Month: October 2017

Thursday 26 October 2017

Today is officially at leisure but not for poor Jilali, who drives us to wherever we want to go.  Not always via the most direct route, but more of that later.

Firstly, we head to the newly opened Yves Saint Laurent Museum, next to the Jardin Marjorelle.  There is a long queue and Jilali insists on parking the van (probably in the funeral cars only bay) and standing in the queue with us so he can buy the tickets.  He is a gentleman.

This museum is devoted to the work of YSL and it’s terrific.  No photos allowed but we see his sketches and fabric samples, photographs and actual outfits.  Gorgeous, and mostly practical, fashion.

The exhibition gallery, for temporary exhibitions, is showing the paintings of Jacques Majorelle, who developed the garden next door.  His is lovely work and we really enjoy the hour or so we spend in this small museum.

We then explore some of the shops nearby, which are new and modern and which trade in modern Moroccan arts and crafts.  We buy a sample pot each of the Marjorelle blue and yellow.  We think a couple of pots on the Quamby deck will look good in these colours.  The woman from whom we buy assures us that the paint will travel well and the cans will not spill.  Just to be sure, she puts some sellotape around the lids.  That should do the trick.

There was a cactus farm on our list of things to see yesterday, but Abdul Raheem, by his own admission, got a bit confused with our itinerary and it all went a bit cactus.  Jilali agreed that he would take us today.  So, off we head.  “Do you have the address?” asks Jilali.  Fortunately, Cherrie had googled the place to make sure that we did indeed want to vist and she knew it was 10kms out of town.  The hearse has wifi so I fired up my phone, found the website and even a little map of where it was. Opposite the main stadium of Marrakech, and off the road a bit.  Jilali knows the stadium so things are looking good.  We speed past the stadium.  “Next left” I say.  There is no next left.  “Around the roundabout up here and back a bit then turn right” I say. No response.  The hearse is heading north and nothing is going to stop it. “Jilali” we say from the back seat “the cactus farm is back there”.  I show him the map.  He studies the map on the phone, whist still driving at breakneck speed, narrowly avoiding other vehicles,  animals and pedestrians, then throws the phone on the passenger seat and continues north.  This is one proud man who perhaps can’t read a map, clearly doesn’t know where he is going, but who will ask no one for help.  Except strangers.  Twice he stops twice to ask directions.  Once of two gardeners, who argue amongst themselves and then one points east whilst the other points west.  It’s the classic ‘he went that way’ stuff.  We continue north.  The second request for directions is made to a young man standing at a bus stop. I don’t think he even knows what a cactus is, in the event that is what Jilali is asking about.  North we continue.  Our driver is obviously angry.  We know he is a hot head, we have seen it before, but today is an extra special display.  We stay shtum in the backseat.  Cherrie whispers that we just have to ride it out and see where this takes us.  Without much warning we make a right hand turn onto a dirt road and drive for a few miles through a mining site.  There is no cactus down here, but wow things have certainly turned cactus.  U Turn, back onto the main road.  At the junction, where it becomes obvious that Jilali is planning a right hand turn to Casablanca, Cherrie pleads for him to ring for directions….the travel agency, the cactus farm, the funeral director (or whoever owns this black van with black windows).  He won’t ring anyone he knows.  Presumably because he thinks he will lose face.  He does, however, agree to talk to the cactus farm and Cherrie gives him the number.  He gets the directions.  It is south, opposite the stadium.  We have been driving for 90 minutes.  By now, I don’t think either of us care if we never see a bloody cactus, but there is a principal at stake here.  We find the cactus farm, exactly where the map said it was, and to add insult to injury it is on another dirt road.  The hearse is no longer clean.  Jilali is incandescent with fury, but when he drives through the gates he declares “I got you here.  Happy?”  “Mmmm” we mumble and walk amongst cacti for as long as we can, while Jilali cools off.

This cactus farm was planted by a German horticultural engineer who specialised in cacti, coincidentally.  He settled in Marrakech in 1964 so some of these plants are pretty old.  He also supplied the cactus to Jardin Marjorelle.

