Daily Archives: April 22, 2012

Byzantium (a.k.a. Istanbul)

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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Istanbul is one of the largest cities in the world. With more than 14 million people officially, real estimates are thought to exceed 17 million due to something having to do with the 2010 census and displaced residents. And the place feels big! Located in the northwest of the country, it lies on the Bosphorus strait and encompasses the natural harbour known as the Golden Horn. Extending both on the European (Thrace) and Asian (Anatolia) sides of the strait, Istanbul is the only metropolis in the world situated on two continents. The greater Istanbul metropolitan area held 18% of Turkey’s population in 2010. It ranks as the world’s 7th fastest growing metropolitan area in 2011. The Bosphorus, which connects the Sea of Marmara to the Black Sea, divides the city into a European side, comprising the historic and economic centers, and an Asian, Anatolian side; as such, Istanbul is one of the two bi-continental cities in Turkey, along with Çanakkale. The confluence of the Sea of Marmara, the Bosphorus, and the Golden Horn at the heart of present-day Istanbul has deterred attacking forces for thousands of years and still remains a prominent feature of the city’s landscape.

The first day consisted of a long tour around the city visiting all the hot spots: Hagia Sophia, The Blue Mosque, Topkapi Palace, the Grand Bazaar, the Spice Bazaar, and lots of driving around the city seeing all sorts of cool stuff. I enjoyed it. It was a Gray Line Tour, and those are generally good no matter where one visits. And the tour guide! She was phenomenal! Talented and well-spoken in many languages, I liked her right away and she me. I think I made her job easier because I was always at our meeting spots early and somehow assumed a pseudo-leadership role in the group because people recognized me as part of the group and stuck with me, even the stragglers. This meant that all of us were generally together and on time! (I noticed what a difference that was the next day when I took a different Gray Line Tour and didn’t assume any kind of leadership role.) At the end of the day I was the only guest left on the bus so got all sorts of time alone with her as she taught me all sorts of stuff about Istanbul – – the personal side of it, like where people prefer to live, where people party, best restaurants, the best tours to take, and other interesting facts. Granted, I didn’t get back until close to 6:30 p.m. but that’s OK since I learned a lot and had fun.

The first place we visited was the Hagia Sophia. Famous in particular for its massive dome, it is considered the epitome of Byzantine architecture and is said to have “changed the history of architecture.” It was the largest cathedral in the world for nearly a thousand years, until Seville Cathedral was completed in 1520. The current building was originally constructed as a church between 532 and 537 on the orders of the Byzantine Emperor Justinian and was the third Church of the Holy Wisdom to occupy the site, the previous two having both been destroyed by rioters. In 1453, Constantinople was conquered by the Ottoman Turks under Sultan Mehmed II, who subsequently ordered the building converted into a mosque. The bells, altar, iconostasis, and sacrificial vessels were removed and many of the mosaics were plastered over. Islamic features – such as the mihrab, minbar, and four minarets – were added while in the possession of the Ottomans. It remained a mosque until 1931 when it was closed to the public for four years. It was re-opened in 1935 as a museum by the Republic of Turkey. The place is gorgeous and massive!

And these posters show what’s underneath all the paint! Absolutely amazing. The last photos show where they’ve removed some of the paint covering a large mosaic at one of the entrances. The next blog entries will show other sites in Istanbul; too much to put in one blog post.

Ola, Chica!

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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Switch gears. I’m going to Madrid for about 24 hours en route to Istanbul. That’s just long enough to relax a bit, get organized again, eat twice and spend time blogging. So in other words, just what I needed! I was sad to leave Morocco and so easing in to Istanbul by resting at the Holiday Inn Express in Madrid was a good thing. And besides, they had a restaurant in the lobby where I could eat a hamburger AND have a glass of wine! Sa-weet.

After arriving at the airport, I easily found my way to where I needed to be. Whilst waiting for my luggage on the carousel I met other American travelers who had been in Morocco. I pretended to not hear them and minded my business so I wouldn’t have to share any of my experiences, which I now considered sacred. And after listening to the experiences of one particular couple, I knew we didn’t have anything in common. They stayed at fancy hotels and spoke about extravagant dinners. After gathering the luggage, I spent the next hour or so walking around aimlessly trying to figure out the transportation situation to my hotel “close to the airport.” It was close-by but it was still a complicated deal to figure out where to go, especially since I was misinformed by a couple of taxi drivers along the way. Eventually I was directed to a transportation counter on the other end of the airport where I arranged a van to and from the hotel. Not to stereotype, but now I’m in a Latin country and…well…I’m stereotyping…but I was blatantly hit on numerous times whilst walking through the airport, including by a driver of a different car than the one I hired who did everything he could to become my driver (to no avail). In hindsight it was good practice for Turkey! (Although nothing could prepare me for Turkey! Nothing!)

