You'll see other shots of exteriors along the way of La Koutoubia, the largest mosque in Marrakech, and other mosques, but you won't see any interiors. As far as I am aware there are only two mosques in Morocco that a tourist can visit, the Hassan II mosque in Casablanca, which is the second largest mosque in the world, and another one that right now is just a fable for me because no one can tell me it's name or where it is, just that it exists. Perhaps it's in Rabat. I seem to recall that the taxi-driver who took me to the Indian Embassy there mentioned something. Anway...
You may recall all those pictures of cathedral interiors and views from the tops of bell towers, so you may also imagine that I would be pretty bummed out about not being able to visit the mosques in Marrakech. Which is true. I am. But I also really, really respect the choice to not open them up to whomever wants to wander through with a camera. Every mosque is an active mosque. The call to prayer that sings out from the top of the minarets across the city five times per day is a call that is heeded. So they are busy places of worship.
Frankly there were a few times when I've wondered if churches in Europe have gone too far in their accessibility. In Barcelona for example the Cathedral is actually open to visitors to walk about snapping pictures during services. Yes, during. Sure, the area where the service and congregation are is roped off, and there are plenty of uniformed people ready to shush people who get too loud, but still. Really? La Sagrada Familia is now an active church, but services are held in the crypt chapel. Now, I'm sure that it is lovely, and I'm sure the turn-out for Sunday mass fits comfortably in that space, so they don't need to use the main cathedral. But shouldn't they get to? Isn't that what it is actually for? Will that Basilica forever be first a tourist attraction and second a place of worship?
Well, if I were to be a tad cynical, some would say realistic, my answer would be yes, of course it will. Just look at the economics. One tourist pays about 20 euro, and they get thousands of them (tourists) per day. You think they're getting thousands of parishioners daily who are putting 20 euro into the collection plate each time? Even shutting down for morning mass on Sunday would be a hit in the coffers.
So yes, disappointed that I can't visit mosques. Happy that those worshipping do not have to vie for time or floor space with people like me? Totally.
And with that rant now out of the way I will get on with what I had intended to get on with this morning when I sat down to right.
A History of Cats and Their Struggles in Modern Day Morocco
Kidding.
Actually, I'm just going to show you around the city a bit more and introduce you to some of the people I did that wandering with.
The day after my first walk-around I headed out again with Ross and James, whom you've met, Charlie from BC, who you haven't, Chris from England, and another fellow from England whose name I sadly and wrongfully do not remember.
This was appparently to be a shopping day. Ross was heading home the next day, and Charlie was thinking about moving on to his next stop in Morocco, so they both wanted to pick up a few things. Well, when you're surrounded by souks, that's not a tough order to fill.
The blue bag above is Charlie.
That's Ross. Behind him in the glasses is Charlie. I don't know the lizards name.
The shopowners in the souks have developed many an ingenious technique for luring you in to check out their wares, one of which is to grab you by the arm and haul you in. Another though is to have something of interest outside of the shop. Well, we wandered out of one of the snaggles that is a street in one of the souks into this small square where, along one side, were several herbalist shops with cages in the front of them with lizards happily dozing or munching on something.
Hook, line, and sinker my friends. The minute the owner put the first lizard on Ross's arm we were in there like, well, like... like the bird that is now in my house and I need to go do something about. Be right back.
Sorry about that. It's amazing what happens when windows that are open are actually open. No screens and such.
Right, so the herbalist had lizards and as you can see they were fun and all, but the cool thing was actually all the stuff in the jars.
We were introduced to many a natural remedy, soap, perfume, and lord knows what else. The big one that sticks in my mind was the menthol crystals, that had been extracted from mint oil. Need to clear your sinuses quickly, stick your head over that and inhale deeply a few times. That night actually we got another dose of the menthol when, in Jemaa El Fna, the main square, we had a spice tea, primarily ginger and cardamom. Good and spicey. Then though they added this syrup which was basically honey with menthol, and my brain just kinda exploded.
With our sinuses wide open, and our forearms softer and sweeter smelling we headed on our way. Nothing bought, which was likely a disappointment the shop owner had been expecting, but much gained in term of olfactory play time.
Jeremy. The other Brits name is Jeremy. I remember this now because he'd already been to the tannery, and had suffered greatly because of the smell, but was willing to go again because we were all interested, and heck, it's just kinda what you do sometimes.