Look –  Cactus Hand.

The place is amazing really, if you like cacti.  Cherrie does. By the time we return to the hearse, Jillali has calmed down.  “You happy?”  He knows he’s blown it and is trying to charm his way out of it.  We are pretty pissed off with him, but ask if he can take us to a store on the way back to the hotel to buy two plastic containers to put our little paint cans in.  And a roll of cling wrap. Can’t be too careful when flying paint around the world we figure.  Don’t even know if it be allowed on board.

No lunch today, but it’s all been a bit high charged for an appetite.  Jilali drives us back to the hotel, and shows us some different parts of this cosmopolian city.  We also saw much more of the road to Casablanca than ever intended.  Not recommended.  Dinner in the hotel restaurant.

 

Wednesday 25 October 2017

Three Ms of Marrakech today.  Majorelle, Momounia, Musee

The Jardin Marjorelle is located in a classy suburb of Marrakech.  Established in the ‘20s by French artist Jacques Marjorelle, it is a vision of blue, yellow and orange pots.  The blue is so unique, more cobalt than cobalt, that it is officially now a colour  – Marjorelle Blue.  He was inspired by the Moroccan colours in the mosaics.

The colours define this garden, which were such an inspiration to Yves Saint Laurent who, with his partner Pierre Borge, bought the property in 1980.  It had been open to the public since the death of Jacques Moselle in 1962 but was slated for a high rise development in the late ‘70s.  Saint Laurent and Borges fought the development and ultimately purchased the property to save it.  They lived in the house next door, which they named Villa Oasis, and restored the garden to Majorelle’s vision by retaining the glorious colours

installing irrigation and engaging 20 gardeners to maintain it.  The gardeners are, of course, colour coded.

It always remained a public garden and retained the name of the original owner/designer.  Majorelle built his studio in the gardens, the sight of which is arresting

which Yves and Pierre converted to a fascinating Berber museum.

Saint Laurent died in 2008, his ashes were scattered here, and there is a memorial to him in the garden.  His partner, Pierre Borge, who was 8 years older, died just last month and his ashes will also be scattered here.

Winston Churchill used to spend time in Marrakech and it is evident that he visited this garden too

The brand new Musee Yves Saint Laurent opened next door just last Thursday, and we go to visit that too.  But, of course, Wednesday is ferme day.  So, we walk down the end of the road instead and Abdul Raheem loads us into a horse drawn carriage, which he says is included in our tour.  We’re not sure about this, and how fair to the animal it is, but we placidly obey and we are drawn to the public gardens in Gueliz, the new town. It’s a pleasant stroll through the garden but nothing special. I spot a large van which looks like a mobile library but Abdul laughs me off and says no, it is a van with gardening equipment.  I feel foolish, until we walk to the other side where the sign on the van clearly says Bibliotheque Mobile.  I stay uncharacteristicly quiet, but I am satisfied that our guide also sees the sign!  Oh, the smugness.

From there, we go to the second M of the day, the Hotel Mamounia.  This is where Lois and Gerry (remember them from the desert camp and Skoura?)  stayed last year and loved it so much they have come back.  Perhaps to buy it, who knows? The Mamounia was built in the 12th Century is a luxury five star hotel, where we are NOT staying.  It is indeed amazing and we walk through and around the lush foyer area, guided by Abdul Raheem who shows us interesting things like the bar where Churchill used to drink, the original woodwork and the new carpets which have, somewhat regrettably, replaced the hand woven rugs etc.  But it is the garden which we are here to see and glorious it is.

This is one luxurious hotel and we feel rather out of place amongst the beautiful people.  We are more at home amongst the workers who are harvesting the olives from their plentiful plantation

I guess this just confirms what many of you have already observed- that I am most comfortable with a big stick in my hand.

The third M is the Museum of Contemporary African Art.  Neither Abdul Raheem nor Jilali have ever heard of it, but fortunately Cherrie has the address.  It is in the golf estate (there are 27 golf courses in Marrakech) and it’s fabulous, with a collection from artists all over Africa.  Abdul accompanies us through this small museum, which opened in November last year.  He is grateful to have learnt about it.

