Shalom all, and warmest greetings from the tanned, tattoed, couscoused,
tagined, cameled, and most importantly luxuriously hammamed Karima
/ كريمة - the Berber name bestowed on me.
Permit me to start with a little description of the Riad - the Moroccan
townhouse, opulently decorated with distinctive local lamps, tiling, bathing
pool - right down to the heavy wooden double doors leading to each of the 4
bedrooms. This Riad - the Villa El Arsa (what a name) was an accidental
upgrade: a turn of good fortune when Susie, the owner whom I had been in
contact with directly regarding the original booking of the Riad Dar Tah Tah,
asked me would I consider being moved to her other Riad, El Arsa, with its
larger spaces, pool, huge rooftop terrace, bigger room with incredible bathroom
/ bathtub - for no extra cost. Not much time needed to consider that
offer. Arriving separately, I booked a taxi service through the Riad for us to
be collected and delivered to the accommodation. The winding little
streets did not allow access for cars, so at the closest possible point on the
cusp of the Mellah, the old Jewish quarter, we were dropped off and met by a
staff member Hussein who ushered us through the manic tiny streets, chock with
locals many dressed oddly enough like the Jedi, bicycles flying past at
terrific speeds and noisy polluting mopeds whizzing past, a chorus of squeaky
moped horns bipping and honking as they traversed the narrow packed alleys
leaving in their wake, a whorl of dust and fumes.
10 minutes of following
behind Hussein who wheeled my case, always sticking to the right side of the
pathless streets, as he pointed out tunnels and shops, twists and murals on
walls to remember the route, we arrived at a beautiful dark wood door, engraved
with swirly patterns and a heavy brass knocker. Stepping in through the
low door, the space opened up from the narrow streets to a bright cool clean
space, laden with flowers, plants, trinkets, tiles and a thousand other details
too many to absorb. Hussein led me into the central square of the
building underneath the awning of a white cloth roof, high atop the second
floor, where he offered me a seat at the big glass table while he went to the
kitchen to make a pot of mint tea. The first of countless to come.
There are more details that I can possibly put down. The explorations of
the local area on day one are enough to fill the average Rushdie size novel.
It's one of those places where a blind man could be mistaken for an
expert photographer: all that is required in this colourful, dusty, busy,
pungent place is the ability to point the lens and press the button. I
have over 800 photos from the 7 days and I could take 800 more given the chance.
I will, however, give you some highlights: out of our seven days there,
we had initially decided to do a day-trek up the Atlas mountains at some point
during the week. However, we decided to extend this trip to a 2 day trip
to the Zagora Desert, staying overnight in the desert. This involved
approx. 8 hours driving through the Atlas mountains, stopping at some gorgeous
locations and sometimes just at the side of the road to admire some stunning
valley or distant village. The scenery ranged from barren rocky chocolate
coloured mountains and valleys to lush green irrigated pastures with dotted
with little distant orange coloured houses spread between the legs of huge tree
speckled mountains. The snow tipped Atlas always watchful on the horizon.
One very interesting and beautiful place we stopped at was the ancient
kasbah of Ait Ben Haddou. Ever seen The Jewel of the Nile (Michael
Douglas film)? Well, it was set there. As were parts of Gladiator, Lawrence of
Arabia, Jesus of Nazareth and many others. We were set loose to wander up
the narrow steps with a tour guide. It was a pity we were the only
English speakers on an otherwise Spanish tour - all was explained initially in
Spanish, followed by a briefer explanation in English, at which point, the Spanish
would start to talk loudly amongst themselves. Rude bunch. Some
interesting factoids: there was a vibrant Jewish community at work in Ben
Haddou which was a prominent trading point in Northern Africa. Evidence
of the Jewish history to be found in the crumbling ruins of the old Synagogue,
and in the distance, the Jewish cemetery can be found. Despite the
crumbling of many of the buildings, seemingly there are a number of families
that still inhabit the old kasbah. We had our lunch in a restaurant on the edge
of the ancient place: my options limited (as they were in every restaurant bar
one) to vegetable tagine or vegetable couscous. Both delicious, mind. I
went for the couscous, as Jamal the bus driver had told us of how the couscous
is made in that particular part of Morocco and that it is the finest you will
ever taste. He was right. It was the perfect consistency, not a hint of
sogginess which I had taken for granted nearly as a feature of couscous.
