> Click here to start this story from the beginning >
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2016)
Showing posts with label marrakech. Show all posts
Showing posts with label marrakech. Show all posts
Tuesday, 2 August 2016
Marrakech Rooftop
> Click here to start this story from the beginning >
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2016)
Friday, 9 January 2015
Blue Garden
> Click here to start this story from the beginning >
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2015)
Monday, 6 January 2014
Marrakech
> Click here to start this story from the beginning >
Click image to grow
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2014)
Sunday, 11 August 2013
Marrakech Sunset
> Click here to start this story from the beginning >
Click image to grow
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2013)
Sunday, 1 April 2012
Marrakech Rooftop
Click image above to enlarge
Click here to start this story from the beginning
Click picture at top of right sidebar for details of the lovely photo story book.
(Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2012)
Sunday, 1 August 2010
Oasis in the city
Click here to start this story from the beginning
Click picture at top of right sidebar for details of the lovely photo story book.
(Click image above to enlarge, and browser Back button to return - Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2010)
Thursday, 6 May 2010
Pots
Click here to start this story from the beginning
Click picture at top of right sidebar for details of the lovely photo story book.
(Click image above to enlarge, and browser Back button to return - Words and images copyright MaverickHeart 2010)
Monday, 16 November 2009
Thirty-second
We sat close to the giant cacti in the Jardin Majorelle, though not too close, because a blue fountain was spraying water high into the air of another very hot day in Marrakech. The delightful garden of abundant greenery and water features offered a similar escape to the oasis near Taroudannt, yet this place was designed and created by a French painter.
I thought about the modest garden at the Treasurer’s House in York, where the fountain wasn’t always working, though England didn’t normally have such high temperatures to contend with. If only we had been back there already, it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been pissing down with rain, because we would have felt safe behind those walls.
The main square of Marrakech was a few miles distant, but in the daytime it was not the lively pantomime of every bustling evening, where a shy English person might feel intimidated by all the unfamiliar and thrilling activity.
‘Will we make it back ?’ Jess asked.
‘I trust Omar; but I’m most worried about crossing to Spain in a fishing boat. I just hope the sea is calm, and we’re not arrested along with all the other refugees trying to escape Africa.’
‘I wonder what happened to his son ?’
‘Sounds like he was just another unfortunate victim of that bloody policeman.’
Jess went for a look round the Museum of Islamic Art, which formed part of the garden, but I preferred to remain outside in the shade. There were quite a few tourists, but it was by no means busy, which allowed one to be mostly undisturbed in contemplation, forgetting about the harsh realities that lay beyond the small oasis.
It was only midday, and it felt like a long time until Omar would collect us from the riad, as though time had come to a standstill, and we would always be trapped in a strange country of both beauty and pain. I laughed to myself, thinking about all the newspaper adverts saying that Morocco was a country that ‘nurtured the soul’, which you couldn’t argue with if all one’s time was spent in surroundings like the Jardin Majorelle.
‘There’s some wonderful jewellery in there.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘I know such things are not your cup of tea.’
‘It’s not that, I’m just so happy sitting in this tranquil garden.’
‘I think we will get back.’
‘What’s the worst that can happen ?’
I thought about the modest garden at the Treasurer’s House in York, where the fountain wasn’t always working, though England didn’t normally have such high temperatures to contend with. If only we had been back there already, it wouldn’t have mattered if it had been pissing down with rain, because we would have felt safe behind those walls.The main square of Marrakech was a few miles distant, but in the daytime it was not the lively pantomime of every bustling evening, where a shy English person might feel intimidated by all the unfamiliar and thrilling activity.
‘Will we make it back ?’ Jess asked.
‘I trust Omar; but I’m most worried about crossing to Spain in a fishing boat. I just hope the sea is calm, and we’re not arrested along with all the other refugees trying to escape Africa.’
‘I wonder what happened to his son ?’
‘Sounds like he was just another unfortunate victim of that bloody policeman.’
Jess went for a look round the Museum of Islamic Art, which formed part of the garden, but I preferred to remain outside in the shade. There were quite a few tourists, but it was by no means busy, which allowed one to be mostly undisturbed in contemplation, forgetting about the harsh realities that lay beyond the small oasis.It was only midday, and it felt like a long time until Omar would collect us from the riad, as though time had come to a standstill, and we would always be trapped in a strange country of both beauty and pain. I laughed to myself, thinking about all the newspaper adverts saying that Morocco was a country that ‘nurtured the soul’, which you couldn’t argue with if all one’s time was spent in surroundings like the Jardin Majorelle.