It’s lunchtime, and finally our pleas are heard.  We are delivered to that well known Moroccan institution, Le Pain Quotidien.  We could be in Paris or London, but no, we are in Marrakech.  Abdul Raheem leaves us here.  Jilali has parked somewhere.  No one in this international French shop speaks Anglaise or Francaise  it seems.  We have no idea what to do, but eventually succeed in purchasing a tomate sandwich each, which turns out to be mostly tuna.  At least we get a coffee.

Post lunch we ask Jilali to take us back to the souks, so we can wander at leisure, but he goes into meltdown because he is, after all, a driver and not a guide. He has no idea which gate of the Medina is best for the souks and really doesn’t want to risk it.  He knows somewhere much better anyway, with prix fixe, and he begs to take us there.  We don’t have the heart to tell him we are not buying but rather looking so we reluctantly agree and get dropped off at a two storey department souvenir store.  It’s actually quite fun perusing all the tat, but not the same as the souks.

After being dropped back at the hotel, we decide we want to see the main square, and the snake charmers.  This area is hopping at night, and the place to be.    The hotel gives us a map and explains the route for the 15 minute walk.  Plenty of places to eat around there too they tell us.  The 15 minute walk takes us 50 minutes.  And, we cross the road three times, miraculously surviving.  The trick is to just look ahead, do not look at the traffic, take no notice of the traffic, walk to the other side of the road, pretending to be confident that the trucks, bikes, cars, vans, mules and donkeys will go round you.  You can be sure they won’t stop for you.

The square is like sideshow alley at the Easter Show

Complete with drag belly dancers

 

 

And the snake charmers.  We didn’t get close, because those cobras were slithering all over the pavement and we feared that one wrong note from the flute might reflect poorly on the reptilian behaviour, to potentially unpleasant result.  Besides which, the charmers demand 100 Duran (about $10) per photograph.  Our photo editor caught a long shot, as it were

 

We decide that dinner is not an option in this square.  Neither is walking back to the hotel.  Instead we walk some way to find a taxi, which by some good fortune takes us home.  Picnic dinner in the room suffices nicely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Wednesday 25 October 2017

Three Ms of Marrakech today.  Majorelle, Momounia, Musee

The Jardin Marjorelle is located in a classy suburb of Marrakech.  Established in the ‘20s by French artist Jacques Marjorelle, it is a vision of blue, yellow and orange pots.  The blue is so unique, more cobalt than cobalt, that it is officially now a colour  – Marjorelle Blue.  He was inspired by the Moroccan colours in the mosaics.

The colours define this garden, which were such an inspiration to Yves Saint Laurent who, with his partner Pierre Borge, bought the property in 1980.  It had been open to the public since the death of Jacques Moselle in 1962 but was slated for a high rise development in the late ‘70s.  Saint Laurent and Borges fought the development and ultimately purchased the property to save it.  They lived in the house next door, which they named Villa Oasis, and restored the garden to Majorelle’s vision by retaining the glorious colours

installing irrigation and engaging 20 gardeners to maintain it.  The gardeners are, of course, colour coded.

It always remained a public garden and retained the name of the original owner/designer.  Majorelle built his studio in the gardens, the sight of which is arresting

which Yves and Pierre converted to a fascinating Berber museum.

Saint Laurent died in 2008, his ashes were scattered here, and there is a memorial to him in the garden.  His partner, Pierre Borge, who was 8 years older, died just last month and his ashes will also be scattered here.

Winston Churchill used to spend time in Marrakech and it is evident that he visited this garden too

The brand new Musee Yves Saint Laurent opened next door just last Thursday, and we go to visit that too.  But, of course, Wednesday is ferme day.  So, we walk down the end of the road instead and Abdul Raheem loads us into a horse drawn carriage, which he says is included in our tour.  We’re not sure about this, and how fair to the animal it is, but we placidly obey and we are drawn to the public gardens in Gueliz, the new town. It’s a pleasant stroll through the garden but nothing special. I spot a large van which looks like a mobile library but Abdul laughs me off and says no, it is a van with gardening equipment.  I feel foolish, until we walk to the other side where the sign on the van clearly says Bibliotheque Mobile.  I stay uncharacteristicly quiet, but I am satisfied that our guide also sees the sign!  Oh, the smugness.

