Cutting for Stars

I took advantage of another later start to the day with an early run around Marrakech down Mohamed V Street. It’s a big, wide street with ample sidewalks. It was nice to watch the city come to life and go about its everyday business. I also found art in an unexpected place: the trees lining the street are carved when they die. 

I’m not sure if this is an approved art form or if there’s a rogue street artist with a chainsaw, but I dig it.

The main event for the day was a tilework, or zellij, workshop. Tilework, in case you haven’t noticed, is very big here, and they are excellent at it. We walked to the local artisan collective through one of the many beautiful public parks. 

This one, interestingly, had a bunch of public health and environmental health informational posters. 

This sounds like the beginning of a bad joke: "Two bags, one paper and one plastic, walk into a bar..."

The park also (randomly) had a telephone museum, of which we took full advantage.

"To whom may I connect you?"

We arrived at the artisan’s collective excited to learn. 

The beautiful entrance to the Ensemble Artisanal

Nobody was more eager than our artist-in-residence, my sister. We first learned to draw the tile shapes on the baked tiles using a sort of paste and a sharpened reed. It was much harder than it looked. The language barrier between the artisans and us made learning a challenge, and the artisans seemed to have that particular affliction of the very skilled where they lose the ability to break things down into discrete steps that are easy for a beginner to follow. Which side of the reed works best? Why do you sometimes wipe it before you use it and sometimes not? The same was true when we went on to the next step: tile cutting. Using a jerry-rigged contraption that left a metal ridge as a work surface, we laid tiles atop the ridge and hit them with an adze. The adze had to be leaned on one’s leg for stability, and even getting the right sitting position proved a feat. Our legs fell so deeply asleep that we stumbled like baby gazelles every time we tried to stand. We sat with our adzes for a long while, trying to carefully chip out the shapes that we had painstakingly drawn. 

That is, trying to chip along a straight line so we could cut out a square. The artisan working next to me kept telling me to hit the tile harder. I resisted, but he continued to prod. At last, I gave the tile a good whack and… it splintered into five pieces, none of which were the shape I wanted. We had a good laugh and I tried to salvage something from the rubble I had created. Luckily, there were many more tiles. Just as we had progressed from tracing squares to tracing more complex shapes like stars, we gradually moved from chipping squares (badly, in the case of my mother and me) to more complicated shapes. My sister and father each managed to keep their shapes recognizable, and my sister even produced some stars to the point where the head of the workshop invited her to stay on and apprentice. He said she could live in his house and teach his kids English, and in return she would be trained as a zellij artisan. She was so excited, we feared we might have to leave her behind.

Before leaving, my sister and I each pieced together a small mosaic (from tiles cut by experts, as we wanted a traditional look rather than a cubist commentary on Moroccan zellij) and had them plastered. First, the design was laid out, which felt a bit like playing with Moroccan tangrams. Then, the whole design was flipped over and squared off using hollow metal pipes. 

The whole thing was covered with a bit of plaster/cement dust and a spatter of water; this helped it not to stick to the floor at the end, apparently. 

They then mixed plaster in a small bucket and poured it over, smoothing it back and forth to fill cracks and even out the surface of the back. After about ten minutes, the metal pipes were broken off and the whole piece was flipped over to reveal our mosaics!

We left with sore forearms (from the adze work), full hearts, and heavy mosaics and headed to lunch. Given that we only have a few days left, we have been trying to sample as many different Moroccan dishes as possible before we return home. To this end, Ahmed had called ahead and ordered us tangia, meat cooked in a large pot with spices. He had also ordered rafisa (the chicken + lentil + crepe dish we had yesterday) without the chicken and with extra lentils, so that my (as much as possible) vegan mother could mix things up a bit. Our giant meat pot was brought to the table by the proprietor, who popped off the aluminum foil lid and gave it a good shake. 