And a pile of steaming vegetables - squash, onions, carrots, tomatoes
perched in a tagine shape on top. I forgot to mention the salade
moroccaine - I'm salivating thinking about it. A big bowl of chopped
tomatoes, cucumbers and onions with loads of corriander and some very light
salty dressing. It was so delicious and simple. I think the fruits and
vegetables are just so organic and local over there, that food just tastes
better, cleaner. 
The desert was nice. It was not a very impressive desert, but I
have a spectacular Middle-Eastern comparator so I'm hard to impress on the
desert front! We took an hour long camel trek to reach camp. The
sun was setting as we mounted the placid fluffy beasts. It was dark by
the time we had plodded our way to the campsite. It was all very touristy
really, the tents not authentic, the crowd a very loud bunch of Spanish
speakers with no concept of volume control. And one slightly mad older
Spanish lady, who despite repeated "no habla espagnol", she
still kept on jabbering away to me, who resigned myself to nodding and smiling
and the occasional shrug of the shoulders. We had a bit of fun later that
night when the local desert dwelling Berber came out to give a wee recital
around the camp fire, playing their drums and singing their songs. We
stayed paddy last of course, and had a go on the drums myself (being an old
hand at the djembe) we did a bit of a jam, a duo of us playing while two of
them sang. A freezing night lying flat on my back, not moving for fear of
touching a cold spot on the "mattress", I was damn glad to wake up to
the rising sun and the promise of daytime heat.
Other highlights are on the cuisine front. I've already mentioned
the couscous, the salade moroccaine and finally came the third staple dish for
me: the humble tagine. We were lucky enough to have a home cooked tagine,
complete with cooking lesson as I peered over the chef's shoulder as he added
spice after spice after vegetable. It was Jamal the bus driver's cousin Sidi
Muhammed actually doing the cooking. We got quite friendly with Jamal
during the two day tour and he asked us to meet him for tea the day after we
arrived back in Marrakech. I accepted his kind offer, deliberately
ignoring Mildred elbowing a "is this wise" jab! So, while we
had expected to have a tea in the city, instead he had driven into the centre
in order to drive us back out to his apartment. With him, he had brought
his cousin Sidi Muhammad - another tour operator, but of the 4x4 off-road jeep
variety. So the Moroccan hospitality was lavished upon us in their humble
surrounds. A modern apartment on the outskirts of the city. We were
given lots of tea, and offered a home cooked lunch. Photo albums of tours
they had given, and a dvd of Sidi Muhammed's 6 day trek through Morocco was
shown. Then the cooking began. We helped a bit by shelling fresh
peas, then smoked on a mint sheesha then an apple sheesha while eyeing the
ingredients that were being put into the earthenware tagine pots. More mint tea
followed after a hearty lunch, and in the late afternoon, we were driven back
into town, with promises to keep in touch, and a scarf souvenir each from our
lovely hosts. 
You might be curious to hear a little about Marrakech's Jewish past and
present - or not! if so, skip this paragraph! I already mentioned that we
were staying near The Mellah - the old Jewish quarter: an area segregated once
upon a time to keep the Jews, a central source of trade and revenue, safe.
Once upon a time, this was a bustling vibrant community: but most have
now departed for Israel after WWII and a mere 180 Jews have remained. Nowadays,
The Mellah is a crumbling area, distinctive from the rest of Marrakech by its
old balconies and Stars of David to be spotted on some of the architecture.
A young lad who insisted on acting as guide, pointed out the door
knockers which were shaped as a hand, many of them oxidised a gorgeous shade of
green. Each finger, he explained, was to symbolise one of the five books of
Torah. We eventually found our way to the tiny Synagogue, hidden down a narrow
lane way. Perhaps I should not have been surprised that it was kept under
guard, and that we were questioned as to firstly whether we were Jewish, and
secondly since we were not, what was our business here. Looking like pale
faced tourists, he accepted that we were and let us in to have a look around
the very very blue courtyard where sun protectors hung down from the balconies,
striped white and sky blue. Next we were let in through ornate golden
doors into the Synagogue, where we were watched closely while we wandered
around and snapped a few pictures. We also stuck our heads into the Jewish
cemetery located nearby. A vast field with gravestones ranging from
ancient nubs to magnificent shining four posted structures ornately carved in
that gorgeous Moroccan style - and Stars of David too of course. 
