2011 Morocco & Al Andalus 2

Morocco & Al-Andalus 2

Journal kept by Susan Hanes during a five-week trip to Morocco, southern Spain, and Portugal from April 4 to May 10, 2011. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2011.

Morocco & Al-Andalus April 4 - May 10, 2011

Travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.

--Miriam Beard

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Thursday, April 14

Skoura

Relaxed morning with breakfast on the terrace before setting out just before 10:00 on the N 10 to Ouarzazate. Picked up the Tizi n’ Tichka road toward Marrakesh, turning off about 10 km. from the pass onto the narrow, deteriorating road to Telouet, which we followed for 20 km. to the Glaoui Kasbah, said to be one of the most extraordinary sights in the Atlas.

The crumbling kasbah is fast collapsing into the red earth from which it was made and parts are in complete ruin, but the place retains a strange magic. There were few visitors, and Jake and I were alone as we entered the compound, climbing broken steps and walking through a labyrinth of roofless rooms. Although the living quarters are almost gone, the reception halls retain their magnificence: the zellij tilework, the plaster “embroidered” carving, the intricate painting on the doors and shutters. It was well worth the difficult drive there.

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Glaoui Kasbah

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Fearing that the road from the kasbah to Ait Benhaddou would be impassable without a 4 X 4, returned to the N 9 and drove back the way we’d come, turning off about 30 km. outside Ouarzazate and continuing for 9 km. to the UNESCO-designated kasbah that has been used as the location for films, most notably, Lawrence of Arabia. Immediately after we parked, were confronted by young man who hoped to be our guide; when we rejected his importunings, he called us “Bad Tourists.” Looking like a Moorish Mont-Ste. Michel, Ait Benhaddou is set on a low hill above a shallow river; sandbags act as stepping-stones and young boys anxious for a tip offer ready, if not requested, assistance. The twisted pathways within the kasbah are lined with souvenir shops that add color rather than detract from the scene. We climbed to the top for a view over the valley of red buildings set within the green of the palmeries.

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Ait Benhaddou A UNESCO Site

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Driving back to Ouarzazate, stopped to visit the Atlas Film Corporation Studios, the location of countless films by some of the world’s premier directors, including Oliver Stone and Martin Scorsese. The man at the gate sent us across a desolate plain to the set of Kingdom of Heaven, a city of Jerusalem that was totally believable until you knocked on the stone walls and realized they were plastic. A complex of scaffolding held up the mighty walls of medieval fortifications nearby.

A short drive up the hill brought us to the holy city of Mecca. Drove thorough the studio lot to find a series of sound stages and various props, from lines of plastic Ferraris to a giant Fou dog. It was nearing 4:00 and we were ready for our cocktail break but as we left, we were immediately confronted by a policeman who advised us that the road was blocked and we needed to take a detour. The detour turned out to be about 8 km. long and brought us to a bridge over the river where a peaceful labor demonstration kept us stuck for over an hour and a half. At last the way was cleared and we returned to the Ben Moro shortly after 6:00; retired to the terrace for drinks and conversation with several French couples before having a chicken tagine in the patio on a pleasant, breezy evening.

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Friday, April 15

N’kob

After coffee and toast on the terrace, we departed at 9:00, carrying with us Aziz’s warm smile and his blessing, “In sha’ Allah.” Drove to Ouarzazate, breezing over the same bridge that we’d been caught on last evening, on the N 9 southeast toward Agdz. The winding road snaked through rocky arid hills and climbed up to the Tizi n’ Tinififft pass to 5500 ft.

Descended into Agdz, a tidy little town of low pink buildings in the shadow of the craggy Jebel Kissane mountain. Downstream from Agdz, the road meets the bed of the Draa; we had entered the magical valley of Morocco’s longest river, which is something of a linear oasis, with mile after mile of lush palm groves, orchards, and ksour. Stopped to take a photo of the Ksar of Tamnougalt, standing on the left bank of the

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river between mountains and palm groves. The towns we passed had little to distinguish them from each other; all had wide main streets lined with pinkish buildings and bright metal doors of green, blue, or yellow. Nearing Zagora, saw scores of children walking out in the streets toting their backpacks, on the way to school. Most of the men we saw wore the white gandoura while the women wrapped themselves in black, trimmed with bright adornments or embroidery. Passed young boys selling dates by the roadside, indicating that we were in Morocco’s date capital. Leaving town, the road flattened out and deteriorated to a single lane with ragged edges. It became a game of chicken to see which vehicle would leave the pavement to allow the oncoming one to pass.

