The Last Liquor Store in Marrakech

The title of this short story is incongruous. A contradiction. In Morocco where Islam is the official state religion, It can be nearly impossible to find a beer & liquor store. Which usually proves not to be a problem as the stunning scenery does more for your senses than any drink could. But on our last day in the country, Amanda and I wanted to mark three weeks wandering from Casablanca to Marrakech with a proper toast. This is where it gets interesting…

We had indulged by using some rewards points to reserve a couple nights at a 4-star hotel as our first treat of the trip. But as a result, anything else we wanted to buy on the premises was far too expensive for our long-term backpacker budget.

With two types of beer and awful cocktails, paying luxury prices seemed to be foolish. It wasn’t the bartenders’ fault, after all, most of them never got to taste-test their creations. So we decided to look into getting our own supply from a local store.

I searched on Google for some cheap options, unsure and doubtful that we’d find anything nearby.

But to our surprise, there was a store only a 5-minute walk away. The lack of a website and ambiguously placed marker online (this establishment was marked as being in middle of a major road) made me skeptical. After digging into a few Google reviews from locals and tourists alike (I was not the first one with this idea) we found that it was difficult to find, but it definitely existed. Huzzah! One ambitious local even left incredibly detailed instructions in English that made the feat seem feasible.

Unsure of what lay ahead, we followed the directions closely. Approaching the corner where Google mistakenly plotted the store, we took a left down an alley passing a couple auto-repair shops, a car wash, and a few old men enjoying a mid-day coffee at a sidewalk food-stall.  Approaching a series of loading docks that were tucked away from the main road, we met a wave of Moroccan workers pushing through on foot and on mopeds. Fighting against the unexpected tide of traffic coming out of this tiny alley, we made our way towards an unmarked, rundown storefront with an enormous security guard out front. We greeted him on the way in, thanking him for opening the door, and I gave a smile and a nod as he returned the same.

Inside we were met with a rush of noise and crush of humanity. In a tightly packed space no larger than 10′ x 12′, surrounded by un-finished concrete walls and dim fluorescent lighting, a broad L-shaped counter separated the staff from a mass of yelling customers.

As we joined the group, every mouth went silent and every head turned quizzically in our direction at the unlikely appearance of two western tourists in this thoroughly local establishment, and probably even more curious about Amanda’s presence than my own. But as quickly as it had quieted, the crowd re-erupted as they went back to their business.

Amanda and I decided to watch for a moment to see if we could decipher a system amid the bedlam. There didn’t seem to be any. Over a dozen men waved paper bills and empty hands at three staff who looked resigned enough to be standing at a bus stop.

I peered above the heads of the crowd, and seeing an older fellow behind the counter who looked like he could be in charge, we made our way towards him. Pushing to the front of the mob, I attempted to order a pack of beer and some gin. Putting my volume to use (I have a knack for being loud) I managed to wrangle my voice over the melee and gain his attention, using a random smattering of English and Arabic. The gentleman simply glanced at us blankly, slowly scanned the line of customers along the counter, and then wandered aimlessly toward the back of the store.

We thought he was going to return.

He didn’t.

This was going to be interesting.

The door swung open a few more times. The crowd grew. It seemed impossible that such pandemonium could be both be created and contained in such a small space.

We pushed to the right, down the counter through the jumble of bodies to another staff member who looked at us with a puzzled-expression. A little more engaged and less inebriated than his elder, we were hopeful when he attempted to assist us, but our hopes were dashed as another, louder, angrier patron begged away his attention. To this new assault, the worker gave a dramatic spit on to the floor and preceded to launch into what I could only assume was an avalanche of insults on his new quarry.

One customer in particular, a shirtless middle-aged man with long hair, a few teeth and a worn-out, dirty motorbike helmet, entered and exited the store several times. Each time he would announce his arrival with pronounced gusto, wave his helmet around, slam it on the counter, and then leave again. Often forgetting the helmet. This continued over and over as we conducted our purchase with no end in sight. No one seemed to take any note of him, least of all the staff. 

Two other men stood swaying side by side in the corner, with arms draped around each other, yelling and occasionally singing to no one in particular. Their voices carried a monotonous tone that sunk into the background of the confusing commotion, providing a constant drone through the whole experience.

Several others clustered around the opposite end of the counter clamoring for attention, but even when they got it, they never seemed to purchase anything at all. Usually, after summoning a staff member, they would argue for a while, a decision would be made, the staff member would retrieve an item, then another dispute would arise, and the item would return to the shelf. This occurred more times than I can recall. Seems like they weren’t getting the deal they wanted.

Occasionally an emptied bottle would be strewn on to the counter, only to be scooped up and tossed into the back by one of the staff.

It seemed like instead of just being a store, the staff were also running an illicit bar. Which would explain a lot.

The crowd continued to grow. The space didn’t. It felt like this place was the last liquor store in Marrakech, and everyone was trying to get a drink before it disappeared; Us included.

It was an intriguing look at an uncommon situation. In a country where almost no one drinks (at least openly), those who did were characters to say the least. And they all seemed to be in this store at 11:45am on a Tuesday.

Occasionally the large security guard from out front would enter, survey the scene, smile and nod in our direction, then gesture at the staff behind the counter in an attempt to help us. Luckily, he appeared to be the most sober one there. Friendliness always paid off on these travels.

Eventually we found our luck with the third, possibly sober staff member and secured our purchase in a bizarre exchange where our decisive choice of product and prompt presentation of cash seemed to almost break the whole system down and garnered confused looks from the shopkeeper and fellow customers alike. The others were still engaged in extensive negotiations or drunken arguments with no end in sight.

Pushing through the increasingly cramped and clamorous crowd, it became clear we had made our purchase just in the nick of time, as if at any moment the whole place was going to collapse under the sheer weight of activity and energy in such a small room. But in all probability, that was likely just the way it always was, and we were just novices.

We exited back into the beating Moroccan sun, nodded at the friendly security guard one last time, he nodded back, and continued on our way.

And that’s about it, just an entertaining beer-run in an interesting place. The beer and gin were put to good use; we had an appropriate farewell toast to our fantastic time in Morocco, and despite the chaos we were quite happy to have found a liquor store in Marrakech.