I've saved the best bit for last, I think. The Hamman. Oh the hammam.
The Hammam to end all hammams. Les Bains de Marrakech (www.lesbainsdemarrakech
- did you also read lesbians de marrakech at first glance?) So, the
epitome of luxury, relaxation, pleasure.... Picture this: you enter
through ornate dark wood typically Moroccan style double doors, resplendent
with brass fittings. Drooping greenery hangs down and brushes the tip of
your head as you pass through. A red carpet leads up a dimly candle lit
corridor, muslin curtains of deep purples and reds shadow the passage.
Through another set of glass double doors and immediately you are
immersed in the scent of sweet incense burning. Smiling girls address you
in French and usher you to the changing rooms, where are you provided with a
locker containing a fluffy white towel robe and white sandals. Into the
bikini, wrapped in the robe, upon exiting the changing room, they are waiting
to usher you to phase one: the relaxation room. Lounging soft couches
with big pillows in a soft lit room await you. You are invited to lie
down and relax. There is music playing oh-so-softly in the background.
A new-age sort of nature sounding music. A few minutes later, a
smiling girl appears with a silver tray with glasses of mint tea for your
refreshment. Sipping the sweet drink, you relax into a meditative doze.
For perhaps 10 minutes we were left to unwind from the mania that is
Marrakech in this haven of tranquillity. The next phase comes when
you are led to the next destination - the hammam itself. A cavernous room
with a rounded sloped ceiling (it brought to mind a miniature Dobbins before
the renovation), it is hot hot hot and steamy. The robe and bikini top are
left outside and you are invited to lie down upon a plastic covered bed by the
walls after standing under a hot shower to get wet all over first. The
door is closed and you lie in a very low lit cavern, inhaling the eucalyptus
scented steam filling the air. You feel your pores open and you breathe
deep feeling cleaner and more refreshed than you have in a long time.
After some time, the girl re-appears and so begins the black soap stage:
from head to toe, turning you over to complete this task, you are lathered in
the traditional black soap and left once again to sweat in the dim steaminess.
When she returns some 10 minutes later, you are invited to step under the
shower head to rinse off the soap. While you are doing this, the soap is
rinsed off the bed. Instructed to lie down on your back, she puts on her
loofah mitt, and so begins the hammam scrub. In large circles across your
shoulder blades, back, legs and even feet (I jerked and laughed), then turning
over the upside is carefully scrubbed from neck to toe. Next you are
asked to sit up and the sides of the neck and arms are loofah-ed. I was
shocked to see the layers of skin that roll off! One final shower
follows, this time being poured handfuls of sweet smelling liquid soap.
For a few more minutes, you are left to a final lie down, enjoying the
steamy heat, before being invited back outside to the real world.
Standing outside the hammam, the girl stood there with a bowl of oil in
her hands. "Qu'est que c'est?" I enquired. "l'huile
d'argan" she smiled back. Now argan oil is not a cheap commodity - a
little background on it: the argan tree grows only in North West Morocco and is
renowned for its skin enhancing qualities as well as its cooking variety of
oils which are absolutely delicious. So this lovely lady proceeds to lather me
head to toe with scoops of this expensive product. The robe is put back on and
back out to yet another room of these pillowed couches. A sweet smiling face
brings out the a little plastic bag containing the washed loofah to keep, yet
more mint tea, a bottle of mineral water and a plate of delicate Moroccan
pastries.
And all of this for the laughable price of 150MAD - approx. €14.
All these days later, I am still as soft as a kitten and still purring
from the experience.
There was lots more, too much to include, including an accidental
engagement to an adorable waiter (I was joking when I said yes, then he ran off
and came back with a ring!!), the fun of haggling with the traders in the
souks, the completely unnecessary pouf I bought and don't quite know what to do
with, and lots more besides.
FIN
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