Dreaming Morocco

Madrasa, a boys' school, in Fez
Madrasa, a boys' school, in Fez

The smallest things can provide blips in your workflow. Our digital camera has gone off its head, and so we’ve taken it into the shop to have a technician look at it. So much for posting progress of my latest paintings.

Camera aside, I’m determining what my next piece will be. I’ve not done anything in a while that had to do with our world travels, and so they beckon. Dave showed me a picture from the New York Times of a scene from Marrakesh’s famous Djemaa El Fna, the greatest nightly food court cum street fair ever, which we experienced in 2000 on our first trip to Morocco. Sadly, we didn’t get back to Marrakesh in 2005, but I remember the nightly festival clearly and with fond memories. It to that date and to present remains one of the wildest experiences I’ve ever had. It is pure street theatre and purely Morocco, filled with amazing storytellers, musicians, hucksters, and a labyrinth of food stalls. We forwent the food back then, but now agree that we’re brave enough to partake the next time we’re there. And we have to go. Morocco has had its hold on me since reading The Drifters, and experiencing it has only added to its magic.

Fish for sale in French and Arabic
Fish for sale in French and Arabic

I pulled up the pictures from our electronic files from our trip to Fez and Meknes in 2005. It all came flooding back, immersing me in a feeling of timelessness, strange and pungent smells, and a bounty of colors and mystery. I like the personal dignity of the people, the men’s long gowns with pointy hoods, the bustle and bump of navigating the souks. There is a strange sight at every turn – goat meat hanging from a hook; small, whole fish for market, their names in French and Arabic script; silversmiths banging out their pots; the stench and color of the tanners’ row. Women drift by in clouds of flowing material at the periphery of consciousness, dark apparitions save for their exposed faces. Donkeys laden with a multitude of wares tread the narrow paths of the bazaars, forming an urban supply train as counterpart to the camels of the Sahara, and as time honored.

Expect some images brought to life in the weeks ahead. I dream of Morocco.


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2 Replies to “Dreaming Morocco”

  1. I love your blog, Stef. You and Dave ought to write a book about your travels — complete with illustrations, artwork and photography! In the meantime, interrupt me for a cup of tea…

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