MOROCCO # 2 - Soukarama

Only one day to dive into the souks before we headed South.........


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Well o.k. there would be another day on our way back but still, no time to waste.

The hotel provided a perfectly adequate breakfast on the roof terrace but we skipped it to follow the rat-run lanes out of the medina to our affectionately remembered little breakfast place just off the Djemma..........I had been hoping and hoping that it was still there, still unchanged......and it was! Even the same guys, a little older but still churning out delicious milkshakes from fresh, fresh fruit and my favourite almonds, perfect pan chocolat, the most crunchy, nutty freshly baked rye bread, yogurts all lined up in their glasses, chilled freshly squeezed orange juice, pancakes with honey, an array of jewel like little cakes and of course the creamy cafe au lait ........oh bliss. Any combination of this superb breakfast food would probably be about 35 dh....€3.20 for two.
We followed our tradition of ordering a few extra pan chocolat and offering them to any passing bag lady on her morning begging route. The bag ladies of Marrakech are extra baggy and it's good to see that they are still perfectly acceptable in this café. They sit down quite contentedly with a café creme and their newly acquired pan chocolat, maybe share it with an ancient djellabad old guy with the most incredible pebble lenses glasses or a scrawny kid. There they sit in a tatty synthetic silk djellaba over several layers including woolly leggings down to ankles, hennaed toenails sticking out of decrepit plastic sandals. A new trend this time seems to be the baseball cap perched jauntily on top of the djellaba hood, very fetching.

O.K. , it's about 10 a.m. now, a bit early for the souks but never mind, time to find our bearings.




We enter the souks through the part where the olive stalls are, I love this bit, there are several stalls all selling identical olives. They are arranged in mounds in front of the stall, every colour and variety ; firm shiny pale green, through to the more mature murkier green, palest lilac into purple and finally the black salt dried wrinkly ones. Some are marinaded in a spicy mixture, others in a milder herby mix. Behind the mounds are the shelves and shelves of bottled olives looking fabulous in their shiny glass jars, not just poured in but arranged in layers with slivers of garlic, herbs or spices suspended in olive oil. Here too are the jars of preserved lemons looking sharp and fresh all ready for giving an extra special taste to the tagine. Harissa paste comes in different levels of heat, all a gorgeous rich chilli red. Amongst all this splendour is the stall owner wedged in amongst his wares offering the ladle to try a taste of the different varieties. Just around the corner from the olive stalls are the basket sellers where woven straw mats embroidered with red wool are also available, very striking and last forever.
We wandered around aimlessly for about an hour, Manfred's souk threshold. He went off to the Cafe des Epices (75 Rahba Lakdima Souk des Epices Marrakech ) in the spice souk, a good place to rendezvous.

I continued but was somewhat disappointed, no new exciting inventions since our last visit 4 years ago...........this was unusual, every time we have visited Marrakech there have been new innovations........I suspect commissioned by designers and then copied relentlessly, could it be that the designers have moved on to larger profit margins, China maybe?

Still very beautiful tribal rugs and the babuche are always tempting, I only bought 3 pairs this time for around 100dh, €10 each, fantastic value as they are made of beautiful soft leather including the sole and all hand stitched in the most gorgeous colour combinations.

It seemed that more stalls were selling identical merchandise and all on the tacky side, something to do with pleasing the masses of new tourists in the easiest and cheapest manner? I found my way back to the spice souk to meet Manfred and a very appreciated mint tea, he was looking quite smug clutching a little parcel which he pushed over to me, my birthday present, oh yes, forgot to say it was my birthday and this is what was in the parcel....

A STUPENDOUS BERBER BIRTHDAY NECKLACE


An extraordinary creation with nil intrinsic value but enormous ethnic value. This necklace is of recent manufacture but made up of base metal rings, the junk jewelery of the Berber souks for the last few decades and, more fascinating, dozens of bakerlite rings which were fashioned out of imported combs in the 20s and 30s. The Berbers were always consummate re-cyclers from need but see what a little imagination can produce......... the colour variations in the rings is wonderful, from deep ruby through terracotta, amber and an indefinite lilacy beige, in combination with the "silver" it's sensational..........I love my necklace, thank you Manfred!

