A passion for exploring the world via jogging lead to a couple becoming enamoured with Marrakesh’s rich history.BJ Oudman
Sometimes things don't go as planned – and those moments often make for the best stories. Tripping columns offer readers a chance to share their wild adventures.
Running is a great way to see cities. It's faster than walking and safer than trying to look around while riding a bike. Running also reduces jet lag, so on Day 1 of a two-week tour of Morocco my partner, Karen, and I thought a morning run in Marrakesh would be a grand way to start.
Our accommodations were in the heart of the medina, the original part of the city, surrounded by walls and home to 300,000 people. Our guide told us to run the road to the airport and be back in time for breakfast at 9.
But I hate out-and-back runs. So, I reasoned, if a medina has walls that surround the city – and I leave turning right – I should just keep running around the walls until I get back to my gate, correct?
Good idea in theory, but – as I found out – with each new dynasty, walls were added. Karen and I passed beautiful city gates, mosques and markets. We saw things that no guidebook ever suggests, passing through the back alleys of the souks, with merchants roasting food on fires and calling out cheerfully, "Allez, allez!"
The first hour passed by quickly with all of the distractions. But as the walls began to change in appearance, we began to wonder, "How much further?"
My high school French allowed me to ask a cabbie, "Ou est le Djemaa el Fna? Where is the main square?" His eyes widened before saying, "C'est loin! It is far." I wished we had brought cash and our riad address.
A bit farther on, a small crack in the wall let me get my bearings. My face turned white – all I could see between me and the very distant city was a field of white tombstones. Stomachs churning, we ran on. We had no other choice.
After 20 minutes, a teenager riding his bike piped up, "Hello!" We were previously warned of touts trying to get disoriented tourists more lost, but I had to trust my gut and let him direct us. He rode beside us for a while, and then pointed out our remaining route.
Finally, we saw the familiar Koutoubia minaret near our home. A sense of relief flooded through me and I giddily uttered my own little prayer of thanks – we were going to make it! Our pace picked up as the anxiety hovering over us dissipated.
Our guide was both horrified and proud of our pre-breakfast adventure, noting the many dirhams we saved by taking our own medina tour. When I rationalized to Karen that our two-hour unknown distance run in a strange city was excellent half-marathon training, she just glared at me. But looking back, we both realized that run was both the best and the worst highlight of the trip.