Ksar of Tamnougalt

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In Tamegroute, saw numerous stands selling greenglazed pottery. We crossed a vast plain of rocky sand and ascended two passes before reaching M’hmid, an isolated little town where the road ends at the dunes of El-Yshoudi Erg. As we neared, the wind picked up, blowing sand across the road in spite of the woven palm leaf barriers buried on both sides. The town was partially obscured by the roiling sand; I felt sorry for the people who were buffeted about. That changed to some extent when several men became very aggressive, standing in front of the car and rapping on the windows to get us to stop, presumably to extract money for tours, camel rides, or dining suggestions. At 1:30, we turned around and drove back the 160 km. to the turnoff for N’kob on R 108; were amazed at the

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change that the blowing sand had made in our views of the Draa; the palms and vegetation that had been such a lush green against the blue sky now appeared dusty and grey. Reached N’kob at 5:00 and drove through town to get a sense of things before locating the Kasbah Imdoukal at the end of a short alley in the old quarter. It is a pleasant place with a small garden, inviting pool, and a roof terrace overlooking a palmery. Only problem is no booze in the Muslim-run establishment; we will have to survive. Dinner on the patio: harira, a local soup, was served with a hand-carved wooden ladle.

Tender chicken followed, with onions, preserved lemons, olives, prunes, almonds, and eggs in a sizzling tagine. Mint tea and local dates topped things off nicely.

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Saturday, April 16

Tata

Made a point to get an early start as we weren’t sure how long the drive would be, on “white” (on our Michelin map) routes through the mountains, especially after some of the roads we’d encountered yesterday. By 8:30, were on our way back to Agdz to pick up R 108 to Tazenakht; really bad road. At Bou-Azzer, ascended to a high plateau, passing a large cobalt mine with trucks carrying quarry materials; far from a scenic drive. Turned off on R 111 to Foum-Zguid, avoiding two mountain passes. The road eventually leveled out and became two-lane again. Off in the distance we could see huge clouds of dust that looked like smoke, much as the sifting sand had resembled blowing snow yesterday. As we drove toward Tissint, the road straightened out and we were able to make good time. Entering the town, a member of the Royal Gendarmerie stopped us and took our passports. We were starting to wonder what suspicious activity we were suspected of when the officer returned with them and sent us on our way with a smile.

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Arrived in Tata at 1:00, far earlier than we had expected, and located Dar Infiane, a small boutique hotel with six rooms, in a 500-year old converted kasbah, with palm-frond furnishings and palm wood ceilings. The owner, Francine Simon, greeted us, but unfortunately we quickly discovered that we were incapable of understanding each other except in a most rudimentary manner. She showed us to our charming room, gesturing for us to keep our heads down in the low doorways and to mind tripping on the numerous small rugs that lined the passages. Our room is a delight; bright and airy, with a colorfully painted ceiling and tribal rugs. As it was too early to call it a day, took the car out again and looped around Tata’s wide streets, lined with low-arched pink buildings trimmed with tile, that resemble so many of the towns we have passed through. Drove a short distance from town, stopping to take pictures of several abandoned ksours in the late afternoon sun. Wine and olives on the roof overlooking the palmery below and the mountains in the distance; were delighted to reach our kids using Skype. Dinner followed: a warm vegetable salad and a tagine on the patio. Patrick, our host, arrived late. He greeted us and told us about the rugs we had admired; he said that they were Moroccan kilims and told us where to look for them in Marrakesh. I spoke more French this evening than I have in years and was delighted to be mostly understood. After dinner, Patrick offered us some Armagnac and we toasted each other and enjoyed the beauty of the cool evening under a full moon at his lovely kasbah. A really special evening.