For more information on ethnic Berber jewelery in Morocco see the beautiful book by Angela Fisher,

AFRICA ADORNED Publisher: Harry N. Abrams (September 30, 1984)
ISBN-10: 0810918234
ISBN-13: 978-0810918238

What a happy ending to my morning in the souks, after the mint tea at Cafe des Epices it was
time for a snack at our old favourite Cafè Toubkal in the Djemma and then back to our nice cool room at the Tresor for a siesta, we are following our Spanish routine which works perfectly here, pretend one is only going to rest and read and then gently drop off into a blissful snooze until the worst heat is over and one can look forward to what ever the evening may bring.........

MOROCCO # 1 - Hello and Goodbye Marrakech

Two days in Marrakech.... quite negative feelings, it felt as if this was going to be the long goodbye to Morocco. Of course, we knew very well that Marrakech was not representative of Morocco......... even though it was known as 'Morocco' in the 19th century.

As you will see later this was an over emotional first reaction, yes things have changed but maybe at last for the benefit of the poorer Moroccans.........poorer? There were ever just 2 classes of people in Morocco the privileged wealthy with plenty of influence and power and the ones that were there for their use and convenience.........admittedly this appeared to be a mutually beneficial arrangement forging incredibly strong ties of fealty and total confidence that Allah would provide in the guise of the almost feudal system. The French colonial rule devastated this system and encouraged the bureucratic systems of Europe...giving some opportunity to a new middle class Moroccan who certainly wasn't interested in improving the lot of his lowly brothers.

Now with the young king maybe the system allowed more opportunities for sons and daughters of previously humble families to improve their professional and financial lot. Moroccans never lacked in imagination, zeal and determination, who knows what might come of the new order even if it does include a concentration on more tourism, who are we to selfishly crave for the picturesque, impoverished Morocco of the past?

The reason for our initial disillusionment started was our first experience of flying straight into Marrakech. Usually we drove to Tarifa, travelled by sea to Tanger and then on by car.

Arriving at the airport together with hundreds of other tourists made it feel like a mass invasion. Just one short period in one day, we imagined this multiplied by 1000s of people brought in by the cheap flights, for most of them Marrakech was the destination, they would not travel further. 
On the taxi ride from the airport we could see that the city had expanded in all directions since our last visit 4 years ago, the traffic was in its usual chaos at around 7.30 p.m. Glad to see djellabas still in strong evidence on the streets, billowing on bikes and scooters.

Some things that never change, photos above, Djemma el Fna , the pink walls of the city and the Koutoubia mosque.......no building in the area can ever be made taller than the height of a palm tree so the Koutoubia at 77 metres has been dominating the medina since 1199.

In the medina we were surprised to see so much improvement in even the grottiest of the small hotels, over the years we have probably stayed in all of them, gradually being able to afford better ones with better rooms.

This time we stayed in a new one, open just 2 months Hotel du Tresor http://www.hoteldutresor.com/

Owned and decorated by an Italian, it's in praise of all things post-modern ironic with some amusing visual puns, some fine copies of 20th century art, re-cycled objects from the gutted and re-decorated La Mamounia, all crammed into a small riad which now has a very bijou pool in the courtyard with a magnificent orange tree growing up to the roof terrace level where there are fine views of the Koutoubia and the roof tops of the medina. Our room was tiny but had an en-suite bathroom and was quiet and cool. I guess we are past the times when we stayed in the grottiest medina dives with one squatter loo on each floor, the constant hubbub of comings and goings, all night chatter on the rooftop with the kif smoke drifting up to the starry sky. At the Tresor it was quite a novelty to be able to enjoy a bottle of wine, relaxing under the orange tree or up on the roof after a hard day in the souks........see souk blog.