He then ceremoniously poured the contents into a large dish, prompting whispers of curiosity and jealousy from the large American tour groups at the surrounding tables. 

It was a lot of meat to eat, but was so tender and well-seasoned that we finished nearly all of it. We handed off the last chunks to the curious observers at the nearby tables, who gamely down the tangia.

Our afternoon, what little was left of it, was spent relaxing. A week and a half of high-energy travel has made us savor our hours of rest.

Spotted: Berber music! After seeing how excited we got listening to Moroccan music with Omar in the truck (fun fact: French Montana is also Moroccan), Ahmed played us some Berber tunes. The song of the day is therefore Aman Iman by Tinariwen.

Yves You Build It, They Will Come

In contrast to our museum- and city-heavy adventures yesterday, today was very green. We began at the Jardin Majorelle, an incredible garden named after the painter Jacques Majorelle. 

He moved to Morocco, bought this land (~1920), built a beautiful (public) garden, and lived there until his untimely death in a car accident. The beautiful gardens fell into a state of disrepair and were on the brink of demolition when the famous French designer Yves Saint Laurent and his partner Paul Berge bought the place in 1980. They hired a Moroccan botanist who created an inspired vision for the gardens, which boast plants from around the world harmoniously coexisting in a beautiful oasis. 

The fountains and buildings are mostly painted a brilliant shade of royal blue, now called Majorelle blue. 

Both YSL and Paul Berge passed away over the last 2 decades, 

The memorial for YSL and Paul Berge within the Jardin Majorelle

and the Jardin Majorelle is managed by their foundation. Today, this beautiful, peaceful place has over 800,000 people a year.

While YSL and Paul Berge lived in Morocco, they fell in love with the Berber culture and art and built a museum to honor a people they felt remained “undiscovered”. From Ahmed, we learned that the name “Berber” comes from the word “barbarian”, and that Berbers prefer the term Amazigh, which means free people. The museum contains items of everyday life (cool keys, slippers, bags) 

The one picture I took before I learned pictures weren't allowed in the museum

as well as large pots for making and cooking couscous (the whole process takes two whole hours) and, of course, some Berber fashion. It came as no surprise that a museum built by a famed fashion designer would glorify Berber couture. A room kept in darkness with twinkling, star-like lights above reflected in 360-degree mirrored walls was filled with glass cases of elaborate Berber jewelry. Berber women traditionally wear cloth wrapped around them and pinned in place. These pins are at either end of a chain that can be quite elaborately decorated. Married women wear the two ends pinned to either side of their chest (picture one pinned between below the collarbone on each side, creating a necklace-like effect), while single ladies wear only the righthand side pinned. Some of these pin-chains were enormous, with a giant silver triangle measuring about 5-6 inches on a side attached to each pin and colorful stones worked into the design. And this was just one component of the outfit; there were also headdresses and earrings and layers of actual necklaces. Berber women also had a bunch of Wonder Woman-style wrist cuffs and some things that looked like brass knuckles, which Ahmed (perhaps jokingly?) said could be used for defense. The next room (with normal lighting) was filled with beautiful woven clothing from the Berber tribes in different regions. They looked incredible warm and cozy and I am very inspired for my future wardrobe (which will apparently consist of well-wrapped blankets).

Since it was the morning of all things YSL, we went to the next-door museum honoring the fashion designer. We first stopped in the temporary exhibit, which showcased pieces by the Moroccan designer Noureddine Amir. His nature-inspired pieces were suspended from the ceiling, again in a dark room with mirrors for walls. 