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Sunday, April 17

Tafraoute

Woke up to the pleasantly domestic sounds of donkeys, goats, and birds. Breakfast served by Francine on the rooftop terrace with a view of the mountains, shining golden in the bright morning sun. Away at 8:30, heading southwest on the N 12 along the northern reaches of the Sahara. Passed Akka (meaning “dates” in Arabic) along a large palmery. There was supposed to be a souk today but it looked like nothing much was going on. Saw several “blue men” wearing traditional robes of bright blue, trimmed in brown. Wish I could have taken their picture. As we drove along this desolate stretch, passing tiny villages, we marveled at how people manage to carve out a life for themselves in this remote place, as they must have for centuries. A number of military trucks passed us; I remembered that

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I’d read about the Polisario fighting that had taken place near here, but Jake reminded me it was back in the 1980s. Turned off the highway and down a piste (gravel) track to Ait Herbil where we went through the village to see the decorated doors we had read about. Imagining we would be photographing fantastic carved and colorful wooden doors, found only metal ones painted different colors. Although I found one with hearts, it was a big disappointment. Back on the main road, driving through hammada (barren rocky sand), saw groups of camels, old and young, overseen by women herders. At a well near the side of the road, stopped to watch one woman bark commands to her charges who seemed pretty indifferent.

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The Doors of Ait Herbil

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When we saw a sign for Amtoudi, turned off again, this time on a paved road,in search of Id Aissa, an agadir, or fortified storehouse, that is one of the most spectacular such sights in North Africa. The road was poorly marked and the map was not reliable, and we made an erroneous turn that took us 12 km. in the wrong direction. Asked a truck driver for directions and he indicated for us to follow him with a wide, toothless grin. Returned to the crossing where we took the wrong turn and followed him, bumping over several sections where the road had been washed out. But our 24 km. detour was worth it when we saw the agadir, its formidable towers and ramparts impossibly perched at the top of a rocky spur. We marveled at the path that zig-zaged up to it; it would be quite a trek up there on a mule. During our detour, we saw so many interesting people in the countryside; how I would have loved to have photographed them. But their obvious dislike for the camera made it particularly difficult to do so—how different from India!

Noticed as we continued west into the Anti-Atlas that the landscape was starting to have a greener tinge. Heading north to Tiznit on N 1, encountered more trucks than we have so far on this trip, but could not quite figure out why.

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Id Aissa

Took a circuitous route to Tafraoute through the Ameln Valley. As we climbed into the mountains and drove along a high plateau, could see why the valley earned three Michelin stars. The scenery is as dramatic as any we’ve seen. Small pink hamlets are encircled by mountain peaks that resemble a lunar landscape. Descending into the valley to Tafraoute, we were dazzled by huge rock formations that towered above, glowing red in the afternoon sun. Arrived in town around 5:00 and easily found the Riad Tafraoute where Saeed, a scholarly-looking young man, welcomed us and showed us to a simple room, made more interesting by colored glass windows, pise walls, and a hand-carved door made in Mali. Noticed the presence of a TV and a phone for the first time since we have arrived in Morocco. Dropped off our things and walked down to the souk; the town is known for babouches, a type of Moroccan slipper, and we looked at several cobblers at work in their small shops. Visited a couple of crafts stores and were impressed at how friendly and un-

pushy everyone was, which made looking fun and pleasant. Particularly liked Maison Touareg, a large shop on the edge of town with an impressive selection. Saeed (different from our hotel clerk), dressed the part in a kaftan and turban, was solicitous and charming and determined to sell us a rug. We looked at many kilims, for were taken with the ones we had seen at the riad in Tata.

At last he showed us a small one, quite old, with delicate aged colors that we liked. After a lot of talk, we left to think about it. Dinner at the Etoile d’Agadir around the corner where we had tagines and Cokes. Sat outside, French café-style. Saw Saeed in the street as we left, and returned to the shop for more bargaining. Were delighted with our deal and he and his big brother Moha (dressed in a “blue man” kaftan) seemed pleased with the sale as well.

Photos taken and arrangements made; smiles and handshakes. So much more fun than the hard sell!

