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Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life. Show all posts
Monday, 1 November 2010
Something fishy
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Sunday, 1 August 2010
Oasis in the city
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Tuesday, 8 June 2010
Two Friends
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Monday, 24 May 2010
Taroudannt
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Sunday, 16 May 2010
Flowers and shade
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Thursday, 6 May 2010
Pots
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Saturday, 24 April 2010
At the Oasis
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Sunday, 18 April 2010
Goats and herder
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Wednesday, 14 April 2010
Woman in the doorway
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Thursday, 8 April 2010
Taroudannt cyclists
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Friday, 2 April 2010
Head Camel
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Tuesday, 23 March 2010
Shop....keeper and shadow creeper
It looks like this colourful shop might soon be engulfed in shadow......
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Monday, 1 March 2010
Marrakech rooftop
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Thursday, 18 February 2010
The Market
I like the decorative detail on the tower - click the image to get a better view.
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Saturday, 6 February 2010
Open Door
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Saturday, 9 January 2010
Essaouira
It always appears there are far more gulls flying round a Moroccan harbour town than in England.
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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.
Tuesday, 3 November 2009
Twenty-ninth
Despite the fact we were more than worried about how we were going to get back safely to England, it was impossible not to be swept along by the enthusiasm of our driver Omar, the cheerful chap responsible for our safe passage over the High Atlas on the Tizi n’Test road that reaches over two thousand metres into the immense sky.
Everything had seemed so normal at breakfast, except for the fact there was a dead policeman concealed in the building; we ate a little and said our goodbyes to the owner, who wished us a lovely trip through the mountains to Marrakech. I couldn’t lose the image of the bottle crashing down on the copper’s skull, but surely anybody else would have done the same if their beloved was being attacked ? It was also highly likely that this man had murdered the Aussie girl, which meant we had actually saved the Moroccan justice system some time and money.
At first it was hard to appreciate the increasingly dramatic scenery and the extraordinary views back over the Souss plain towards Taroudannt. Omar told us that the French colonialists had constructed the road through the mountains, an amazing feat of engineering in itself.
‘I’m starting to feel sick’ said Jess.
‘It’s not surprising with all these twists and turns; I’ll ask him to stop.’
Omar was happy to pull over and light a cigarette, while we gazed back to the indistinct shape of Taroudannt, which brought a small sense of encouragement as it disappeared more and more in the distance. All being well his body would not be found until we’d been home for at least a few days; yet there was always the worry somebody might look into the shaft out of curiosity, or perhaps the annual maintenance inspection was due ? No, Morocco wasn’t the kind of country where they had regular inspections, except for the police road blocks of course.
‘Shall we get going ?’
‘I’m fine now’ said Jess weakly.
‘It’ll be exciting to see Marrakech’ I said, without really believing the optimistic sound of my voice.
There was very little other traffic about as most people wanting to travel between Taroudannt and Marrakech would use the main road, not a never-ending coil of pot-holed tarmac with terrifying drops at the side. Omar kept pointing out features of interest, and told us about growing-up in the foothills of the High Atlas.
We stopped again at La Belle Vue Hotel for some coffee, situated at two thousand one hundred metres above sea level; it seemed a very long time since we had been by the sea in Essaouira, and it felt like our travels had all been some kind of bizarre dream, fast turning into a nightmare. Jess wandered into the decaying red van abandoned at the roadside, covered in many stickers and signs associated with Moroccan car rallies. She appeared completely out of it, in another world, as if she would have been happy for the van to suddenly break free and crash over the cliff edge.
‘We’d better get on’ I said.
She didn’t reply, but eventually started walking back to the white Mercedes taxi.
As our journey continued beyond the highest point we heard thunder in the distance and Omar confirmed there might be a storm coming up the valley. The landscape became more reminiscent of the Himalayan foothills I’d seen on TV, and occasionally we passed small villages that were comprised of a few ramshackle ‘bungalows’ clinging to the green mountainside. After all the dryness of the plains I hadn’t expected this sudden change to the heavy rain that was now battering our vehicle, and wondered just how severe the weather must be in winter.