Current booze situation.......... drinking wine in Marrakech, except in exclusive restaurants or expensive hotels, meant a trek into art-deco Gueliz , the 20th century extention of the old city, to one of the small grocery stores which have stocks of Moroccan wine and hard liquor, it all felt a bit illicit under the seemingly disapproving observation of the owners who must be making a fortune from the alcohol cravings of infidels.
Still no alcohol served in any of the ordinary restaurants and cafés near the Djemaa el Fna except the un-salubrious "Grand" Hotel Tazi. Also the Hotel Foucault which is very musty and dusty, much better to sip a mint tea .....but occasionally a glass of wine is essential and Moroccan red wine from around Meknes can be very good.

After 2 days in the madness of Marrakech we hopped into our hire car, another novelty, and headed South for our appointment in Agdz, Draa Valley.

Books

This will be an on going report on our somewhat eclectic reading lists, often controlled by what we can get hold of in the wilds of Extremadura occasionally suplemented by swaps or donations from our lovely clients, special treats ordered from Amazon and travel guides and maps brought back from latest travels. A substantial amount of re-reading or dipping into dusty, musty books from parents or even grandparents, also passionate biliophiles in their time.

A quirky American site for the "cruel and unusual" is book whores which is encorporated into http://www.blastmilk.com/bookwhores/shop/index.html where you can find some interesting book lists and images! For reading or copying popular, classic and esoteric books on line the Project Gutenberg is one of my favourites http://www.gutenberg.org/

 

Desperate for books at the moment, our main source of reading material, the charity shops of the Algarve, had dried up as the daughter moved away from there for a while but good news, she's moving back so my visits will only be ostensibly to see her but really to raid the book shops.

What we have been re-reading is more accurate lately. Lots of Moroccan stuff as we are plotting and planning our Moroccan retreat south of the Atlas mountains. Paul Bowles is always very good in a very detatched manner, almost reportage and mainly about Northern and Middle Morocco rather than the deep South that is our passion.

BERT FLINT COLLECTION - MUSÉE TISKIWIN

The Musée Tiskiwin is a beautiful double riad in Marrakech containing the private collection of ethnological objects belonging to Dutch collector Bert Flint who lived in the riad during the 50s and 60s. This small, dusty, and appealingly quirky museum leads visitors on a journey from Tuareg artifacts of the Sahara to the talismanic Berber adornments of the Atlas Mountains. Despite being around the corner from the Musée Dar Si Saïd, the way is poorly signed and it is easy to get lost en route; follow the signs on Rue Riad Zitoun el-Jedid instead.

click to enlarge collage.

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MOROCCO # 3 - A little house in Agdz

17th -19th June 2008

We crossed the Tiz n Tichka pass to Ouzarzate, it was easy, the road was good, no mud slides at this time of the year. By late afternoon we were in Agdz the start of the of the Draa valley palmeraie, we had crossed 100kms of moonscape barren mountains from Ouzarzate to reach this dusty little town but somewhere around here was the little pisè house in the palm trees that had seemed so enchanting in the photo on the internet announcing it was sale.

We wanted to stay at the Casbah Caid Ali apparently a Kasbah being slowly renovated by a French/Moroccan family and inherited from a great grandfather, Caid Ali.

http://www.casbah-caidali.net/hotel-agdz-gb.html

The kasbah looked impressive, a rambling pisé structure with high towers and a traditional format including the riad, a hollow square surrounded by arcades. It had an atmosphere of abandonment, maybe there had been some renovations to secure the structure but it felt neglected and uncared for. The riad was scruffy and desolate with a broken fountain the middle, no sign of orange trees or aromatic herbs mentioned in the web site. It was melancholic. Our room appeared to be the only room in the riad, it was long and narrow with badly renovated high painted ceiling, or at least the colours seemed too paintbox bright to me. An ugly modern wardrobe had been pushed in front of a traditional alcove, pity. The door to the room had been beautiful once, now patched and disfigured by chains and padlocks, but at least it was in its original painted colours, not touched up. The surrounds were very beautiful with 100s of soaring palm trees growing in rich clover pastures irrigated by the overflow from the pool.

The owners were very simpatico, they made us very welcome and gave a lot of information about the history of the kasbah and the great grandfather with his 6 wives and hundreds of Haratin black slaves, no wonder he had to make such a sprawling kasbah. The village scattered around the Kasbah walls has a predominantly black population and there is a theory that the Haratin were the original inhabitants of the S.W. Moroccan oasis villages and were made into slaves by the invading arab traders who were tempted by the enormous wealth of dates from the the valleys of the Draa and Dades.