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Monday, April 18

Ouled Berhil

Leisurely café au lait and fresh baguettes on the terrace under the watchful gaze of Mohammad V in the form of a huge poster across the street. Said goodbye and In sha’ Allah to Saeed; took a photo of the three of us with the self-timer on my camera and promised to email it to him. Then back to the other Saeed to exchange the bracelet that he had let me choose as a gift; I decided during the night that I preferred the one he had suggested first. I told him how impressed I was at the number of languages he is familiar with and asked him how he would describe the various nationalities that came into his shop. This is my synthesis of what he said: Americans and Germans: serious and to the point; Spanish: lots of blah-blah-blah and don’t buy anything; Italians: lots of talk and no buying; French: knowledgeable and easy to deal with (but then, they speak the language and have a lot of experience with Morocco); English: cold and stand-offish; Dutch and Belgians: not shoppers.

Another warm goodbye; without a doubt, the people of Tafraoute have a place in my heart. Left town around 10:00 to more fully explore the Ameln Valley. Took the long way out, toward Agadir, on R 104, stopping to photograph as series of

Berber villages that crawled up the base of the surrounding mountains. Saw a herder toss a stone at an errant sheep to get it back to the rest of his charges. Ascending the valley on R 105, passed several kasbahs built on the crest of small hills; it was easy to imagine the animosity that must have existed between them as they looked out across at each other. It was really windy; I had to make a choice between taking pictures and maintaining some kind of hair-do. A nerve-tingling drive descending from the Ameln Valley. Turned off on N 10 just before Agadir, and drove east to Taroudant, an attractive city with wide boulevards and commanding ramparts. Encountered lots of bicyclists riding three or four abreast, sometimes holding hands, usually fooling around. The area is obviously a big agricultural region, and we passed many orchards of oranges and olives, fields of maize, and covered areas of bananas.

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Reached Ouled Berhil at 4:00 and followed signs for the Riad Hida, finding it down a side street on the south side of the village. Sighed when we saw four or five tourist 4 X 4s parked in front; so much for our perfect record of staying in such special places. However, when we checked in, found that these were groups who had come for lunch; the “palace” was essentially ours. And a palace it was: an 800-year-old kasbah, it was formerly owned by a Dane who meticulously restored its traditional and highly ornate ceilings and architecture.

Ismael showed us to our room, the Pasha’s Suite. Truly amazing. The decorated ceilings, the mosaics, the tiled bath, the bed set apart with a jali screen. A long balcony paralleled our suite and overlooked a beautiful garden with palms, orange trees, bananas, and a profusion of flowers. As I write this, we are enjoying a Moroccan rosé in the garden. The wind, which prevented us from sitting around the pool, continues to rustle the palms; a few minutes ago, it blew down a six-foot frond near us. At least, they are not coconuts; I could stand being pelted by a date.

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As I sit in the garden of the Riad Hida in Ouled Berhil, I feel it is time to write what I call my “italicized” journal.

The wind is blowing through the palms in this beautiful place. Jake and I are sitting in the garden, sharing a bottle of wine. I am trying to persuade him to go back and get a jacket so that I can have a moment to think about the last two weeks that we have explored Morocco. Tomorrow we leave this lovely garden and use all of Jake’s driving experience to go over the Tizi n’ Test to Marrakech. But tonight, we are in a little bit of heaven, at the end of two weeks in Morocco. It has been a journey of contrasts, as all of our trips have been. We have traveled deserts and gardens; mountains and valleys; cities and villages. Like all of the trips that Jake plans for us, we see the country as two people on our own. At times, I will admit to fears and misgivings, but he has never proven himself wrong. This is his gift to me: these marvelous adventures, discovering a country on our own, and seeing a people as they really are.

