September 10
We took the dark ’o-thirty flight from Paris to Marrakech. A pre-arranged driver met us at Menara Airport and drove us to the edge of the old walled Medina. Because of the Medina’s narrow lanes, driving in with a car is more than a challenge. At Bab Laksour, our closest gate, our baggage was transferred from the car onto a charming hand-painted, hand-drawn cart. We diligently followed our cart man along the cobbled streets with their increasingly narrowing lanes until we reached Palais Lamrani, our "home away from home". We could stay forever in this beautifully renovated 1920s riad! A young couple from France and their family lovingly restored the old mansion as it had been, but with all the details that make for comfortable modern-day accommodations.
At Palais Lamrani, as you pass through an elegant but rather low key door from the bustling street, you enter into a paradise of a tranquil, dimly lit tile mosaic reception room furnished with antique furniture and original art, textiles and even a Victorian era stuffed peacock (full feather regalia intact)! Then a few steps later you begin to see the light and leafy shadows of the two-story, open-air courtyard- a mature garden with orange and banana trees, date palms, cut iron work lanterns - magical. The deep verandas and hallways envelope the courtyard. Two sitting rooms are lavish and elegant in art deco decor. A gleaming grand piano reflects the ornate grillwork of the nearby window, lots of art and history and travel books, antique original paintings - and they trust us with all this!
I spent the afternoon shopping for antique jewelry elements. To reach one of my favorite shops takes a bit of time and effort. There is no quick or easy way to meander through the souks- it is a strictly on foot job. One has to work hard to avoid a collision with one of the many annoying motor bikes that go whizzing by, or to gawk and walk smack into a hanging haunch of meat in an open-air butcher shop. Or become entranced by some gorgeous or cute object and consequently, fall into conversation with the shopkeeper (who speaks sufficient business language in 8 tongues and has already spotted you and assessed your native country from a mile away). You have a much better chance of not getting lost if you have repeated your path multiple times. And then, if you are not paying attention and you miss a landmark, you can still look up and say, wow- none of this looks familiar. So many things! So little time!
Once my amulet and old jewelry elements shopping starts, It is possible to spend a lot in a nano-second and to completely lose track of time! I kept repeating to myself, look carefully and examine, go slowly and take your time… My saint of a husband grows impatient after several hours, with due reason. Luckily we were tired from the early hour we had to get up for our flight, so we quit shopping and went back to our beautiful room for a nap. Out of financial danger- for now. Sensory Overload! Exhausted.
We took the dark ’o-thirty flight from Paris to Marrakech. A pre-arranged driver met us at Menara Airport and drove us to the edge of the old walled Medina. Because of the Medina’s narrow lanes, driving in with a car is more than a challenge. At Bab Laksour, our closest gate, our baggage was transferred from the car onto a charming hand-painted, hand-drawn cart. We diligently followed our cart man along the cobbled streets with their increasingly narrowing lanes until we reached Palais Lamrani, our "home away from home". We could stay forever in this beautifully renovated 1920s riad! A young couple from France and their family lovingly restored the old mansion as it had been, but with all the details that make for comfortable modern-day accommodations.
At Palais Lamrani, as you pass through an elegant but rather low key door from the bustling street, you enter into a paradise of a tranquil, dimly lit tile mosaic reception room furnished with antique furniture and original art, textiles and even a Victorian era stuffed peacock (full feather regalia intact)! Then a few steps later you begin to see the light and leafy shadows of the two-story, open-air courtyard- a mature garden with orange and banana trees, date palms, cut iron work lanterns - magical. The deep verandas and hallways envelope the courtyard. Two sitting rooms are lavish and elegant in art deco decor. A gleaming grand piano reflects the ornate grillwork of the nearby window, lots of art and history and travel books, antique original paintings - and they trust us with all this!
I spent the afternoon shopping for antique jewelry elements. To reach one of my favorite shops takes a bit of time and effort. There is no quick or easy way to meander through the souks- it is a strictly on foot job. One has to work hard to avoid a collision with one of the many annoying motor bikes that go whizzing by, or to gawk and walk smack into a hanging haunch of meat in an open-air butcher shop. Or become entranced by some gorgeous or cute object and consequently, fall into conversation with the shopkeeper (who speaks sufficient business language in 8 tongues and has already spotted you and assessed your native country from a mile away). You have a much better chance of not getting lost if you have repeated your path multiple times. And then, if you are not paying attention and you miss a landmark, you can still look up and say, wow- none of this looks familiar. So many things! So little time!
Once my amulet and old jewelry elements shopping starts, It is possible to spend a lot in a nano-second and to completely lose track of time! I kept repeating to myself, look carefully and examine, go slowly and take your time… My saint of a husband grows impatient after several hours, with due reason. Luckily we were tired from the early hour we had to get up for our flight, so we quit shopping and went back to our beautiful room for a nap. Out of financial danger- for now. Sensory Overload! Exhausted.
