Symmetry in the “Secret Garden”
Gnaoua Band performance in the Riad
An artist in a Marrakech souq who has recently returned from Oahu!
Calligraphy class In the afternoon.
Olives in the souq.
Our morning began as usual with lots of fresh bread, honey, assorted jams and tea, but today we started in a totally new place...Marrakech! As we look to either side of us in the riad, there are climbing white walls stretching up to the third story open roof, with green vines and leaves swaying from above. The pristine white archs only interrupted by hand carved wooden decor, extravagant doors and colored tiles where our feet are lucky enough to walk on. The riad we are staying in is the epitome of Moroccan good taste and luxurious hosting. Here our eyes are bombarded with the pleasing colors and air of elegance, yet the homemade decor and constant touch of comfort leave us feeling relaxed and somehow at home in this bustling city.
We soon open the door to the streets and breathe in Marrakech as well as the exciting secret garden tour that awaits. We make it to a hidden, yet massive garden courtyard with the sun brightly shining over the fragrant lavender and orange blossoms. We stroll around through hallways and gazebos, learning all about the history of the water systems in Marrakech and the special uses of this 16th century royal palace. The beautiful restored walls were originally for privacy and family boundaries, not at all for protection or isolation as one might think. We finish our tea and scoot to our next market spot, eyes wide open and feeling the hot sun sweetly kiss our faces.
As we rush to stay together and at the same time try not to get hit by the motorcycles, donkey carts, bicycles, and so many people, we start our journey to the center of the Marrakech markets. The maze of alleyways in the Red City twist and curve past vender after vender selling anything you could ever want. Silver jewlery, knives, rugs, clothes, animals, hats, spices, tea, tajines, and so much food hold our eyes willingly captive. The smells of the market accumulate into one hot cloud that constantly remind us that we are no longer in the small and quiet Atlas Mountains anymore. We skip to spice, date, olive and nut tastings and end our market tour carrying bags of successfully bargained goods and basically running to the quiet of our peaceful```` riad.
As we step through the traditional door to the riad, already waiting for us to begin our Arabic calligraphy lesson is the renowned teacher Abdeljalil. With tea in hand once again, we listen to the history of the Arabic language and the six different types of script. Then we pick up our bamboo angled pens, dip them in the handmade ink and begin to try and mimic his effortless strokes. We learn how to write a few letters and how to write our own names in Arabic. The presence of Abdeljalil and his emanating love for calligraphy can only inspire. It was truly wonderful hearing his words and being complimented by the master himself. We then wrapped up our session by getting two calligraphy pieces from Abdeljalil and saying “b’sslama” (goodbye).
Before Abdeljalil even gets out the door, four Moroccan men come running into the riad who we are told are now going to perform for us traditional African music common in Morocco. The men set up and with no warning the room is filed with the vibration of voices, percussion and Moroccan guitar. It is as if the riad is a vessel for the resonance to build off of, the sounds rising and rising, filling every inch with gripping energy. I was completely entranced, my smile never dissolving and my hands clapping along. The men would get up and dance for us, using their shoes as the new instrument for percussion. Then we were grabbed and whisked into center stage, dancing, spinning, yelling along to the overpowering music, completely lost in the moment.
Marrakech was more than anything we ever expected and through the entire packed day we continued to be pleasantly surprised around every red corner. As we ended our day with organic henna, all we could do was quietly reflect. The people in the city live such different lives than our mamas back in the mountain village, but both shared the overwhelming presence of love. Even when we were bargaining with shopkeepers we could tell they had love for us. The people here might be the most beautiful thing about Morocco. With each activity that we did, the people who taught us, sang for us, who shared with us their way, were what left an imprint and what recolored my heart