While tours offer the opportunity to see a “real” Berber village, we have been driving through them for days. While a guide may be able to explain a certain characteristic of a building or tell an anecdote about an area, we are able to form our own impressions and make our own connections with the people. As long as I have been traveling with Jake, I have been complaining about the length of his trips and the occasional discomforts or changes from the routine at home, but when I come down to it, these trips are a gift, for in them, he has opened the world to me in ways I had not imagined. And to be perfectly honest, I think that my being with him has given him a deeper appreciation of the people we have encountered on our travels. By exploring together, we have enriched each other and made the world more accessible, more meaningful, and more real for each other. Our travels have made me realize how much I am part of the whole, not a component of some group. The opportunity that I have had to travel in Morocco and in the other places Jake has taken me has allowed me to see my place as a member of mankind: of all of us who feel, who worry, who experience, who care for our families; ultimately, who love God and each other. This is the gift that he has given me; and I am blessed to receive it.

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Tuesday, April 19 Clear and peaceful morning for our drive over the Tizi n’Test, the pass that cuts through the heart of the Atlas. Blasted out of the rock by the French from 1926-1932, it remains an incredible feat of engineering, described in the Rough Guide as “not for the faint-hearted” and marked on the Michelin map with bold black dots that indicate “dangerous and difficult road.”

The wind of last night was gone, replaced by the gentlest of breezes, as we enjoyed eggs and toasted baguettes on the terrace off the Pasha Suite. Hoping to avoid traffic coming over the pass from the other direction, got on the road at 8:00; only problem was the low sun that was an extra challenge. Jake did a commendable job, climbing to over 6500 ft. in an unending series of curves and switchbacks made more nerve-racking by the fact that the road was little more than one lane with vertiginous drops to the valley far below.

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Marrakesh take pictures out the window without our having to stop. The steepest ascent and descent took about an hour and a half and we reached Tinmal Mosque a little after 10:00. Looming like a lonely fort against a backdrop of rugged mountains, the mosque is an austere structure built in 1123 by the Almohad Dynasty. It has been partly restored, but even without a roof, it was easy to get a sense of its former grandeur. In fact, the mihrab (prayer niche), with its intricate carving, is substantially intact. We peeked in at the back gate and were delighted when a guard appeared and opened the door for us to look inside. As we drove on to Marrakesh, encountered a great deal of traffic, much of it on narrow, winding roads. Arrived at the airport soon after 1:00 and dropped off the car; we had clocked in over 4000 kilometers.

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Taxi to the mellah, the old Jewish quarter of the medina where the Riad Bayti is located down an alley near the spice souk. A cart pusher directed by another fellow carried our bags to the door; Jake sorted out the tip between them. Were ushered in to a central courtyard where we were served tea and waited almost an hour to be shown to our room.

Entertained ourselves by watching two turtles make a continuous circuit of the courtyard: one kept knocking the shell of the other and nipping at its tail.

At last we were taken upstairs—a lot of them. Our rooms are on the roof, off a rooftop terrace; not nearly as nice as it sounds. Set out to do a little exploring; discovered that the spice market is only one day a week—today—so we visited one of the spice dealers near the riad. The vendor showed us various spices, teas, and herbal remedies; it was fun to learn about some of the strange things we saw for sale all along the street. Tried a tiny crystal of menthol in a glass of tea; it was a real blast. Had a hand treatment with pink clay and rose water and smelled all kinds of perfumes and infusions. Left with a bag of spices and teas. Walked up to the Place

Jemaa el-Fna, the giant plaza that is a moving carnival of sorts, with locals in jeans and tee shirts, tourists in shorts, and families from the mountains in traditional Muslim dress all milling around, watching the snake charmers and dancers, having henna designs applied, drinking fresh orange juice, or eating at one of the numerous street-food booths. We walked up and down the aisles of food stalls and finally Jake persuaded me to take a chance and try one of them. Each had its front man encouraging people to take a look at the menu. We checked them all out, deciding on the one (#34) that had the greatest number of locals dining. Sat on a bench at a tin table and watched our kebabs and sausages sizzling on a giant grill; lots of cooks and lots of customers in an atmosphere of goodwill and smoke.

Dodged motorcycles as we walked back through the narrow medina streets to our riad; they are really a menace, as they go so fast and presume that you know enough to get out of the way. I liked it better in the Fez medina, when we contended with donkeys that are not so aggressive and certainly are not so fast.