After dinner we were escorted through labyrithal passages to a clearing in the village where a celebration was going on. Several huge drums and tambors pounded out rhythmic beats accompanied by the clapping of the women and small children of the village all dressed to the nines in gauzy turquoise and pink, beaded and sequined. One woman was dressed in white lace and with her elegant little figure, mantilla like headdress, small pointed slippers and tiny waist she reminded me greatly of a dusky version of Goya's portrait of the Duchess of Alba in white, strange but true.

The celebration seemed set to go on all night so we slipped away back to our peaceful room in the abandoned riad, it was a full moon and the kasbah looked magnificent, easy to imagine its former glory.

Next morning up bright and early to make arrangements to meet the guardian of the house for sale. Turned out he was a cousin of the Kasbah owners so he turned up to meet us there. Full of anticipation we left the Kasbah and dived into a winding trail through the palm trees to the small pisè house with a view of Jebel Kissane set amongst some groups of large mature palms .

The plot of land was small, about 1000m2, the house was traditionally built, thick walls of brown mud and straw, flat roof of rough beams and mud, a squatter loo, no running water in the house but a deep well and pump in the garden. It was peaceful, just a few people passing on their way to tend their land. We had permission to spend a night so went off to the souk to stock up on a few things we could eat without cooking. Another beautiful moonlit night and just the soft rattle of the palm branches in the coolish breeze. Something to think about but the area around Agdz does not enchant me, no interesting excursions and I suppose walks through the palm trees pall after a time so probably not my dream house, needs a lot of work to make it comfortable for any length of time........still it exists and apparently building is strictly restricted in the palmeraie now as it is on the verge of becoming a unesco world heritage protected area.

Spent one more night in the Agdz area at the Kasbah auberge in the village of Tamnougalte, newly built, basic, good pool and great views of the mountains and the village.

Tamnougalt was once the capital of what functioned as an independent republic in the Draa. The republic was ruled by an assembly of families, such as Caid Ali's family, who controlled both exports and imports as well as taxation of local agriculture and small industries thus amassing wealth, prestige and plenty of power.

We were at a bit of a loose end at this point, thought we would visit the other great palmeraie of the Dades valley and then took the weird decision of going even further south and into the desert at Rissani, we had fond memories of Rissani but maybe not the best decision considering the great heat that was building up by the day.

Dades was very changed, huge amount of building, Todra Gorge unrecognizable and unbearable with convoys of tourist buses, hundreds of people distracting from the splendour of the gorge.................old fogey moment.......I remember the first time I went 20 years ago, just one simple auberge and a walk through the river to get into the gorge.......ahhh. So despite the madness of driving into the hottest part of Morocco we felt we might just be able to find some respite from all this heavy tourism, I know we are tourists too but.............

MOROCCO # 4 - Rissani and the Taflilalt

19th - 22nd June 2008

Many places in Morocco are haunted by happy memories but the tendency is to over- romanticize, some places acquire a rose tinted aspect, unhappy memories (few) simply disappear or become so blunted by time they no longer hold a sting. Rissani is a happy memory, we have visited only once before, about 15 years ago. We loved the very authentic souk and bought many battered palm wood bowls, battered but beautiful, gorgeous patina built up through years and years of hard work and constant handling. We had the idea of taking our finds to a cheerful metal worker in the souk and asking him to carefully patch up the worst cracks and chips with some brass, copper or zinc from his old pots, he did a great job, quite rustic but careful, we still have all those bowls, about 12 dotted around the cortijo and a photo of the metal worker hammering away. Rissani was a place of possibilities and we hoped that maybe it still held some magic.

It had been a long hot drive in our rickety hire car, I was zonked by the heat and kept dozing off, towards the end of the afternoon my blurry brain was registering a different atmosphere, much hotter yes, but this felt like South, real South Morocco. The men were all in their summer djelabas, mainly white with the distinctive bright yellow turbans. Lots of bicycle and donkey traffic on the flat shady roads through the palms. Not a tourist in sight!