Though I was keen to reach Marrakech as soon as possible, Omar insisted on a small diversion to the spectacular mosque at Tin Mal, which is quite rare in being open to non-Muslims. There was a remarkable tranquillity in the empty, roofless interior, and Omar pointed-out some owls hiding in the crumbling stonework high above us. Many of the archways were in very good repair for a building constructed in the twelfth century, and some still beautifully decorated, despite being open to the elements.
‘Are you OK, Jess ?’
‘I feel very tired.’
‘It won’t be too long till we get to our hotel; Omar has recommended a riad not far from the main square, which should be more private than the Ibis we’d booked. I think it’s a good idea to stay somewhere not on our planned itinerary.’
We were soon back on the road to Marrakech, with Omar happily humming a tune to himself as we drove through the splendid scenery.
‘My wife is Fati’ he told us suddenly.
‘You still love her though ?!’
I felt Jess’s elbow in my ribs, which was usually an indication I’d said the wrong thing.
‘How many children have you got ?’ I asked, trying to move the conversation on.
‘Two, a girl and boy.’
After a few more miles we came to an unexpected traffic jam, which we soon realised had been caused by the storm and subsequent landslide, leaving the narrow road completely blocked.
‘This is the last thing we need’ muttered Jess.
‘Only thirty minutes to wait, this always happen’ Omar said cheerfully.
I got out and walked along the wet and muddy road in the direction of the collapse, where a snow plough was already working to restore a flat and safe surface. All the excitement made me forget about any worries as I marvelled at the power of nature unleashed, which was particularly striking as the only fresh water we’d seen before in Morocco had been at the oasis.
The thirty minutes promised by Omar was actually two hours before we got beyond the obstruction and resumed our drive to Marrakech; we were soon passing a large reservoir, then heading past enormous snow peaks.
‘Richard Branson Virgin have hotel up there’ Omar informed us.
‘He seems to have property everywhere’ I replied.
‘Very nice hotel’ added Omar.
The road from the mountains into Marrakech was far pleasanter than the one we’d taken to Essaouira on our arrival, which had been almost like driving through a rubbish dump. This approach to the city was a much more orderly one of wide tree-lined avenues, though it was not without a number of construction projects, mostly featuring some kind of golf resort.
‘I take you right into medina, very near hotel.’
‘Thank you Omar, we’re exhausted.’
‘Mountains are beautiful, yes ?’
‘Very beautiful.’
Everything had seemed so normal at breakfast, except for the fact there was a dead policeman concealed in the building; we ate a little and said our goodbyes to the owner, who wished us a lovely trip through the mountains to Marrakech. I couldn’t lose the image of the bottle crashing down on the copper’s skull, but surely anybody else would have done the same if their beloved was being attacked ? It was also highly likely that this man had murdered the Aussie girl, which meant we had actually saved the Moroccan justice system some time and money.
At first it was hard to appreciate the increasingly dramatic scenery and the extraordinary views back over the Souss plain towards Taroudannt. Omar told us that the French colonialists had constructed the road through the mountains, an amazing feat of engineering in itself.‘I’m starting to feel sick’ said Jess.
‘It’s not surprising with all these twists and turns; I’ll ask him to stop.’
Omar was happy to pull over and light a cigarette, while we gazed back to the indistinct shape of Taroudannt, which brought a small sense of encouragement as it disappeared more and more in the distance. All being well his body would not be found until we’d been home for at least a few days; yet there was always the worry somebody might look into the shaft out of curiosity, or perhaps the annual maintenance inspection was due ? No, Morocco wasn’t the kind of country where they had regular inspections, except for the police road blocks of course.
‘Shall we get going ?’‘I’m fine now’ said Jess weakly.
