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Posts Tagged ‘Morocco’

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Año

In Plenary, Production on August 31, 2011 at 1:43 pm

A year. Twelve months. Fifty two weeks. Three hundred and sixty five days. The first of them in August, just; sweaty, sweltering disorientation. Teeth clenched, eyes wide, ready.

September was a month of early mornings and confounding application forms. Religious processions and kind hearted bureaucrats. And baptism of fire in that most frightening of places. A classroom of children.

October brought reunion and a new beginning. Departures, grave-digging and grief. A weekend in oft-criticised Tangier. We loved it, especially the cake.

I was surprised to make it through the month of November, what with all the bloodsuckers. Back to our beloved Granada to clink glasses.

December was a lesson; when it rains in Spain it doesn’t mess around. Oh, and try not to be up a mountain when it happens. More blood loss and a snowy Christmas.

After all the mosquitoes, I got my first look at the Mezquita in January. Settling in to the apartment, the noise and the confusion. More

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Tapestry

In Practice, Production on May 3, 2011 at 10:44 am

It’s the mark of home. On the wall, over the sofa.

A trophy of our travels – we picked it up in the old city of Jerusalem in one of the covered bazaars there. The vendor was the usual blend of charm and ruthlessness but I believe we may even have gotten it for a half decent price.

The work is not particularly fine and a close inspection of the detail unforgiving but it’s handmade at least – a quality that distinguishes it from the rest of the “shit” that was on display in the man’s shop. His word, not mine.

Most of it’s made in China, he happily informed us.

Not this though, and I believed him. It would be a rare machine indeed – and not in a good way – that could weave the irregularities or simulate the errors which the curious eye can see all over its surface. More

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Blues

In Plenary, Presentation on April 26, 2011 at 8:19 am

Hills give way to the Rif mountains, olive groves to pines and the long ascent to Chefchaouen begins. Founded in 1471, Chaouen (as it is known here) was a mountain stronghold for jews and moriscos – refugees of the reconquista in Spain. In fact, nowhere in Morocco has such strong and direct connections with its neighbour to the north. The town was seized again by Spain in 1920 and only returned to a newly independent Morocco in 1956, complete with the empty mosque the Spanish had built to ingraciate themselves and which was never used.

For years it has held an allure for the traveller – its Andalucian visuals, the unique culture that arose through the isolation and blending of diverse populations and not least because the surrounding countryside is one of Morocco’s principle production zones for kif; hashish to you and me. More

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Espacio

In Plenary, Presentation on April 21, 2011 at 9:13 am

 

We’re standing in the tiny kitchen. We want to leave but will wait a few moments for the proprietor to finish his prayers. His daughter doesn’t want to take our money and besides, his prayer mat blocks the only exit.

We found this place by accident. Our blood sugars low, we needed something to eat and we spotted this hole in the wall, this hatch. The sign overhead informed us of tea on the terrace with panoramic views. Peering in through the sunken opening and past its solitary hotplate we saw nothing and assumed that the salon de the was to be found next door as part of the adjacent palace.

I beckoned to the bearded cook that we would like to go through but he indicated that we should descend the few steps into the sunken opening. Like the gentleman I am I asked K to preceed me. More

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Chicken Cake

In Plenary, Practice on November 5, 2010 at 11:24 am

A week of opposing elements.

We celebrate K’s first week at work in Gibraltar and we lose the lagomorph.

We are hurting so we go to Tangiers, thirty five minutes away on the Moroccan coast, to distract ourselves. We feel like curling up under a duvet, so we force ourselves out there to explore.

Tangiers has always seemed an exotic, far away location to me. Now it’s our nearest city bar Algeciras. Still exotic though. A former colonial outpost that has seen better days – it is just my cup of (mint) tea.

The narrow streets of Tarifa are precursed here More

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