My poor mother was having such trouble figuring out what was a path and what was a mirror that we had to go rescue her and guide her through. We asked the staff and they said people walk full force into the walls all the time. In case haven’t mentioned this, safety seems to be a lower priority here sometimes. We continued on to the exhibit of YSL’s own work, which included a wall of iconic photographs, news clippings, sketches, magazine covers – everything. Around a bend, a vast room was lined with impeccably dressed mannequins showcasing his designs from over the years. Knowing pretty much nothing about fashion, I learned that one of his innovations was designing a tuxedo for women and that another was creating collections honoring famous French painters including Matisse, Picasso, and Braque. I also learned that YSL started out working for Dior and was named as the head of the fashion house after the Dior passed away. He got drafted to serve in the French Army during the Algerian War of Independence and had a nervous breakdown, at which time he was fired by Dior. His big comeback was starting his own fashion house, which seems to have been a smash hit from the start. Whatever the industry, you’ve got to admire a comeback like that.

After departing the museum, we drove around La Palmeraie, a giant park filled with date palm trees. Entrepreneurial locals had gaggles of camels (including baby camels nursing!) ready to be rented to tourists for rides around the park. We learned from Ahmed that date palms are protected in Marrakech and that it can cost up to 10,000 dirham (a bit over $1,000) to move one. As a result, new houses that are built on land with palm trees are often planned around the existing trees to avoid these fines. We continued our drive around the city, seeing the beautiful theater and train station and generally appreciating this gorgeous cosmopolitan city.

When we at last alighted near our hotel, it was to walk over to our cooking class. We sat with eight other tourists, most of whom were from Europe, and were instructed about the most common spices used and how to properly make Moroccan mint tea. We then trekked upstairs to the giant kitchen, where we each had a station with a screen broadcasting the teacher’s every move. 

We dutifully chopped, peeled, minced, and mixed our way through a chicken and lemon tagine, a smoky eggplant dish, and a green pepper and tomato cooked salad. The instructor also demonstrated how to make bread and had several of our classmates up to practice kneading bread the Moroccan way. After we had turned off our last (very hot) burners and curled our tomato peels into little roses, we trekked downstairs to enjoy our creations. They were fantastic! 

We were clearly born to be Moroccan chefs. We enjoyed a long dinner with our classmates-turned-friends, talking about a wide range of topics from knitting to high-tech start-up investment to professional horseback riding. At long last, we had finished all of our courses and it was time to leave. Stuffed (as usual) we waddled back to the hotel for some well-deserved rest.

Spotted 1: donkeys! So cute and so ubiquitous in Marrakech.

Spotted 2: libitibito! Pronounced libby-tibby-too, this is the Berber version of "cheers!"

Additional photos from our day:

Excitement over finding a giant jade plant

We found out what euphorbia looks like! (You know, the plant that, when its pollen is collected by bees, makes honey that leaves a delicious burn in your throat, mentioned in a previous post.)

YSL used to design a greeting card, which usually said "Love" somewhere on it, and send it out to friends, family, and clients during the holidays each year. Nice idea, right? Here is a small snapshot of some of them.

The Incomparable

The city of Marrakech possesses a fascinating blend of old and new. On nearly every road, cars mingle with horse-drawn carriages toting tourists and donkey-pulled carts transporting all manner of goods. In the marketplace, some men are hand-stitching fabric alongside other that are using powertools to cut modern pipes. The squares are filled with water sellers dressed in traditional outfits alongside vendors selling Anna and Elsa balloons. Of course, we observed many of these things in other countries, but the contrast somehow seems more stark here. Other cities felt new with a bit of old, or old with a bit of new. Marrakech feels solidly both old and new.

Since we are technically staying in the Marrakech medina (which is very spread out and spacious, versus the Fez medina), we were able to walk to all of the sites today, and it felt amazing to be free from the car. We first walked to the Koutoubia Mosque, a 12^th century structure that is apparently the sister to the Hasan Tower we saw in Rabat. 

Koutoubia Mosque minaret. Note the water sellers in traditional red outfits in the bottom right corner.

