Ali Baba…

The Souk

They are busy, vibrant and colourful places, culturally and economically important in the centre of most Arabian cities. Must see markets where you can buy almost everything you need at local prices

Part way through, I had sat down for a rest on a wooden bench by a simple tea seller when i noticed a tall man in a stripey, woollen kaftan, wearing mirrored sunglasses, sporting a large moustache and a fez on his head, heading over towards me. He introduced himself as Ali Baba, a local carpet trader and part time taxi driver.

“Where are you from?, London? Luvvly Jubbly?” he asked with a wry smile.

I told him I was from the north of England and he replied 

“Do you know Manchester? Good innit? Bobby Charlton?” and proceeded to kick an imaginary goal in the direction of a large stall of silver teapots.

He smiled and sat down next to me and tapped his long nose twice while continuing to ask questions in threes “You want spicey? For tonight? For you and your wife to share?”

Was he asking me if I wanted drugs?, Hasheesh? Or maybe Charlie?….(look, now Iv started the 3 question syndrome). Before I could answer he leaned in closer, I could now smell his breath, “Come, follow me, I show you! Good price”….and stood up and set off…

I followed him inquisitively, as he turned down a dimly lit, twisty passage leading to under the main souk. 

The passageway got darker as he beckoned me to continue and as we walked he started to ask more questions, “You like breasts?, I have…!, legs?, yes, I have…, beautiful thighs?, I have everything for you my friend, luvvly jubbly, Bobby Charlton, follow me…”

At this point, we entered a dimly lit but crowded area of noise and chaos with an overpowering, but unmistakable stench of butchery and slaughter. With piercing shrieking, yelling and squawking I realised we had entered the underground poultry market. Live birds were being grabbed from overcrowded cages and dispatched on bloody wooden chopping boards by machete wielding purveyors of fine, feathery flesh.

In the end, what I had failed to consider was that he had seen me sat there like a tourist with a souvenir tagine pot on my knee, clutching a wilted bunch of coriander and a bag of yellow saffron and had thought that I needed to find some fresh chicken for my traditional Berber cooking pot!

John Holts Reggie classic from 1973 is a perfect track to accompany today, here he is doing it live with the Royal Philharmonic in support.