We remembered that some new kasbah auberges had sprung up between Erfoud and Rissani and thought we would indulge as we needed a little pampering and the memory of the hotel in Rissani was of noise, dust and a particular night of desert wind banging all the shutters, strange cries and whispers, disturbing in a very Paul Bowles way.

We came across Kasbah Ennasra and it looked very inviting with a lovely pool, although it was a bit expensive we decided to recoup for 3 nights, 750 dhrs per night for big double room with a.c., bathroom and private patio......bliss!

Next morning we were up too early for the breakfast staff, searching around we eventually found them asleep on the roof, the coolest place, our room had been stuffy despite the air.con.

Off to discover the traditional villages around Rissani and into the desert, or as far as we dared with our fragile little car.

Very impressive and interesting, the villages were walled, virtually ksars. We didn't intrude through the gates but just enjoyed the scenes of children and donkeys collecting water from the wells, the slow pace of desert villages.

We left the tarmac road and followed a track that led straight into a marvellous desertscape, not exactly an intrepid adventure as there were signs of regular use despite the shifting sand on the track, many marabouts and plenty of palms, but at least there were golden sand dunes not the dreadfully monotonous hammada, stony desert.

Sunday is the big souk day in Rissani and I was looking forward to having a good wander. We arrived early to take advantage of the relatively cool morning but strangely enough no one else was thinking this way so the souk really didn't get going until about noon. All morning heavily laden wagons and trucks had been arriving with anything from bales of wool, fruit and vegetables, household appliances in various states of decreptitude, live sheep and goats but most of all people, lots of people jostling, ruminating and bargaining hard for their various needs and wants.

I knew this time I would only be a spectator, no room in our air luggage for any temptations. An old man was making new bowls out of palm wood stumps, exactly the same pattern as my old bowls, a square flat bottom with deep bowl on top, the new wood seemed so pale, it would take years to achieve a silky golden patina.

I bought 2 (small) clay bowls with a very rustic greeny glaze.........oh and a pair of magenta pink babuche made of leather and robust rubber sole from an old tire, very elegant!

We passed the animal souk, a chaos of milling animals and wily looking old geezers prodding and pinching likely purchases. The animals looked healthy even though the tiny donkeys were terribly overburdened as usual........ I thought of our great hefty donkeys at home never doing a stroke of work . I wonder why the donkeys in Morocco are so very pygmy, I guess they eat less in a land of poor pasture and can obviously still carry a huge load including the robust owner as well.

Siesta time............again.

MOROCCO # 5 - Ait Bougmez - Happy valley in the high Atlas

22nd- 23rd June 2008

From Rissani it was time to head back in the general direction of Marrakech.

Not sure of where we would stop on the way. We were tempted to explore the Ait Bougmez valley in the high Atlas but were daunted by the 80 kms of rough track that showed on our map.

We had read about the valley and it sounded extremely interesting, the river made intense agriculture possible in this high 30 km long valley. Interesting villages were preserved in the traditional style, thick pisè walls, wooden beams and rafters with pounded mud and straw made the distinctive flat roofs.

As we passed the massive barrage of Bin Ouidane we were intrigued by a battered sign for 'Auberge du Lac', it sounded romantic so we dived down the small road in the direction of the lake. The shadows were lengthening, it was very quiet and seemed a good place to stay if possible.

The auberge was set amongst banana trees looking down on to an arm of the lake, it seemed to have been built at around the time of the barrage, early 50s but had an almost art deco look. After banging and knocking on various doors it dawned on us that the place was abandoned, a tattered net curtain stirred in the breeze that rattled the banana leaves, suddenly it seemed rather creepy, it took on a rather more sinister air.
Time to go, leaving the Auberge du Lac to its brooding melancholy.