‘It’ll be exciting to see Marrakech’ I said, without really believing the optimistic sound of my voice.
There was very little other traffic about as most people wanting to travel between Taroudannt and Marrakech would use the main road, not a never-ending coil of pot-holed tarmac with terrifying drops at the side. Omar kept pointing out features of interest, and told us about growing-up in the foothills of the High Atlas.
We stopped again at La Belle Vue Hotel for some coffee, situated at two thousand one hundred metres above sea level; it seemed a very long time since we had been by the sea in Essaouira, and it felt like our travels had all been some kind of bizarre dream, fast turning into a nightmare. Jess wandered into the decaying red van abandoned at the roadside, covered in many stickers and signs associated with Moroccan car rallies. She appeared completely out of it, in another world, as if she would have been happy for the van to suddenly break free and crash over the cliff edge.
‘We’d better get on’ I said.
She didn’t reply, but eventually started walking back to the white Mercedes taxi.
As our journey continued beyond the highest point we heard thunder in the distance and Omar confirmed there might be a storm coming up the valley. The landscape became more reminiscent of the Himalayan foothills I’d seen on TV, and occasionally we passed small villages that were comprised of a few ramshackle ‘bungalows’ clinging to the green mountainside. After all the dryness of the plains I hadn’t expected this sudden change to the heavy rain that was now battering our vehicle, and wondered just how severe the weather must be in winter.
Though I was keen to reach Marrakech as soon as possible, Omar insisted on a small diversion to the spectacular mosque at Tin Mal, which is quite rare in being open to non-Muslims. There was a remarkable tranquillity in the empty, roofless interior, and Omar pointed-out some owls hiding in the crumbling stonework high above us. Many of the archways were in very good repair for a building constructed in the twelfth century, and some still beautifully decorated, despite being open to the elements.
‘Are you OK, Jess ?’
‘I feel very tired.’
‘It won’t be too long till we get to our hotel; Omar has recommended a riad not far from the main square, which should be more private than the Ibis we’d booked. I think it’s a good idea to stay somewhere not on our planned itinerary.’
We were soon back on the road to Marrakech, with Omar happily humming a tune to himself as we drove through the splendid scenery.
‘My wife is Fati’ he told us suddenly.
‘You still love her though ?!’
I felt Jess’s elbow in my ribs, which was usually an indication I’d said the wrong thing.
‘How many children have you got ?’ I asked, trying to move the conversation on.
‘Two, a girl and boy.’
After a few more miles we came to an unexpected traffic jam, which we soon realised had been caused by the storm and subsequent landslide, leaving the narrow road completely blocked.‘This is the last thing we need’ muttered Jess.
‘Only thirty minutes to wait, this always happen’ Omar said cheerfully.
I got out and walked along the wet and muddy road in the direction of the collapse, where a snow plough was already working to restore a flat and safe surface. All the excitement made me forget about any worries as I marvelled at the power of nature unleashed, which was particularly striking as the only fresh water we’d seen before in Morocco had been at the oasis.
The thirty minutes promised by Omar was actually two hours before we got beyond the obstruction and resumed our drive to Marrakech; we were soon passing a large reservoir, then heading past enormous snow peaks.
‘Richard Branson Virgin have hotel up there’ Omar informed us.
‘He seems to have property everywhere’ I replied.
‘Very nice hotel’ added Omar.
The road from the mountains into Marrakech was far pleasanter than the one we’d taken to Essaouira on our arrival, which had been almost like driving through a rubbish dump. This approach to the city was a much more orderly one of wide tree-lined avenues, though it was not without a number of construction projects, mostly featuring some kind of golf resort.
‘I take you right into medina, very near hotel.’
‘Thank you Omar, we’re exhausted.’
‘Mountains are beautiful, yes ?’
‘Very beautiful.’
