamid gives his lesson. He tells us about the different dialects, the letters used, about the tattoos, the music, how I write my name and so on. It is very interesting and only that I manage to pour a whole can of tea over my legs can stop the joy for a moment.
I then have to interrupt, as I am invited to eat couscous with Simo and Zaki, two guys I hung out yesterday. Issam is joining us and at zakis house we have a good time. We share travel stories, they teach me Arabic manners while we eat the couscous. Zakis Mother tells me that if I ever return to them, she will make me a traditional beef leg and that I will always be welcome to their house.
They even tell me about a product, Tar, black stuff made from Oil which they use to keep away snakes and scorpions. They use it to disinfect drinking mugs and as decoration for cups. Just spill a spoonful around the tent, especially the entrance and nothing will touch you! And don’t pee close to your tent! Snakes and scorpions are always looking for water.
Issam promises me to buy a bottle of it. And he also promises to try to get my stolen stuff back.
It is night as we drove back with our bikes as suddenly Issam drives over some package of sweets. There is a little bang and jokingly I tell him to go back and pick it up because it’s still fresh.
He does. Turns around and bring the little pack. Issam, I and Simo share it at the side of the road. It are two small chocolate cupcakes and they are smashed. But we still eat it. And we laugh about it. Simo says it’s the best birthday cake he ever had, we didn’t know it was his birthday. And we congratulate him. And we have fun.
Would all this ever have happened to a normal tourist?