September 11
Beautiful dinner last night in the dreamy, other-worldly courtyard of our riad. In the morning, we are out again and shopping- which means navigating in, scanning, examining, asking and discussing, sorting and rejecting, choosing and making piles from which to glean and refine for just the best, most interesting pieces. By the time I have my triple-sorted pile of old coins, a pile of amulets, a pile of old chain elements, and perhaps some coral and old beads, my fingers are filthy, and I am dripping with sweat and feeling poor- having exceeded my budget by three times. But I am thrilled with what I have found and so excited to start making new things when we get home. The ideas are coming fast. I can hardly sleep due to excitement about getting back to work! Inshallah, as they say so often here- “God Willing”.
Beautiful dinner last night in the dreamy, other-worldly courtyard of our riad. In the morning, we are out again and shopping- which means navigating in, scanning, examining, asking and discussing, sorting and rejecting, choosing and making piles from which to glean and refine for just the best, most interesting pieces. By the time I have my triple-sorted pile of old coins, a pile of amulets, a pile of old chain elements, and perhaps some coral and old beads, my fingers are filthy, and I am dripping with sweat and feeling poor- having exceeded my budget by three times. But I am thrilled with what I have found and so excited to start making new things when we get home. The ideas are coming fast. I can hardly sleep due to excitement about getting back to work! Inshallah, as they say so often here- “God Willing”.
September 12
The cocktail hour is approaching, as I sit on the little patio and reflect on the day's activities. I have already laid out the day’s loot of jewelry elements, having detailed the costs, made mental notes on what else I might need or what might work with a piece I have in mind, still to hunt out.
We spent the morning in the Mellah, or Jewish quarter to buy Moroccan saffron grown in the Atlas Mountains. Saffron is actually the stamens of a type of crocus- each plant has just a few, so many plants are required to amount to much flavoring. It is actually more expensive than gold, but luckily you don't need a bar of it to make something taste good.
The Mellah is undergoing transformation to restore many of the facades from iron doors to wood and to return much of the quarter to its former appearance. So sparks are flying while welders work up on rickety scaffolds, piles of gravel and rubble have to be walked around. This part of the city was and is still known for the jewelry makers and metalsmiths, passementerie embroiderers, and the spice traders. At one time thousands lived here, but the Jewish population is now reduced to around 200 still living in the Mellah. We were told most had moved to Israel.
The markets were extremely lively today, not as sleepy as yesterday. As you exit the inner sanctum of your hotel riad, you start to pass the many stalls, mini-groceries, mosques, and the many unmarked doors that open into riads with their own courtyards. Here, families live their private lives apart from the hustle, noise and goings-on of the souks just several feet away. But all is separated by those barriers that demarcate inside from outside, public from private.
Right next to the butcher shop where three fat cats are waiting for their treats, can be found a pierced metal lantern shop, or a colorful leather slipper shop, or… the order seems random, even though there are neighborhoods or streets known for specific trades. The soft, colorful leather slippers (babouche) are to be worn inside the sanctity of the home. Each pair is colorfully dyed and hand made. They might be turquoise or yellow-embellished with colorful embroidery, sequins or even little tassels. Then next to the slippers might be a stall draped with brilliantly colored, handwoven textiles, or ancient fossils and minerals from the Atlas Mountains and beyond. And of course there are the fresh vegetable stands where small farm growers proudly display little arrangements of eggplants and tomatoes. Another has huge piles of mint stacked on a cloth spread out on the ground. Some vendors have motorbikes outfitted with wire cages to transport piled layers of eggs dangerously nestled in open-sided, corrugated cardboard. Another farmer displays his lush, dark purple plums on a bed of lavender-blossomed alfalfa leaves. A casual masterpiece of contrasting colors and textures.
How many miles did we walk today? All these many sights, sounds and sensory experiences make me drunk with heavenly exhaustion. Saffron and a selection of riotously colored, striped handwoven shawls in hand- mission accomplished for the day.
The cocktail hour is approaching, as I sit on the little patio and reflect on the day's activities. I have already laid out the day’s loot of jewelry elements, having detailed the costs, made mental notes on what else I might need or what might work with a piece I have in mind, still to hunt out.
We spent the morning in the Mellah, or Jewish quarter to buy Moroccan saffron grown in the Atlas Mountains. Saffron is actually the stamens of a type of crocus- each plant has just a few, so many plants are required to amount to much flavoring. It is actually more expensive than gold, but luckily you don't need a bar of it to make something taste good.
The Mellah is undergoing transformation to restore many of the facades from iron doors to wood and to return much of the quarter to its former appearance. So sparks are flying while welders work up on rickety scaffolds, piles of gravel and rubble have to be walked around. This part of the city was and is still known for the jewelry makers and metalsmiths, passementerie embroiderers, and the spice traders. At one time thousands lived here, but the Jewish population is now reduced to around 200 still living in the Mellah. We were told most had moved to Israel.
The markets were extremely lively today, not as sleepy as yesterday. As you exit the inner sanctum of your hotel riad, you start to pass the many stalls, mini-groceries, mosques, and the many unmarked doors that open into riads with their own courtyards. Here, families live their private lives apart from the hustle, noise and goings-on of the souks just several feet away. But all is separated by those barriers that demarcate inside from outside, public from private.