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Dark, fierce, and fanatical are the souks of Marrakesh. They seem the central organ of a native life that extends far beyond the city walls ‌ --Edith Wharton, In Morocco

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Wednesday, April 20

Marrakesh

Had the worst shower of the trip. The shower is part of a bathtub and sprayer arrangement and I didn’t want to sit in the tub (besides there is no stopper); the sprayer had a split in it that sent water out in all directions; there was no shower curtain. Had to walk down 47 steps to the main floor to ask for breakfast, and then back up 47 steps where breakfast was served. Gathering our cameras and sunglasses, set out through the mellah to our first stop, the Bahia Palace, built in 1866 by a former slave. It was particularly interesting to visit, as part had been beautifully restored and part, including a grand court, was in the process, allowing one to see what a massive project is being undertaken. Nearby was another, smaller, palace that now houses the Museum of Moroccan Arts, where we saw a small but lovely collection of leatherwork, carpets, ceramics, and jewelry. They also had an interesting collection of small decorated doors, reminding us again of our disappointment with the doors of Ait Herbil that we had gone out of our way to see. Walked around to the west, looking for the Marrakech Museum. When we pulled out a map, a man came over and asked us where we

wanted to go. We told him and he said, “Oh, the museum is closed today.” Fortunately we paid him no attention and found our way there, where we bought a combined ticket for the Marrakesh Museum, the Almoravid Koubba, and Ben Youssef Medersa. The museum’s collections gave us an excellent opportunity to see Moroccan craftsmanship at its best. The Koubba, a two-story domed kiosk, may be the only surviving Almoravid structure to survive intact in Morocco, and is the root of Moroccan architecture. Just down from the museum, the medersa was a beautiful example of the Koranic schools that we have seen in other parts of the country. The place was full of tourists and it was fun to watch the massive amount of picture-taking, and wonder what was to become of the thousands of images that must be made each day (we did out part too).

Walked through the souk to Place Jemaa, past the monkey-men, the henna ladies, the orange juice carts, the snake charmers, and the drummers, to the Koutoubia Minaret. More than 200 feet high, it is visible for miles around and is a symbol of the city.

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Bahia Palace

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Marrakesh Museum

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Medersa Ben Youssef

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the souks ... are mere mud lanes roofed with rushes, and the crowds swarming in them are so dense that it is hardly possible to approach the tiny raised kennels where the merchants sit like idols among their wares. ‌ --Edith Wharton, In Morocco

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Koutoubia Minaret

Picked up a double-decker bus tour, which took us out of the medina and gave us the chance to see other parts of metropolitan Marrakesh, including the posh areas of Hivernage and Gueliz. In a way it was a bit of a hotel tour, as it made several stops at various up-market hotels including the famous La Mamounia, where Jake stayed 45 years ago for literally a tenth of what rooms go for today. Got off the bus at the lower medina and found the Saadian Tombs that belonged to a dynasty that ruled Morocco from 1554-1669, until the Alaoute sultan Moulay Ismail blocked all access to them except through an obscure entrance from the Kasbah Mosque. There they lay in ruin for millennia until they were rediscovered in 1917 in a French aerial survey. Their exhaustive decoration has now been restored; the entrance is still obscure, through a narrow passageway on the side of the mosque, but inside we found the intriguing and ornate tombs in a peaceful garden setting.