So off to the tannery.
Here we were warned that the smell would be offensive, so a bit of a change from what we'd had at the herbalist. The man who offered to show us around for free and then tried to extort money from us afterwards even though things were bought at the shop and he got a commission off that for leading us in to the place, had give us each some mint to stick in front of our noses sometimes. It reminded me of Cardinal Wolsey coming to court with his clover, but perhaps I am too swayed by television.
Now, I don't think my sense of smell is very good. Most of the time this is very disappointing for me, as I'd like to be able to enjoy all these things people tell me are in wine, or food, or the air, or whatever. Sure, bacon, bacon I can smell. Other stuff, not so good. That said, it certainly served me well here. Mint not required.
Here's a great description of the hide tanning process for those of you interested in a longer explanation. I'll just give you the short form.
1. Ferment the hide in pigeon poo for up to a week.
2. Dry it, scrape it, and stick it in a pit with lime and argan pits for a few weeks to get everything else off of it.
3. Wash it and stick it back in the pigeon poo for another 24 hours to get it all thin and stretchy.
4. Scrape and beat the skins to prep them for the dyes.
5. Apply the dye by hand. Dye sources are natural, and differ based upon the colours being sought and the type of hide being worked with.
6. Leave it to dry.
7. Stretch it out till it looks like Lady Cassandra.
And here's where all of that happens.
Okay, for those of you who did not get #7, and are either named Cassandra, or were for some other reason perhaps mildly offended, but didn't bother to click on the link I so helpfully provided, it's a Doctor Who reference.
I don't often explain the references for my patter, but this time I figured since I was talking about stretching out skins and referencing the name of an, albeit fictional, person, it'd be best to set the record straight.
From tanneries we go to wools, but to do so we also abandon those companions, skip a few days, and pick up some new ones along the way.
A few days later, days that I will tell you bits and pieces about another time, I found myself out on another walk with new friends, also from the hostel, even though I was no longer staying there (mind the gap), Sabong, from South Korea, Max from I think somewhere in California, and another guy I want to name Alex, but I don't think that's right. There have been a few Alex's in Morocco, but the one that sticks out as definitely Alex was in Imlil, and I didn't meet him till that evening, in Imlil, so maybe not.
By the way, way to go Canada. I've met more Canadians here then I've met anywhere else during my travels. Now, perhaps that is because I've been here for much longer, but the truth is, it was as of day one. Until arriving in Marrakech I could count the number of Canadians I'd met on one hand. Well, I had a bushel full by the end of the first day. Actually, a whole lot more than that as a bushel is only about 35 litres, and even if we're only measuring the amount of blood that's about 8-9 people, but in no way accounts for all the types of body water that makes up 65% of the average humans weight.
I'm gonna stop as there is no way that this could end well. Let's just say that I've met alot of Canadians in Marrakech, and I said "way to go Canada" as it's nice to see a lot of us get out of Europe. Let me also state for the record that to my knowledge all of the Canadians I have met continue to be in good health. Just in case you were worried that me having read The Case Book of Victor Frankenstein on the ferry to Barcelona gave me any, shall we delicately say, new ideas.
Right, wool and silk.
Out and about with these new friends I have just mentioned, we found ourselves invited in to check out this area that was not only selling the finished goods, was also where they were actually making the various yarns and threads. We'd been walking through one of the souks and overhead were all these coils of yarn. It took me a little bit to find the word "coils", as I didn't know if there was a particular word for describing a big bundle of yarn. Well, there are lots of words it turns out. Skein, ball, cake, donut, cone, hank, just to name a few. None of them were right though so I'm sticking with coils. And why?
Because, here's a guy coiling the yarn. What else would you call it?
So I'd seen these coils, kinda like the ones above, hanging from the rafters in this particular area of one of the souks, and I asked a shopowner about them and all of a sudden a young fellow appears and we are whisked off to check out the operation. Now,we were promised that there would be no fee for this little service, nor that we would have to buy anything, and that taking pictures was not a problem. This all turned out to be true, however Max and the other fellow I am incorrectly calling Alex decided no and headed elsewhere. This becomes important when I get around to telling you about the Imlil trip, so don't forget.
There are wool yarns, made from sheep, camel, goat, and there are silk yarns made from cactus silk. There are both natural and chemical dyes used.