From there, we go to the second M of the day, the Hotel Mamounia.  This is where Lois and Gerry (remember them from the desert camp and Skoura?)  stayed last year and loved it so much they have come back.  Perhaps to buy it, who knows? The Mamounia was built in the 12th Century is a luxury five star hotel, where we are NOT staying.  It is indeed amazing and we walk through and around the lush foyer area, guided by Abdul Raheem who shows us interesting things like the bar where Churchill used to drink, the original woodwork and the new carpets which have, somewhat regrettably, replaced the hand woven rugs etc.  But it is the garden which we are here to see and glorious it is.

This is one luxurious hotel and we feel rather out of place amongst the beautiful people.  We are more at home amongst the workers who are harvesting the olives from their plentiful plantation

I guess this just confirms what many of you have already observed- that I am most comfortable with a big stick in my hand.

The third M is the Museum of Contemporary African Art.  Neither Abdul Raheem nor Jilali have ever heard of it, but fortunately Cherrie has the address.  It is in the golf estate (there are 27 golf courses in Marrakech) and it’s fabulous, with a collection from artists all over Africa.  Abdul accompanies us through this small museum, which opened in November last year.  He is grateful to have learnt about it.

It’s lunchtime, and finally our pleas are heard.  We are delivered to that well known Moroccan institution, Le Pain Quotidien.  We could be in Paris or London, but no, we are in Marrakech.  Abdul Raheem leaves us here.  Jilali has parked somewhere.  No one in this international French shop speaks Anglaise or Francaise  it seems.  We have no idea what to do, but eventually succeed in purchasing a tomate sandwich each, which turns out to be mostly tuna.  At least we get a coffee.

Post lunch we ask Jilali to take us back to the souks, so we can wander at leisure, but he goes into meltdown because he is, after all, a driver and not a guide. He has no idea which gate of the Medina is best for the souks and really doesn’t want to risk it.  He knows somewhere much better anyway, with prix fixe, and he begs to take us there.  We don’t have the heart to tell him we are not buying but rather looking so we reluctantly agree and get dropped off at a two storey department souvenir store.  It’s actually quite fun perusing all the tat, but not the same as the souks.

After being dropped back at the hotel, we decide we want to see the main square, and the snake charmers.  This area is hopping at night, and the place to be.    The hotel gives us a map and explains the route for the 15 minute walk.  Plenty of places to eat around there too they tell us.  The 15 minute walk takes us 50 minutes.  And, we cross the road three times, miraculously surviving.  The trick is to just look ahead, do not look at the traffic, take no notice of the traffic, walk to the other side of the road, pretending to be confident that the trucks, bikes, cars, vans, mules and donkeys will go round you.  You can be sure they won’t stop for you.

The square is like sideshow alley at the Easter Show

Complete with drag belly dancers

 

 

And the snake charmers.  We didn’t get close, because those cobras were slithering all over the pavement and we feared that one wrong note from the flute might reflect poorly on the reptilian behaviour, to potentially unpleasant result.  Besides which, the charmers demand 100 Duran (about $10) per photograph.  Our photo editor caught a long shot, as it were

 

We decide that dinner is not an option in this square.  Neither is walking back to the hotel.  Instead we walk some way to find a taxi, which by some good fortune takes us home.  Picnic dinner in the room suffices nicely.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tuesday 24 October 2017

It’s little wonder this city is known as the Jewel of the South.  It is modern, ancient, sophisticated, simple, bewitching, all at once.  Mercedes mix with mules and traffic jams often occur

But the many motor bikes, donkeys, cars and pedestrians manage to survive amongst the chaos, against all odds I must say.