‘There’s some wonderful jewellery in there.’
‘Fascinating.’
‘I know such things are not your cup of tea.’
‘It’s not that, I’m just so happy sitting in this tranquil garden.’
‘I think we will get back.’
‘What’s the worst that can happen ?’
Wednesday, 11 November 2009
Thirty-first
Omar arrived unexpectedly after breakfast the following morning, and I wondered if he’d come to ask for a bigger tip, though he didn’t seem the type.
‘They have found the policeman’ he said, without messing about.
‘I’m sorry ?’
‘In Taroudannt.’
I felt an overwhelming sense of panic, and was glad Jess was back in our room.
‘They have found the policeman’ he said, without messing about.
‘I’m sorry ?’
‘In Taroudannt.’
I felt an overwhelming sense of panic, and was glad Jess was back in our room.
‘He killed my eldest son. I can help you.’
‘It wasn’t deliberate when I hit him, he was attacking....’
‘I know, that man was not good.’
‘We need to get back to England.’
‘I have a brother near Tangier, a fisherman, he can help.’
‘But isn’t it nearly four-hundred miles, how will we get there ?’
‘We will go in the car, I will come for you tonight.’
‘Can he really take us to Spain ?’
‘I will come at eight, be ready.’
Omar sounded completely at ease about the whole enterprise, but it seemed highly likely we would be stopped on the road north, trying to leave Morocco, or by a patrol boat in the Strait of Gibraltar.
Jess was surprisingly upbeat when I told her, as if this plan to hoodwink the authorities and escape the country was some kind of elaborate party game. She was also reassured in a strange way by hearing of the death of Omar’s son, which proved that this policeman deserved to meet a violent end himself.
‘He’s coming at eight, that means we have some more time to explore.’
‘We need to keep a low profile.’
‘Did Omar say if the police had linked his death to us ?’
‘Not yet, but they’re bound to consider all the people who stayed at our hotel in Taroudannt.’
‘I’ve always wanted to visit the Jardin Majorelle’ Jess said with enthusiasm.
‘I suppose that is out of the way, if we’re careful.’
‘Can we go in a calēche ? I prefer horses to cars.’
It was good to see some brightness back in her eyes; Omar had at least given us some hope, despite the serious challenges ahead.
Friday, 6 November 2009
Thirtieth
It was a struggle to reach our riad in Marrakech because the passages and alleyways were so cluttered with rubbish, and people coming and going from the market. The area did not look promising at all, and some kids even threw stones as we finally arrived at the solid wooden doors of our accommodation.
The transformation from the outer world to an inner space of serenity and luxury was extraordinary, and we were quickly made welcome with some chilled fruit juice. The layout was very similar to the riad in Essaouira, with a central courtyard open to the sky and several floors with balconies overlooking a modest fountain.
We had been given more or less the whole first floor of the beautifully renovated building, and there was no sign of other guests, though they were perhaps out exploring the city.
‘Let’s try and get a little rest Jess, we can go out later.’
‘We need to think about getting out of this bloody country.’
‘I know, it’s just that I’m not keen on the airport option, the security was so tight there.’
Jess lay on the vast bed and turned to face the wall, while I just sat looking at the vines and creepers spilling like a green waterfall over the marble balcony. I wasn’t really sure what to do, it seemed likely that the police would catch-up with us sooner or later, and I didn’t fancy explaining how bottling the policeman had been the only way of saving my lady.
I stripped-off and went into the large shower that was more like a substantial room in itself, and it felt good to wash away all the sweat and muck of our journey through the mountains. Omar had been a very friendly and helpful chap and seemed happy with his modest profession, driving tourists in that old, immaculately presented Mercedes.
After a couple of peaceful hours we set off for the Djemaa el-Fna, the huge main square, all the time trying to steer clear of any men in uniform. It felt quite easy to lose yourself in the crowds, and also to get seriously lost, as all we had was a very basic hand-drawn map from the riad owner.
It was around seven in the evening and the souk was still very busy; my eyes were drawn to a stall of multi-coloured handmade sweets, which were almost totally covered in black flies. I thought about the mostly orderly and hygienic market at home, but this kind of thing didn’t seem to concern any of the locals here.
