Friday, May 14, 2010

Our Arabian Night

Sound track of the day:
Sharif don’t like it
Rockin’ the kasbah

Current Temperature: A desperate relief from the French gris

Culture clash: When people are hospitable here, you really have to consider that this is just how they are। No ulterior motives. Not always.



Our arrival into Marrakech was nothing short of magical. We caught a cab from the airport to the medina at a cost of 20 euros, which in hindsight seems like a rip-off but at the time was reasonable. It wasn’t until we arrived at our destination that we realized the price we paid for a 10 minute ride. However, budgets aside, I have no regrets.

Our driver was a gentl- seeming man, Arab, communicated with us only in French, but did his best to understand and be understood. He let us use his phone to call our host at the Dar Soukaina Riad. After I had reached our host he signaled for me to give him the phone. He would handle this.

Shortly after, ten minutes to be exact, we pulled up to Riad Larrouss square where our host was to meet us and walk us to the guest house. Our driver let us out and opened the trunk to retrieve our bags. The square was dark, indicative of businesses shut for the night and an early retiring old city. The corner where we had parked was dark, and shadows existed only by the grace of the yellow glow from a single street lamp.

It was quiet except for the sound of cars in the distance. This was the end point for vehicular transport. No cars allowed in the medina. A gang of small and gnarled cats crossed us staring with curiosity and then moved on. In the distance from beyond the street lamp a dark figure appeared wearing a black cloak, the only discernable feature the ember from a lit cigarette. The figure entered the circle of light cast by the street lamp. I was initially alarmed, but felt safe in the presence of our driver and was compelled to stare as he approached us. He greeted our driver, shook hands and then turned to me.

Bonjour. Welcome to Marrakech.

Our host was a handsome young man in a crisp gray linen suit with a mandarin style collar and sporting brown leather sandals. He was a beautiful sight to behold. His name was Ibrahim and would be taking us to our home for the next four days.

Through narrow alleys inhabited by a large population of stray kittens and late night loiterers we strolled. Colorful awnings and windowless walls lined the streets. Each home was assigned a single decorative doorway. Some had no doors at all. We gaped in amazement at our surroundings. Finally! Something truly foreign, meeting all my fantasies of this other world. A couple of suspicious characters were writing in chalk along the perimeter of a door, in Arabic, something I couldn’t begin to decipher. Was this Moroccan graffiti?

We were escorted through a low doorway made of carved wood, and lowered ourselves into the hearth of the house. The entire interior of the house was painted white with lavender adornments, shutters, curtains, and vases.

Our room is on the second floor of the riad and fit with its own balcony overlooking the centralized courtyard. The ledge of the balcony is of the same stone material as the rest of the house, with arched lookouts and thinly-veiled with lavender curtains. There is a table and three cushioned chairs. This is where I’m writing now. Clay pots sit on the ledge.

Our room has a double bed where Jen and I will be sleeping, and a twin bed for Jonathan. There are small, thoughtful pieces of art decorating the room like metal lamps, vases and picture frames. Everything is made of stone: the walls, floor, sink and shower.

I couldn’t ask for a better introduction.

On tonight’s menu:
14 (we counted) Moroccan salads: pumpkin, spinach, peppers, sweet onion, cucumber, eggplant, sweet tomato, carrot puree, and so much more
Lamb tajine
Crème Brulee

Moroccan red wine

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