Yellow from saffron, red from henna, blue from indigo, green from mint, burgundy from pomegranate. Henna also is used to produced brown, and in Essaouira, they harvest a type of snail that the male produces a blue, and the female produces a purple known as Tyrian purple, as it was used by the Romans in their nifty toga stripes. It's also known as murex, and I may have swapped the snail genders.
The thing I find wonderful about the souks is that yes, it's a topsy-turvy world where there seem to be only a hand-full of types of stalls in endless repeat. Honestly, it's hard to tell one stretch of souk from another simply because of the uniformity of types of establishment and goods being sold.
That said, you also come across the places where people are busy making a shoe, hammering little holes into a lantern, binding a diary, lathing by foot. That's "lathe", not "blathe" which we all know means "bluff". Okay, they're doing that too, but not with their feet.
Yes, he's using his foot. That's Sabong in the blue hat. She has this amazing talent for having people just give stuff to her. And it got me some apples in Imlil, so I'm definitely not one to complain. Truly fantastic, and such an amazingly open, wonderful attitude. Engaged, friendly, wonderful person. Lucky to have met her.
These are argan nuts. The oil from these is used for cosmetics and cooking, just not at the same time.
There's a different process used depending on what type of oil you're producting, and actually the cooking one is not used for cooking. Never heated. More for a drizzle or dressing over salads, or perhaps a dollop in a bowl of beans, though that might have been olive oil.
This is the traditional grinder that turns the argan nut into a paste that is then further reduced, eventually down to an oil.
This is the shop near the hostel where those nuts and grinders can be found. There are plenty of places in Marrakech, and throughout Morocco, to be found processing or selling argan. It's a biggie. Wander along a street and you'll hear it's name being called out to entice you into a shop. Wander through Jemaa El Fna and you'll pass plenty of people with little bottles of it spread out on a blanket. Take a day trip to Essaouira or someplace else and have the driver pull over at a women-owned and operated co-op that processes and produces argan-based goods. There are apparently many of these co-ops about, which seems pretty cool. Have someone come up to you in the evening in the square with an old Fanta bottle full of the stuff.
Let's just say that quality can differ.
What I like about this particular store is that almost any time I pass by it, and it's between the hostel and the square so it happens every now and again, I spend a few minutes chatting with the owner. He knows now that I'm not going to ever buy anything, but we still chat for a few minutes about what's been going on, and really, that's what this travel thing is all about. Meeting, connecting, even if just a tinsy little bit.
Okay, sorry. Skipping ahead a few days again to some other stuff.
These are some of the gardens around La Koutoubia.
I wandered around them with Megan, above, and Sophie, standing to my right when I took this picture also taking a picture of Megan. They are both from Australia and although they didn't know each other when they left, they met each other on the road and have been travelling together for a couple of months. See how these things just happen?
We'd met very briefly at the hostel the morning that I had gone there to work on the tour agency materials that lead to me having such an amazing opportunity to travel and write for the tour group that I have already told you about but which you will benefit from the labours of in future posts.
<gasp>
That was a fun sentence to write, and I did not breathe the entire time it took to write it, which is saying something given how bad my typing, resulting in repeated backspacing, is.
Anyway, we bumped into each other in the square in the afternoon, got to chatting a little, and then decided to wander about together, as, well, that's what you do.
This is Bab Agnaou. It's one of about twenty gates dotting the 19km of near 20 foot-high fortified wall built in the 12th century that includes close to 200 towers and surrounds the Medina, or old city of Marrakech.
After being in the garden we made our way here, so that we could then visit Palais Badi.
Now, it's really easy to get turned around, and around, in Marrakech. I have no idea what direction I am walking at any time. So it's kinda like being a little kid again. North, south, east, west. Who cares. The lake is to my right so I'm walking towards dowtown. There's Terry Pochmurski's house, even though they'd move from Armadale to Runnymede three years earlier, so I'd better hurry up if I'm gonna make it home in ten minutes. Oh look, it's the 7/11, that means I'm near...
Same thing here. But without 40-odd years (and yes, they've been odd) of getting to know the place. Slowly though. Slowly I'm figuring out my way around. That said, still lots of missing of the marks.
So no Palais Badi that day, and still not been there yet, but I will, and then I'll write about it a bit.
Did see the Palais Royal, but you're not allowed in. So there you go. And sure, you can't go in, but at least show us a picture you might be saying. Fine, here you go.
