Swimming in Marrakech

On a hot day, the idea of a swimming pool is a most attractive one … and there are lots of hot days in this baking city, so I have made it my business to find out where to go.

But it is not easy, for swimming is not cheap here. A lot of people go to la-di-da hotels and agree to a fee of about 30 euro and lunch there in order to have access to their sumptuous poolsides … but in what is rather a clinical, posy environment I often find. There are also fancy clubs right outside the city boasting more attractive surrounds, but these also cost an arm and a leg, not to mention the taxi fare. Or one can go to Oasiria, a huge water wonderland, and ride the churning waves and slide down the shutes with the best of Moroccan children.

But, strangely enough, by the side of the steaming, traffic-filled road to the airport, one has a choice of two more ‘normal’ pools – Myah Bay and Beach Garden. The former is again quite slick, with bodyguards in sunnys and suits at the gate – even if you just want to take a look there, you must leave your water outside that gate. Inside you have a huge infinity pool and very impressive it is too, with stylish black and white sunloungers, healthy looking bronzed types baring their biceps … and rather loud contemporary music blaring from the loudspeakers. But perfectly Ok if you like that type of thing, and don´t mind paying  about 25 euros for the pleasure … still a bit steep in my opinion (although the price seems to fluctuate, depending on how much they need the business I guess … or maybe how much they want the particular customer!)

What the pool looked like on the first visit

However, further down the road you have the Beach Garden. ‘This is more my type of place’, I thought when I entered the first time, following a path through a pleasant garden and turning to find an Olympic-sized pool, complete with lanes and some useful swimmers ploughing up and down. A little café in one corner, some fairly decent changing rooms, and the music bearable.  More cosy than posey, I thought happily.

That was my impression on my inspection visit. So, the next time I went there in earnest – a stinking hot day and I had to cool down. Couldn’t wait to get in that water. Took a taxi along that churning road, risked my life crossing it, and paid my 100 dirham (10 euros) to the delight of the gatekeeper, who had been crestfallen when I did not go in the first time, offering me tea and begging me to stay.

I turned that same corner on that steaming hot day and … the pool was full of, but full of, and surrounded by, the youth of Marrakech. And when I say the youth, I mean of the 16-21 variety. They were everywhere and they were mostly masculine. They preened and they dived and they divebombed and they splashed. There were a few young women – maybe three in bikinis, the rest in burkinis (very elegant actually).

I emerged from the changing room in my Speedo and a tee-shirt and a towel and walked timidly through groups of young men but hey, they weren´t going to take any notice of me anyway. So now the question was where am I going to leave my stuff? I approached a young man who was not preening at that particular moment, or covered in headphones, or staring at his phone; I asked him in my best Arabic  if I could leave my bag there (it was all of three words – ‘ mika dyali hna’ – literally, ‘my bag here’?). He looked disdainful, pained by my poor attempt in Darija, and faintly nodded. I took my towel and t-shirt off, left my hat on top as a marker and  quickly dived in before anyone could spot me in my shrinking Speedo.

There were too many people in the pool to do lengths and so I chose a relatively free space – where I could also keep an eye on my hat – and crossed the width.  A few of these and I started getting into my stride … thump up and down, up and down. I noticed people clearing out of the way after a bit as I came crashing through … and then a little while after that I noticed something else: some representatives of the Marrakech youth had begun to race with me!

This really began to be fun as, growing up in Kenya, I had a privileged swimming existence and a definite advantage over these boys – in style if not speed. Swimming is the only sport I have ever been any good at, and now we raced!

I will not say I won every time, but I think I did myself proud. And when I decided enough was enough, I noticed I commanded just a tiny bit more attention than before …