This morning we meet our guide, Abdul Raheem. Jilali drives the three of us through the wide, tree lined streets to the Bahia Palace, built by the Prime Minister of the day to house his 4 wives and 23 concubines. As well as himself of course. It’s quite beautiful, with those wonderful mosaics which never fail to delight. We have learned that the three totems of Islamic art is geometric, calligraphy and flowers.

Sensible walking shoes are a must when on tour, don’t you agree?

From there, to the Ben Youssef University, built in the 12th Century. It has survived subsequent earthquakes because of the clever technique of the brickwork, which added significant strength.

We saw the so called Saadian tombs of the 16th Century where more than 100 members of the royal family are buried. Muslims are buried on their side, facing Mecca. There are, however, tombs here of Jews, too, who consulted the royal family and were close. The mausoleum was originally built by Sultan Ahmed el Mansour, who went on to found a chain of manchester stores in Sydney.

Walking to the souks, via back streets, revealed surprising and refreshing quiet.

Morocco has the largest solar farm in the world, not far from Marrakech, and 40% of the city’s power is solar generated. This is a source of great pride, and rightly so, and the daily stats are displayed for all to see. This sign is indicative of what the panels on the mosque are generating.

Seen one souk, seen em all you might say. And there is some truth to that, except the souks of Marrakech seem more ordered, cleaner and less frantic. Rather like the city itself. Whatever you want is on hand here.

I was pleased to see that in Marrakech, at least in the souks, there are still plenty of pouffes

More leather auctions, like those we saw in Fes

But Abdul Raheem is here to show us around his city, not to shop. He actively discourages browsing and moves us at quite a pace. We would have preferred a more leisurely pace but we daren’t lose him for we might never find our way out of here. Call me a sook.

A delightful oasis of peace amongst this madness is Le Jardin Secret, which hosts two gardens – the Exotic which has plants and trees from five continents, and the Islamic Garden, in the traditional four quadrants. The garden is watered by a flow from the Atlas Mountains (from where all the water for this southern part of Morocco comes) via an ingenious system of underground channels. I’m not sure if the Romans were responsible for this, but someone very clever was.

 

 

 

We finish our tour of the medina and exit into the main square of Marrakech. This is where the snake charmers are, and the men with monkeys on leads. But of course this is a dreadful tourist trap which Abdul Raheem was not going to allow us to have a bar of, since he knows we are far too discerning to care about such trifles. I secretly vow to come back without his knowledge, as I am particularly keen to see a snake being charming.

Off to lunch. A simple sandwich, we plea, but alas we are delivered to a rather nice courtyard restaurant, where we indulge in two courses. Abdul leaves us at the entrance to the restaurant with a promise to meet us at 10am tomorrow for our day of garden tours.

After lunch, Jilali kindly agrees to take us to a supermarche, to buy some picnic items for our next two dinners. We might have lost the lunch battle, but we can control dinner at least! Jilali takes the opportunity to drive us around this beautiful, curious, cosmopolitan and historic city with its wide tree lined boulevards, modern buildings, architectural heritage and chaotic traffic, complete with donkeys . It really is something, Marrakech. Jilali has an eye for the girls. We have observed often his preparedness to run down any car, bike, cyclist or pedestrian who gets in his way, but he will come to a stop for any attractive female crossing the road. And then follow her path in the rear view mirror.

Back at the hotel we swim and laze by the pool. It’s still unseasonably hot here – 34 degrees today. Later we enjoy our bread, cheese, olives and dates on the Juliet balcony of our room. Washed down with the well travelled remaining bottle of red purchased in Fes.  Palatable. Just.

 

Monday 23 October

Today we leave the beautiful Oasis of Skoura and we are heading to the Jewel of the South – Marrakech.  But first we have to cross the High Atlas Mountains.  But, before that we drive through Ouarzazate, the Hollywood of Morocco.  There are huge film studios here, including one American one.  The Main Street, boulevard really, is lined with giant props and film paraphernalia. The industry is an important one here, and an international film school has recently opened.

We sail through, declining the invitation to tour the studio (the presence of 6 tourist coaches in the parking lot no doubt influence our decision) and continue our journey.   We are climbing, and passing specks of wonderful colours from the occasional roadside stall selling brightly coloured plates and tagine dishes,  in the middle of nowhere.