This mosque actually replaced another mosque, as the architect of the first mosque made a rather big mistake: the building wasn’t facing Mecca. The Koutoubia Mosque still gets quite a lot of traffic, attracting about 20,000 people to its Friday prayers and more during Ramadan (per Ahmed, the imam has a beautiful voice and people will travel from across the city to have him transport them to a religious state of mind during that holy month). As with other mosques, at the top of the minaret is a wooden structure that looks like gallows. This structure points towards Mecca, providing a reference for those praying at their shops or homes. Additionally, a flag is hung from the structure at prayer time so that the deaf can see what they cannot hear. Many mosques also have three golden balls on top, a reminder of the three main pillars of Islam that people are supposed to abide by regardless of their wealth (the other pillars, such as the pilgrimage to Mecca, require $$$). The Koutoubia Mosque has four balls atop it, and there are multiple stories as to why, including that the queen broke her Ramadan fast with a couple of dates once and, as penance, gave her jewelry to be melted down to adorn the mosque.

We then walked to the medina, where we were instructed about traditional Moroccan herbs.

This also being a sales performance, it seemed as though every herb and oil could cure a hundred ailments, and of course this was the finest place to get them. We were given little drops of oils and creams to try until we all smelled of argan, orange blossom, prickly pear, and more. While argan oil has made Morocco famous with the modern crowd, we were told that prickly pear oil is the new cosmetic It girl given its anti-aging properties. Of course, it’s far more expensive than argan oil, likely because it takes one ton of prickly pear fruit to provide enough seeds for one liter of the oil. One of the more surprising experiences was smelling the nigella seeds, which are used to open people’s sinuses when they are sick. It feels like a small explosion in the front of your face! We also smelled small blocks of amber (made from a particular tree’s sap, not from the stone), which was lovely. We purchased a few items, each of us following our noses, and then departed to wander the rest of the medina. The Marrakech medina streets are much wider than those of Fez, which was exciting, as we could actually walk two abreast. At least, that’s what we thought. The wider streets meant that people were riding bikes and scooters down the medina streets at high speed, and we had to constantly be alert to the roar of a motor so we could jump out of the way.

Our next stop was the Bahia, a palace for the Vizier Ahmed Mimosa, who ruled Marrakech after King Hasan I died while Hasan’s son was growing up. When the French colonized Marrakech, the savvy Vizier became the Prime Minister, so he got to enjoy his palace for quite a few years. The palace was constructed over 8 years with about 1,000 people working full-time, and the craftsmanship shows in the attention to detail on every surface of the walls and ceilings. The main riad (courtyard) was built to be the exact image of paradise, as described in the Quran. That holy book describes a fountain in the center leading to four rivers that split a garden, hence why many riads have a central fountain with four walkways radiating out through the garden. In the Quran, the rivers run with milk, honey, wine, and water. That part wasn’t reproduced. We saw the Vizier’s office, which had large mirrors to bring the vision of the garden into his work space. We then continued on to the rooms for his four wives, situated around a beautiful courtyard. The largest and grandest room, complete with marble floors and painted plaster, was the room of the Bahia, the favorite.

She was said to be the most beautiful and the favorite (and vain to boot), but she cemented her status by bearing the firstborn son. It seems the Vizier was a busy man at home, as he had 24 concubines in addition to his 4 wives. These concubines shared a larger courtyard beyond the room of the Bahia and served as the Bahia’s attendants.

One interesting architectural detail was that the windows in the dining room were set low to the ground, as they sat on mats and pillows rather than on chairs at a table.

We then walked to the Badi Palace, whose name means the Incomparable Palace. 

This structure was built in 1578 for a king whose empire extended to Timbuktu. From Timbuktu, he got massive quantities of gold that he used to gild nearly the entire palace – all 150 x 130 meters of it. Sadly, none of that decoration exists today, as the jealous Sulta Mulay Ismael (we saw his palace earlier in the trip) was jealous and stripped the palace of its decorations while constructing his own. Now, the earthen walls are decorated only with stork and pigeon nests. In the enormous courtyard, the large central swimming pool remains, flanked by recessed orchards of orange trees. 