Saturday, 31 October 2009
Twenty-eighth
I returned to our uninspiring accommodation carrying a bottle of cheap red from the Hotel Taroudannt, having left Jess reading some trashy paperback she’d bought at the airport. I’d had trouble finding my way back in the dark, but was determined not to call upon the services of a horse-drawn carriage.
As I climbed the stairs there was some unexpected noise coming from our room, and I quickly inserted the key and pushed open the door. I immediately recognised a policeman we’d seen in Essaouira, who was attempting to force Jess down onto the bed. Without thinking I rushed at him with the bottle and brought it down on the back of his skull; Jess flopped down on the bed, struggling for breath, while her attacker landed on the highly-polished tile floor. The heavy glass bottle was somehow unbroken despite the powerful impact.
‘Shit ! I think he’s dead !’ I shouted.
‘Feel for a pulse’ Jess replied, struggling to her feet.
‘Nothing.’
‘Let me try.’
The man’s sweaty and smelly body showed no signs of life.
‘What the fuck do we do now ?’ Jess wondered.
‘It’s no good going to the police, we can’t trust them.’
‘I’ll get a blanket, at least we can cover him up.’
I noticed that a window to the central ventilation shaft was open, presenting us with an immediate solution to our dilemma.
‘We’ll have to dump him in there, and head for Marrakech as soon as possible.’
‘Won’t he be missed ?’ asked Jess anxiously.
‘The Essaouira police won’t think of searching in Taroudannt.’
Somehow we manhandled his fat, hairy frame onto the sill and forced the blanketed body through the narrow opening. Fortunately, there was no blood to clean up; it had been like one massive lucky punch in a heavyweight boxing bout, except there would be no doctor rushing into the ring.
‘Are you OK ?’ I asked.
‘Do you think he killed the Australian ?’
‘I’m not sure, I don’t know what to think any more.’
‘We’ve got to get away, NOW !’
‘They’re not going to find his body for a while, let’s try to behave calmly and leave in the morning as planned.’
‘I can’t stay in this room.’
‘We’ve got no choice; we’ll get the taxi to Marrakech straight after breakfast.’
‘I thought he was going to kill me.’
I stroked her hair and held her tightly as she sobbed.
‘We’ll need to get out of the country as soon as possible; I’m not sure if the airport is a good idea.’
Jess didn’t hear me, she was still caught-up in the horrific events that had just unfolded, like something from a low-budget Hollywood thriller.
As I climbed the stairs there was some unexpected noise coming from our room, and I quickly inserted the key and pushed open the door. I immediately recognised a policeman we’d seen in Essaouira, who was attempting to force Jess down onto the bed. Without thinking I rushed at him with the bottle and brought it down on the back of his skull; Jess flopped down on the bed, struggling for breath, while her attacker landed on the highly-polished tile floor. The heavy glass bottle was somehow unbroken despite the powerful impact.
‘Shit ! I think he’s dead !’ I shouted.‘Feel for a pulse’ Jess replied, struggling to her feet.
‘Nothing.’
‘Let me try.’
The man’s sweaty and smelly body showed no signs of life.
‘What the fuck do we do now ?’ Jess wondered.
‘It’s no good going to the police, we can’t trust them.’
‘I’ll get a blanket, at least we can cover him up.’
I noticed that a window to the central ventilation shaft was open, presenting us with an immediate solution to our dilemma.
‘We’ll have to dump him in there, and head for Marrakech as soon as possible.’
‘Won’t he be missed ?’ asked Jess anxiously.
‘The Essaouira police won’t think of searching in Taroudannt.’
Somehow we manhandled his fat, hairy frame onto the sill and forced the blanketed body through the narrow opening. Fortunately, there was no blood to clean up; it had been like one massive lucky punch in a heavyweight boxing bout, except there would be no doctor rushing into the ring.
‘Are you OK ?’ I asked.
‘Do you think he killed the Australian ?’
‘I’m not sure, I don’t know what to think any more.’
‘We’ve got to get away, NOW !’