Jess would normally have been enthusiastically exploring the endless variety of stalls and shops, but was unsurprisingly unable to shake-off the terrifying experience of the night before. We came to a small square where there were many caged lizards, rodents and birds, which I started to look at more closely, but then noticed that Jess was already walking ahead and out of reach.
I caught up with her not far from the entrance to the Djemaa el-Fna, which was buzzing with all kinds of activity and music. There were many tables with temporary seating serving-up food for locals and tourists, and the mixture of smells, smoke and noise was intoxicating and almost frightening. It was the lack of order and reserve, as we would understand it in England, which was so disturbing and also alluring.
Jess was standing near a snake charmer, and she didn’t even flinch when one of his assistant’s put a large cobra round her neck, though it made my heart skip a beat just watching. I gave the man a few dirhams and we continued our stroll, trying not to bump into people or be flattened by others.
‘Can we just get some food ? I’m starving.’
‘Of course, let’s go into one of these places high above the square’ I replied.
‘I don’t care where, I’m going to collapse soon.’
We chose somewhere more or less at random, which was serving both local and international food; we could have done with an alcoholic drink, but as with Taroudannt such options appeared to be extremely limited, except at the hotels. Our table had a fantastic view of all the human theatre being enacted in the noisy arena below, though Jess was still very quiet.
‘We will get home, won’t we ?’ she said eventually.
‘Of course.’
The transformation from the outer world to an inner space of serenity and luxury was extraordinary, and we were quickly made welcome with some chilled fruit juice. The layout was very similar to the riad in Essaouira, with a central courtyard open to the sky and several floors with balconies overlooking a modest fountain.
We had been given more or less the whole first floor of the beautifully renovated building, and there was no sign of other guests, though they were perhaps out exploring the city.‘Let’s try and get a little rest Jess, we can go out later.’
‘We need to think about getting out of this bloody country.’
‘I know, it’s just that I’m not keen on the airport option, the security was so tight there.’
Jess lay on the vast bed and turned to face the wall, while I just sat looking at the vines and creepers spilling like a green waterfall over the marble balcony. I wasn’t really sure what to do, it seemed likely that the police would catch-up with us sooner or later, and I didn’t fancy explaining how bottling the policeman had been the only way of saving my lady.
I stripped-off and went into the large shower that was more like a substantial room in itself, and it felt good to wash away all the sweat and muck of our journey through the mountains. Omar had been a very friendly and helpful chap and seemed happy with his modest profession, driving tourists in that old, immaculately presented Mercedes.
After a couple of peaceful hours we set off for the Djemaa el-Fna, the huge main square, all the time trying to steer clear of any men in uniform. It felt quite easy to lose yourself in the crowds, and also to get seriously lost, as all we had was a very basic hand-drawn map from the riad owner.
It was around seven in the evening and the souk was still very busy; my eyes were drawn to a stall of multi-coloured handmade sweets, which were almost totally covered in black flies. I thought about the mostly orderly and hygienic market at home, but this kind of thing didn’t seem to concern any of the locals here.Jess would normally have been enthusiastically exploring the endless variety of stalls and shops, but was unsurprisingly unable to shake-off the terrifying experience of the night before. We came to a small square where there were many caged lizards, rodents and birds, which I started to look at more closely, but then noticed that Jess was already walking ahead and out of reach.
I caught up with her not far from the entrance to the Djemaa el-Fna, which was buzzing with all kinds of activity and music. There were many tables with temporary seating serving-up food for locals and tourists, and the mixture of smells, smoke and noise was intoxicating and almost frightening. It was the lack of order and reserve, as we would understand it in England, which was so disturbing and also alluring.
Jess was standing near a snake charmer, and she didn’t even flinch when one of his assistant’s put a large cobra round her neck, though it made my heart skip a beat just watching. I gave the man a few dirhams and we continued our stroll, trying not to bump into people or be flattened by others.
‘Can we just get some food ? I’m starving.’
‘Of course, let’s go into one of these places high above the square’ I replied.
‘I don’t care where, I’m going to collapse soon.’
We chose somewhere more or less at random, which was serving both local and international food; we could have done with an alcoholic drink, but as with Taroudannt such options appeared to be extremely limited, except at the hotels. Our table had a fantastic view of all the human theatre being enacted in the noisy arena below, though Jess was still very quiet.
‘We will get home, won’t we ?’ she said eventually.
‘Of course.’
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)