Unfortunately we had to stop in Azilal for our overnight stay, an anonymous town stretched along the highway to Marrakech. Even more unfortunately we stayed at an hotel that is best forgotten, especially the shoe leather steak. Bad luck but something good came out of it. After chatting to the owner it appeared that the road to Ait Bougmez was now paved at least into the valley, he wasn't sure about the other half of the loop that would bring us back to Azilal across the mountains in order to continue to Marrakech....... we didn't care, even if we had to come back the same way, normally my particular anathma.


Quite exciting to be entering completely unknown territory. Soon after Azilal the road started to climb and wind around the mountains. We passed the barrage again with very impressive views that showed its true extent, apparently it is Morocco's largest barrage and provides 25% of the hydro electricity.

The new road was narrow but well made, probably hazardous in winter, we could see signs of avalanches bringing down tons of rocks which must bounce across the route several times before reaching the valley floor.




Very beautiful wild mountain scenery, plenty of trees, mainly pine and holm oak. We passed women and children herding goats and sheep on seemingly deserted stretches of road, then around the next bend were a few precariously situated houses, very remote from any support, how very self-sufficient these mountain Berbers must be.

Soon the villages started, clinging to the steep sides of the valley, the cubes of brown mud built like steps on narrow terraces, the roof of one forming the front yard of another. Way down below the river flowed, patchworks of neat square fields and mature walnut trees flourished, the small black goats looked like ants from so high up.





It was harvest time for the favoured crop of barley, furious activity on the threshing floors with teams of donkeys galloping round and round to stamp out the grain, the chaff rose up in dusty clouds. It became apparent that this was a totally non-mechanised area, not a tractor in sight just loads of donkeys which was lovely to see. The children obviously had there part to play in the agricultural processes too. There were a few schools which were attended in the morning and then for most children their allotted tasks in the afternoons.

After a confluence of rivers we followed the road which continued to skirt the ait bougmez river, it ascended steeply, we guessed this would be the part of the river where the spectacular gorges were situated considering such a dramatic height difference. The river was now accessible, the area was beautifully cultivated with the towering walnut trees all along the way. Passed some amazing agadirs, grain stores situated on high rock outcrops. These were not only used for grain storage in times of peace but as sanctuary in times of war.

Here are two photos of the granery which is also the marabout of Sidi Moussa, it was a long hot climb to the top, I can't imagine fleeing up there in times of emergency, I guess donkeys were the means of transport for the usual grain storage. Inside the granery each family had its own compartment for their grain with a beautifully carved and decorated door, in times of trouble the grain would become communal.

Time to ask about the road, did it continue or not? Manfred went to ask in a rather beautifully restored house in Itrane.........I sat under a walnut tree and watched the river flow. 20 minutes later he was back beaming with the good news that the house was in fact an auberge and they had plenty of room, in fact no one else was staying.

This was Dar Itrane my favourite place in our whole holiday found by complete fluke, serendipity forever!

We had a complete tour of the substantial building conducted by Ibrahim, there he is above. From the typical insignificant entrance, through the courtyard, the hammam, 3 floors of traditional salons, a library, dining room, enviable kitchen, lots of tempting rooms with a superb open balcony on each floor. Since we had a choice of the whole auberge we chose the top room with its own balcony, fascinating views of village life and the surrounding mountains.

We had always dreamt of a place in Morocco, a place that was simple, using well made natural materials and traditional design..........unfortunately Moroccan style often means some hyped up 'exotic' fantasy created by European clichès and using the tackiest crap from the tourist catering parts of the souk. At last, here it was, a work of art, a labour of love. The perfect balance between comfort, design and tradition. Owned by a Frenchman with an extended programme of integration with the local community......Well done!

We asked Ibrahim to stoke up the hammam before dinner while we had a wander, haunting cries of the women ululating madly and then later rhythmic drumming and chanting from nearby house...... a funeral, a marriage?........a mystery.

The hammam was literally stunning, intense clouds of steamy heat rising from the huge copper heated directly from below by a blazing wood fire, plastered ourselves in thick, gooey olive oil gunge and came out super shiny clean.

Dinner on the terrace, salads , tagine, fruit...........and of course one of our precious bottles of wine.

Later back on our balcony we ended our perfect day and night at Dar Itrane.

 

.............goodbye, we will be back one day to walk the gorges, Inshallah.