I rode with a local girl who has traveled extensively, including to Morocco, Turkey, and the States, so we had a lot to talk about on the 20 minute van ride. It was fun to be with her. I think I would have gotten together with her had I been in town longer, so that was nice. Once at the hotel I got situated and did a little laundry since there was a breeze and I knew the stuff would dry by the next morning.

The next morning I headed to the airport after breakfast via the van I had arranged and without further ado, I was off to Istanbul. The flight was roughly 3 hours. Once in Turkey I realized I was on my own. No one directed me where to go and no one carried my luggage. And there were no signs along the way pointing me in to the line I needed to queue up in. So I went through the whole, long line for immigration only to be told I needed a visa to enter the country. I knew this but I never saw any signs pointing me in the right direction. I had seen other people weave their way back through the line and I wondered what had happened to them and quietly sympathized with them their plight of bucking the line by going in the opposite direction like that. Well, there I was doing the same thing. Once out of that line I went to the correct line for the visa. Realizing I didn’t have much cash, I asked the attendant if they took a credit card for the $19 fee. “Yes, yes!” she assured me. But once in line the guy behind the window wouldn’t allow it and practically yelled at me for even asking if they accepted cards. So I dug around and found a $20 US bill and paid without having to hunt down an ATM. So walking past those in line others were asking me if they needed cash. Since I had been told no cards I told them they needed cash so many people got out of line and began searching for ATMs. It wasn’t until later, at the hotel, that I asked someone who had also just arrived about the credit card situation. Turns out he paid with a credit card! What!? So I kind of feel bad that I apparently gave those other people the wrong information. Argh.

I was so lucky to get a good taxi driver to take me to my hotel because it was a confusing mess to figure out where I was staying. Although it’s in a centrally located area, it’s on a complicated one-way street that’s apparently nearly impossible to find (I would later realize this again and again). Once to the hotel I was pleasantly surprised! A very modern and cool place! I could live there, I liked it so much! The guys who ran the place, Emre and Hasan, were super cute and young. And very helpful. One of them, Hasan, directed me to a nearby place for dinner in the Taksim, the local square where everything happens and I enjoyed kabob, wine, bread, and grilled chilies outside on the street! I loved the ambience and was able to get a lot of blogging completed. It was very comfortable and just what I needed. And it was a nice walk to and from the place so I was able to get the lay of the land and some exercise. Tres bon.

After returning to the Faros Hotel later that night, I was met by Emre, the other guy at the hotel. He arranged a tour for me the next day and made all the arrangements. I ended up staying at a different hotel for a couple of the nights and Emre continued to help me with all my travel needs during those days, too. He made reservations for me, talked to taxi drivers when I couldn’t explain where the hotel was, and answered questions I had about the area. Very nice. In fact, he’s still speed-dialed into my cell!

Insha’Allah إن شاء الله

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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I know a few words in Arabic; at least Moroccan Arabic, which I’m told is different from plain Arabic. I know how to say OK, beautiful, a little bit, straight ahead – – and it’s surprising how many times I need to say any of those words! My favorite word and my favorite usage of any word was Inshallah, or Insha’Allah إن شاء الله It was said in a heartfelt manner by nearly everyone at least once (if not ten times!) in any conversation. It means ‘god willing.’ Or ‘if god wills it’. I noticed it means that and more, including used for que sera sera, c’est la vie, etcetera. Insha’Allāh is said when speaking about plans and events expected to occur in the future. The phrase also acknowledges submission to God, with the speaker putting him or herself into God’s hands, and accepting the fact that God sometimes works in unexpected ways. It’s a beautiful phrase and used beautifully as well.

It was one of the last words I spoke to anyone in Morocco. When I said good-bye of course I cried like a baby. I can’t ever help it no matter how much I wish I could. At the riad I hugged every member of the group and we said sweet things to each other, acknowledging our time together. It was very special. Then Barbara, Mokhtar and I headed out. We dropped Barbara off at the bank to get some money and we headed to the airport where I lugged my luggage around inside trying to figure out the whole process. I’m glad because it took my mind away from the task at hand: leaving. I sat in a corner of a coffee shop and cried some more, then went off and spent the rest of my dirham on a few little things I had forgotten to buy along the journey, grabbed a French baguette and proceeded to the gate to wait for my flight, talking to no one. I had no time for chitchat as I knew I’d probably break down in tears. And besides, I had to mentally prepare for my time ahead in Madrid and then Istanbul.

So until we meet again, Morocco. Insah’Allah!