Walls, my friends. All you can see of the Palais Royal is more and more wall. Morocco love it's walls. Less Nessman would set up office here in a heart beat there are so many walls. Walls around cities, walls around section of cities. Around kasbahs, riads, communities, gardens, farms, orchards, hotels. Name it. It's all got walls around it. And that's not just Marrakech. Not saying it's all of Morocco. But it's Marrakech, parts of Rabat, Essaouira, and plenty of places I've seen in between. Even new constructions get to have walls around them. And there are walls within the walls, so just when you think you've actually left the Medina you find another Bab and learn that in fact you have not, and the road on the map you thought you were on is actually 10 minutes behind you in the opposite direction, and still not the one you actually need to take to get where you're trying to go.
It's a lot of fun.
Anyway, we did eventually find ourselves close to the Palais Badi, but as it was closing soon we decided to go somewhere closer that was open for longer.
This is the Mosque de Kasbah, and that's a stork.
This was not where we went.
This is where we went.
This is the Saadian Tombs. These tombs date back to the late-16th, early 17th-century and are the resting place for about 60 members of the Saadi dynasty, which was of Arab descent, and ruled Morocco for about a century starting mid-1550.
I think what I enjoyed most about my visit to these tombs, aside from actually finally arriving "somewhere", were the musings and ponderings of Sophie and Megan as we wandered about. I've had plenty of travel companions along the way who, if they've at all been curious as to the what and the why before them, did an excellent job at disguising it with silence or idle chit chat about nothing in particular. But not these two fine people.
"Do you think the colours or patterns on the tombs mean anything?" "Where are the inscriptions taken from?" "That's pretty, what kind of flower is that?" "Why do the walls have all of these holes in them?"
And I had no idea. But they were awesome questions, and it was so refreshing, and nice, and cool, especially since this is pretty much what my head is spinning around with like 20 pounds of soaking wet clothes in the spin cycle because 'someone' forgot to take them in off the clothes line when the torrential rain fall hit, and needed some extra help wringing them out before hanging them inside to dry.
That's not actually what happened. I got my laundry in before the rain really hit just fine. But it was fun to write.
So yes, travel companions who ask questions aloud about the stuff around them is really great, and I very much appreciated that about Megan and Sophie.
Oh, in case you're afraid that, having just chatted about three different days of walking about without any pictures of doors popping up that I'd lost my interest, not to worry. I'd just thought I'd save them up for the end.
So there's a bit of a hodge-podge of some of the walks I've taken over the past few weeks here, and some of the people I've taken them with. You'll be seeing more of a few of them further on I am sure.
What's really great with the meeting new people and just hangin' out exploring thing all the time, is that you really do get to have different types of experiences. Not because of going to a different place, but because of seeing it with different people. I've been in Jemaa El Fna I don't know how many times now, and each time is different. Same stalls, same monkies in dresses and drugged-out snakes standing at attention to the guy with the flute. Same food stalls. Same women trying to inscribe henna markings on any woman who passes by. But it really is a different place when you spend some time there by yourself, or with a whole bunch of guys game on shopping and ready to haggle down to the last dirham, or with a couple of surfers talking about where to go next, or with a couple of people with lots of questions, or with another lone traveller who is happy to just get lost and see what comes of it, and the only question they ask is "What's this way?" as they bid 'Salaam' to everyone they pass.
Our friends are our friends for a reason. Relationships provide us with things that we need, and we have many relationships because, no matter how great one or another may be, we can't get it all from just one person. Yes, plenty of overlap, but there is something unique in each relationship that provides us with something, even if we can't put a finger on what that something is. Frankly, I don't think we need to. It's enough to just connect. Friends made while travelling are the same as those at home. Brief perhaps. More intense, and potentially more immediately intimate because we're all strangers in a strange land, but still providing each other with something that is necessary to the experience of living, wherever we happen to be at the time.
I've met some incredible people in Marrakech, and certainly before it as well. I'm also certain there are plenty to come. Some were for five minutes, some for an afternoon, some for a few days. I would suspect that in most cases, even though we've shared some incredible experience and then connected on FB in hopes of doing so again, we'll go our separate ways, occasionally smile at something we see in our news feeds, and that will be that. Others I may very well see again. I certainly hope so. Regardless though, I am thankful for every last one of them, as they make each experience along the way that much better.
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