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Saadian Tombs 92

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The sun was getting hotter as we bought tickets to the ruins of the massive El Badi Palace, where one could still get a sense of the vastness of this once opulent ceremonial complex. It was only a short way back to the riad; thinking we would put our feet up before our dinner reservations, were disappointed to find that the room had not yet been made up. Jake decided that he would take a bath, using the drain cover that I brought with me. He said it worked like a charm. Unfortunately, there was not enough hot water for a bath. This last hotel in Morocco is indeed the least. Petit taxi to Dar Marjana; it sure helps to know what the cost should be before entering into any negotiations. The driver told us MAD 40; George knew it should be about MAD 20 and they settled for 25. As we stepped out at the entrance, a man carrying a lantern led us down a narrow alley and through a door to an open courtyard where we were seated near the fountain. Were offered a drink; while I had a glass of Moroccan wine, Jake had the house special: a bright green concoction of fruit juice and an anise-flavored liquor. As we munched on walnuts and popcorn, we watched as the room began to fill with other diners, all tourists; detected Germans, British, Portuguese, and of course, French. After an hour or so, we were guided to a low table that had been embellished with rose petals and, in red sequins, “SUSAN GEORGES.” Dinner unfolded as a dramatic presentation of numerous courses. At least a dozen appetizers including lamb’s brains and liver; a small pastry called brik; chicken and lemon as well as a pancake-wrapped pigeon; lamb tagine with tomatoes and onion; couscous and vegetables; warka, a thin pastry with warm milk poured over it; almond cookies and mint tea; and finally a choice of cordial. As the meal progressed, we were entertained by a singing mandolin player, followed by two energetic African players/dancers, and topped off by a comely belly dancer. Our feast for the senses ended at 11:00, when the lantern-man led us out to our taxi. This time the driver wanted MAD 80, “Because it is night.” Jake paid him 35.

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Thursday, April 21

Marrakesh

Breakfasted in the company of several French families with little girls who ran all over the place in their pink Crocks. Taxi to the Jardin Majorelle, a botanical garden created by French painter Jacques Marjorelle in 1924 and owned by Yves Saint Laurent until his death in 2008.

Although it was crowded, its sense of tranquility was evident. Lush bamboo swayed before a stark field of cactus; water lilies floated below bougainvillea in an assortment of colors; it was a most pleasant place to spend the morning. Hopped on the red tourist bus and followed it around the Oasis Circuit, through the palmery on the outside of town and the area of Semlalia, home of sprawling golf resorts and Club Med-type complexes.

This is the place to be if one’s idea of experiencing Morocco is to take a camel ride or take your picture near a palm tree before heading back for another round of golf or a swim. We noted a lot of new construction in every direction. Changed to the Historic Circuit bus and retraced our route yesterday, getting off at the Jemaa.

Stopped to buy some nuts (the ones last night had been so good!) but when the vendor wanted to charge us the equivalent of $8 for a small scoop, we declined. Into the souk to do some shopping, walking down Souk

Semmarine. Bought an old silver kohl applier made by the Toureg people of the Sahara at La Porte D’Or and several things at El Abidi Nasser Eddine, where owner Nasser and Hicham, his assistant, explained about the fantastic weavings created by the Zemmour women of the Middle Atlas. These small weavings, filled with stylized figures and abstract bands, are hung or placed on beds, rather than going on the floor. They are woven over wool, using strands of recycled silk, and then over-embroidered with designs that signify all that a mother might wish for her daughter (house, land, children, the safety of kasbah walls, adequate water). Nasser loves these weavings and was very proud of the few that he had. The tradition is now gone and these weavings are no longer made; the most recent ones were woven nearly 100 years ago. We chose one with subtle colors and interesting designs. We also left with a small Toureg box and a 19th century Berber “defense” bracelet (with spikes)—really heavy 850 Moroccan silver. Stopped for a bowl of harira soup at Les Premices on the Jemaa and then returned to our riad to unload our purchases and figure out how to get everything into our bags.

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Walked around the corner for a late dinner at Le Tanjin, on the edge of the mellah. Obviously popular with tourists, it had a pleasant ambiance and good value. Diego, part of the French couple that owns Riad Bayti, warned Jake not to pay attention to the belly dancers unless he wanted to pay for the privilege; we happened to be heavily engaged in conversation when they wiggled by. After a final glass of mint tea, walked back to our alley, noticing how things seem so different in the medina after the tourists are gone and the shops have closed. There is another whole culture out there among the people who inhabit those late night alleys; one to which we do not belong nor do we begin to understand.

‫اململكة املغربية‬ Journal kept by Susan Hanes during a five-week trip to Morocco, southern Spain, and Portugal from April 4 to May 10, 2011. Photos by Susan Hanes and George Leonard, copyright 2011.

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Faith means living with uncertainty feeling your way through life, letting your heart guide you like a lantern in the dark.

--Dan Millman

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