Right next to the butcher shop where three fat cats are waiting for their treats, can be found a pierced metal lantern shop, or a colorful leather slipper shop, or… the order seems random, even though there are neighborhoods or streets known for specific trades. The soft, colorful leather slippers (babouche) are to be worn inside the sanctity of the home. Each pair is colorfully dyed and hand made. They might be turquoise or yellow-embellished with colorful embroidery, sequins or even little tassels. Then next to the slippers might be a stall draped with brilliantly colored, handwoven textiles, or ancient fossils and minerals from the Atlas Mountains and beyond. And of course there are the fresh vegetable stands where small farm growers proudly display little arrangements of eggplants and tomatoes. Another has huge piles of mint stacked on a cloth spread out on the ground. Some vendors have motorbikes outfitted with wire cages to transport piled layers of eggs dangerously nestled in open-sided, corrugated cardboard. Another farmer displays his lush, dark purple plums on a bed of lavender-blossomed alfalfa leaves. A casual masterpiece of contrasting colors and textures.
How many miles did we walk today? All these many sights, sounds and sensory experiences make me drunk with heavenly exhaustion. Saffron and a selection of riotously colored, striped handwoven shawls in hand- mission accomplished for the day.
September 13
Everything moves slowly on Sunday mornings. Only the doves seem to be enthusiastically going about their usual cooing and calling business. Everywhere is peace and calm until about 11AM when the metal shutters start rolling up and motor scooters with shopkeepers start flying into the medina like attack bees. Shafts of strong sunlight pierce the dark lanes into the souks- so you see nothing but a blinding ray of light and then make out an entire grouping of stalls brilliantly illuminated- vividly colored, gilded souvenir mint tea glasses, tangles of rusting iron and metal jetsam, oversized jars encrusted with faux silver and fake coral, picture frames and ornately studded leather bags... You name it, somebody here is selling it.
The call to prayer erupts everywhere, over loud speakers, yet hardly anyone stops what they are doing. The beauty of the overlay of live muezzins chanting from their various mosques fills the air like layers of incense and smoke from the aromatic wood shops. And then as suddenly as the call to prayer started, it is over, until later in the day when the chorus resumes.
Today's mission- to purchase more afore-mentioned, all in one striped shawls/table runners/wall hangings- handwoven in fabulous color combinations that make sense in the untrained but genius design savvy of rural women weavers. Eye candy! As of today I am glad we hauled along that extra suitcase.
By the time we completed this transaction and I had dirty hands from sorting through a huge container of old silver beads, it was time to head back to the riad. We walked in a relatively new to us direction and did not get lost! By now, it was quite hot and the once sleepy lanes of the souks were buzzing with activity. Families flaneuring, walking around for a look-about, men exchanging gossip, and plenty of tourists to watch, mostly from France and Spain.
Everything moves slowly on Sunday mornings. Only the doves seem to be enthusiastically going about their usual cooing and calling business. Everywhere is peace and calm until about 11AM when the metal shutters start rolling up and motor scooters with shopkeepers start flying into the medina like attack bees. Shafts of strong sunlight pierce the dark lanes into the souks- so you see nothing but a blinding ray of light and then make out an entire grouping of stalls brilliantly illuminated- vividly colored, gilded souvenir mint tea glasses, tangles of rusting iron and metal jetsam, oversized jars encrusted with faux silver and fake coral, picture frames and ornately studded leather bags... You name it, somebody here is selling it.
The call to prayer erupts everywhere, over loud speakers, yet hardly anyone stops what they are doing. The beauty of the overlay of live muezzins chanting from their various mosques fills the air like layers of incense and smoke from the aromatic wood shops. And then as suddenly as the call to prayer started, it is over, until later in the day when the chorus resumes.
Today's mission- to purchase more afore-mentioned, all in one striped shawls/table runners/wall hangings- handwoven in fabulous color combinations that make sense in the untrained but genius design savvy of rural women weavers. Eye candy! As of today I am glad we hauled along that extra suitcase.
By the time we completed this transaction and I had dirty hands from sorting through a huge container of old silver beads, it was time to head back to the riad. We walked in a relatively new to us direction and did not get lost! By now, it was quite hot and the once sleepy lanes of the souks were buzzing with activity. Families flaneuring, walking around for a look-about, men exchanging gossip, and plenty of tourists to watch, mostly from France and Spain.
September 14
Time to pack up and prepare for departure. Enough time to meet dear friends for lunch and afterwards, get horribly lost in the close heat of the souks before making it back to our riad. Lists of the few remaining antique jewelry elements I needed are checked off, we settle our bill, scratch together the bits of remaining cash, plan down to the Euro what we absolutely need to get home tomorrow. So goodbye Marrakech, all you dear people, and see you next year, Inshallah.
Time to pack up and prepare for departure. Enough time to meet dear friends for lunch and afterwards, get horribly lost in the close heat of the souks before making it back to our riad. Lists of the few remaining antique jewelry elements I needed are checked off, we settle our bill, scratch together the bits of remaining cash, plan down to the Euro what we absolutely need to get home tomorrow. So goodbye Marrakech, all you dear people, and see you next year, Inshallah.