‘They’re not going to find his body for a while, let’s try to behave calmly and leave in the morning as planned.’
‘I can’t stay in this room.’
‘We’ve got no choice; we’ll get the taxi to Marrakech straight after breakfast.’
‘I thought he was going to kill me.’
I stroked her hair and held her tightly as she sobbed.
‘We’ll need to get out of the country as soon as possible; I’m not sure if the airport is a good idea.’
Jess didn’t hear me, she was still caught-up in the horrific events that had just unfolded, like something from a low-budget Hollywood thriller.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Eighteenth
I don’t know why dead people are so often found in the water; it was the same with the missing University worker in York, except the woman’s body found in the Ouse wasn’t her. It was an apparently less significant lady from the Doncaster area, but the whole episode was inevitably agonising for the family and friends of the disappeared library assistant, for whom hope was uncomfortably vanishing.
Despite having some inclination towards Tibetan Buddhism I have grown more into the view that when we die that’s it, unless you’re buried and literally rot away, forming an elaborate human compost in the lonely earth of the graveyard. But we can never really know, and I hate these people who are so certain that any kind of afterlife is a load of nonsense; at least we should keep our minds open – unlike those that are so definite about global warming, or that all fat people should be mercilessly ridiculed.
In our so-called ‘advanced’ societies we try not to talk about death, and even pretend that life can be extended almost indefinitely with the help of medical science. In many other cultures they still retain an awareness that life and death are all part of the same process, and humans should simply make the most of what they have in the here and now. For some this means pure selfish indulgence, forgetting that the most important aspects of our lives cannot be bought at Tesco.
‘It wasn’t the lass from the Uni. then’ I commented, reading the local paper.
‘Not this time’ Jess replied.
‘You don’t hold out much hope then ?’
‘I’d like to believe she’d gone off with some bloke for romantic reasons, but she didn’t seem the type to withhold that kind of information from family and friends.’
‘She appeared to be quite sociable for a library assistant.’
‘What does that mean ?!’
‘She liked going to pubs.’
‘I don’t think libraries are the silent tombs they used to be, and some of the people working there are quite bubbly.’
‘I’ve always preferred buying books.’
‘Not everybody has your wealth.’
‘My inheritance is fast diminishing.’
‘And then what will you do ?’
Jess would ask me this question from time to time, implying that I was nothing more than a lazy, rudderless child; and I would always reply with silence.
Despite having some inclination towards Tibetan Buddhism I have grown more into the view that when we die that’s it, unless you’re buried and literally rot away, forming an elaborate human compost in the lonely earth of the graveyard. But we can never really know, and I hate these people who are so certain that any kind of afterlife is a load of nonsense; at least we should keep our minds open – unlike those that are so definite about global warming, or that all fat people should be mercilessly ridiculed.
In our so-called ‘advanced’ societies we try not to talk about death, and even pretend that life can be extended almost indefinitely with the help of medical science. In many other cultures they still retain an awareness that life and death are all part of the same process, and humans should simply make the most of what they have in the here and now. For some this means pure selfish indulgence, forgetting that the most important aspects of our lives cannot be bought at Tesco.
‘It wasn’t the lass from the Uni. then’ I commented, reading the local paper.‘Not this time’ Jess replied.
‘You don’t hold out much hope then ?’
‘I’d like to believe she’d gone off with some bloke for romantic reasons, but she didn’t seem the type to withhold that kind of information from family and friends.’
‘She appeared to be quite sociable for a library assistant.’
‘What does that mean ?!’
‘She liked going to pubs.’
‘I don’t think libraries are the silent tombs they used to be, and some of the people working there are quite bubbly.’
‘I’ve always preferred buying books.’
‘Not everybody has your wealth.’
‘My inheritance is fast diminishing.’
‘And then what will you do ?’
Jess would ask me this question from time to time, implying that I was nothing more than a lazy, rudderless child; and I would always reply with silence.
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