We stop at the fortified village of another UNESCO world heritage site,  Ait Ben Haddou, the best preserved Kasbah in the whole Atlas region. This village has featured in a huge list of movies, but I have only heard of three of them – Gladiators, Raiders of the Lost Ark and Lawrence of Arabia. Less discerning readers amongst you may have seen, even enjoyed, such classics as “The Mummy”, “ Sodom and Gomorrah”, “The Jewel of the Nile”, some eps of “Game of Thrones”, the list is a large ng one

We’re going to climb to the top of that.  Well, some of us are.  I make a Herculean effort, even if I do say so myself (I believe I just did) but don’t quite get to the top. Cherrie and the ever attendant Jillali do though.

And here’s what they saw

From my viewpoint, a little more than half way up,

I look down on some more wonderful colour

And, of course, I continue to look up to Cherrie.  Always have, always will

So, now we continue the climb up the High Atlas Mountains in earnest.  We know this is a rough and windy road, and as I am prone to travel sickness I take a TravelCalm.  It’s not enough to touch the sides.  This road is unbelievably windy, and in shocking condition.  It seems that every car that is on it is keen to get to the other side, and will spare no time to make it.  It’s a great race, for who can go faster and who can overtake closest and who can make it first.  Our driver is no exception.  It is terrifying.  The road spirals into the sky.  The views, however, are amazing

 Until, merciful heaven, we reach the top

I take some deep breaths of fresh air and Cherrie asks Jillali if he can drive a bit more slowly perhaps.  The plea falls on deaf ears, because the road is in better condition now and is sealed (oh goody, now we can go even faster). He continues the race to the chequered flags.  There are 99 bends in 30kms.  It was apparently a curious ascent. I cannot personally comment, because my eyes were clamped closed the whole time, as was my mouth for fear of expelling my breakfast.

An article we read a few days ago in the UK Telegraph says, and I quote “One false move here and you’re a goner. From the top of Tizi N’tichka, a car could freefall for almost half a mile before reconnecting with the hot, hard surface of Morocco, and then go bouncing off into the wheat fields below. During those few seconds, its passengers would enjoy the colours of Moroccan geology, from scarlet to crimson, and perhaps the odd trilobite hurtling past: a reminder that this was once below the sea, instead of 6,000 feet above it.”

It occurs to us that if the worst were to happen, at least we’ve skipped a step because we are already in the hearse.

On the way down we come across a nomadic tribe moving their goats

Extraordinary  views

And landscape resembling the colour of my face

And then, praise be to Allah, it all came to a sudden stop.  After nearly three hours of this hell, we hit a traffic jam.  Everything has come to a stop.  Jillali locks us in the van and walks down the queue of vehicles to investigate.  He comes back with the news that there has been a landslide and we may be here for some time. Frankly, that is music to my ears and we get out of the car and sit on the safety fence, although I use that S word lightly.  I nibble at a sandwich we made from our breakfast leftovers, and Cherrie and Jillali knock the rest off.  Eventually the traffic starts to move at a snails pace, and we pass the rockslide

That is one BIG rock folks.  It must be 6 feet high. We don’t know if there was any damage to vehicles or people, or how long ago this happened, but the temperate nature of the drivers doesn’t last long and soon the great race was on again.

Then we hit the remnants of a load of cement bags, which have come off a truck. The cloud of cement literally brings us to another stop, before we limp through at a much more lady like pace

This huge mountain range separates the Mediterranean and the Atlantic from the Sahara desert, and it spectacularly beautiful.  Apparently.  These photos are taken on the descent, which feels rather like the Big Dipper to me.  I certainly feel like mimicking the sound effects.

And then we hit level ground.  I open my eyes to the outskirts of Marrakech, after a five hour hair raising drive.   It’s a very different city to those we have been to in Morocco, and we look forward to exploring tomorrow. We are staying at a lovely riad within the Medina.

Next time I shall fly over the Atlas Mountains.  In a big plane.