The orchards were planted lower in the ground so that those walking through the courtyard had unobstructed views of its splendor. Pretty cool idea, right?

For lunch, we had a Moroccan specialty called rafisa, which is a mound of crepes mixed with lentils and chicken and covered in a deliciously spiced sause. Reinvigorated, we ventured into the main square, where locals preyed upon the exotic fantasies of tourists to make a buck. Snake charmers sassed cobras; monkey handlers dragged the cute little creatures around by metal collars attached to a long chain; water sellers dressed in traditional bedazzled outfits with a goatskin pouch covered with fur as insulation; fortune tellers huddled under umbrellas with their clients, probably foretelling a future of wealth and happiness. 

Probably the most interesting sights were (1) when a snake charmer gave one of his cobras a sip of water out of a plastic cup, and the little creature lapped it up with a tiny tongue, and (2) when we found a man custom-making dentures at a small booth. With all the sugar they eat and drink in Morocco, dentistry is a booming business. For those that can’t afford that kind of visit, though, this man provides a way to keep some teeth in your mouth - even if they aren’t originally your teeth.

We continued into the covered marketplace, which was much like any other we had seen. We bought strings of dried figs to satisfy our cravings and plunged into the heart of the market. While the majority of the market was rows of shops side by side selling essentially the same things (how do they stay in business??), we stopped at one fancy antique shop (La Porte D'Or) with incredible inlaid wood, ancient carpets, and other treasures. Apparently this is the carpet shop to the celebrities. We resisted joining his customer base but truly admired his wares. In another row of shops, we spotted an entire zebra skin – snout to tail, and 15-foot-long snake skins. Perhaps the exoticism of Morocco wasn’t just a tourism cover story.

We returned to the hotel for the highlight of the day: a hammam treatment. Hammams are the public bathhouses here and are a big part of the social fabric of Moroccan life. Many local people go weekly with friends and/or family members to socialize. In olden days, when more women were veiled and there was little mixing of the sexes, the hammams were apparently a way for a man’s mother to scope out potential brides. In our case, the hammam was a way to relax and be a little bit pampered. We headed down to the hammam in bathrobes, slippers, and underwear and entered the room. Inside, our robes and slippers were taken and we lay down on large stone benches. Each stage of the bathing process was performed on my sister before it happened to me, and her yelps and giggles were endlessly entertaining not only to me but to the hammam treatment lady. We were doused with warm water, rubbed in oil, and scrubbed with a rough hand mitt. The author of A House in Fez describes it as being licked by the rough tongue of a cat. The amount of dry skin that came off was disgusting. We were then rinsed again and slathered in gray clay before being rinsed again. We were slathered in a thick layer of argan oil and put back in our roes. From there, we went to lie on reclined chairs that felt kind of like pool deck chairs. We rested there for a few minutes before having massages in individual rooms. We left floating on a cloud of happy drowsiness, only to realize we hadn’t had dinner. It was probably the most mellow dinner of the trip for the normally rowdy Moore clan.

 Spotted 1: Moroccan lamps! Made of metal with small cutouts to allow line to shine through, these lamps cast a beautiful glow throughout a room and are everywhere around the city and around our hotel.

A shop selling Moroccan lamps

Spotted 2: Berber Viagra, also known as ginseng. It's in all the marketplaces!

Additional photos from our day: 

A Moroccan street shop

Beautiful wood and plaster detailing at the Bahia Palace

Ceiling decorations at the Bahia Palace

Painted plaster in the room of The Bahia

Tall spikes of spices

The largest stork nest at the Badi Palace. Since Badi means "incomparable", we dubbed this the Incomparable Stork's Nest. Of note, when seen from the side, this nest is built against the remnants of a chimney-like structure, so the bird was probably trying to even out the floor of the nest. 

Signs for your place of work at a street shop. There were incredibly funny paintings alongside but I didn't get a chance to photograph them.