The perfect ending

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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There was only one more full day left in Morocco for me before heading to Madrid, then to Istanbul. It seemed so daunting to be heading to an entirely different country after this. A country with a new infrastructure to learn, money to figure out, language and social nuances to tackle, different food, etcetera. And I was leaving people to whom I had grown attached! So I made the absolute most of it.

The morning started with me making breakfast for my compadres in the riad. I had eaten the most delicious omelets in the new town of Marrakech and I wanted to repeat it for them. Once again, Mokhtar came to the rescue with the supplies and I was able to create a wonderful little breakfast before heading off to our day.

We visited the Marjorelle Gardens today. Although I had already been it was fun to return with the group. Mokhtar sent me on ahead as a sort of guide to get everyone in the place since I already knew it. So I gave a little synopsis of the place and we all explored it at our own pace. The Berber museum was particularly interesting; it’s something I had skipped the first time. And the lighting was even better this time around so I had the benefit of capturing some photos that I knew I had missed the first time around.

In the gardens I was able to spend some nice time with Susan and Marianne. Susan and I spent some time in the sun on a park bench talking and it was time together I treasure. Barbara gathered us together (no easy task) and we were on our way to the Ourika Valley, where I had already been on my first free day in Marrakech. I was happy to return! I love the Ourika Valley and it’s an easy trip from the city.

A sunny day when we started, it started showing signs of clouding up or raining. But we were able to spend the entire day without rain and I was able to take some great shots. We went to the end of the road and had lunch by the river: a delicious tajine, salad, and “dessert” of yogurt in a container but it was tasty and I wanted more! I noticed myself getting a little melancholy about the whole thing and decided right then and there to return soon so that I wouldn’t have to mourn the loss of the place.

The day was beautiful! The almond and apple blossoms seemed to be at full tilt and the poppies were out in droves! Other flowers bloomed in nooks and crannies of stone walls, on roofs of houses, and in gutters. It was really something. And people were out and about living life so we had a lot to look at and enjoy. We stopped at a potter’s store and he gave us a demonstration of how tajines are made; it was interesting. He whipped one up quickly for us; a perfect one! And we shopped. I bought a small tajine (for one) and two small bowls with silver around the edges. Just gorgeous. And reasonably priced, I thought. We hurried back to the riad so we could make our couscous dinner and have our last cooking demonstration. And we wanted to have time together to say our goodbyes, play some music and take some pictures.

Marrakech

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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At first I viewed Marrakech as just a big city. It’s full of character and beauty, that’s for sure, but it’s a big city with lots going on. But really, if I am honest, it’s more than just that: it is vibrant and active and full of variety. There are choices there that are not available in other places I visited in Morocco: choices of things to do, places to eat (there’s even McDonald’s!), stuff to buy, etcetera. There’s even peace and quiet to be found there. So while I say it wasn’t my favorite part of Morocco, it really actually was very enjoyable there. And it’s not a city like any other I’ve known. It’s more like a big town. It’s fairly easy to navigate and I was able to figure out almost always where I was and which direction I needed to go in.

There are a lot of tourists in Marrakech. That’s for sure. And nearly everything there revolves around tourism to some degree. Djemaa el Fna is the main square in the souq inside the medina. It bustles with acrobats, story-tellers, water sellers, dancers and musicians. There are shops all around it and by night food stalls open in the square turning it into a huge busy open-air restaurant. It’s beautiful and interesting but so, so touristy. I found that part rather annoying. So while I was amazed when I looked down at my feet and saw a snake charmer with his snake standing alert just inches away from me, I didn’t stop and take a photo; I just kept walking. When I passed by people in what some tourists might think as authentic native garb worn in the rural areas, I kept walking. I have been to the rural areas and no one dressed like that. So I guess I was a skeptic about the whole image trying to be portrayed.

The people are wonderful. Full of life and colorful. But I do not want to think of them as quaint. I don’t want to demean them to that level. They are people like me, living life to its fullest (or trying to), eking out a living and trying to be happy in their day-to-day endeavors. So for all of its touristy reasons, I didn’t like Marrakech. Everyone’s a sales person there. Everyone. I guess in life we are all selling something, but in Marrakech there was a push to buy-buy-buy. But when I stop and think about people trying to work, to feed their families, to find their own next meal, to live their lives – – then I am much more patient with the whole thing. But I don’t like the feeling that as tourists we have encouraged and trained some of the people to beg or to expect or to ask us for our money.

I think something like 1/3 of all the people are unemployed. That’s a lot. And so when I take a minute to put myself in that position, I think I’d be putting my sales skills to work, too! I’d come up with clever ways to get my next dirham; I’d come up with clever stories to tell of sickness, of motorbike accidents, of failed attempts at finding work.

On Sunday when we came back from Essaouira, we drove by the Kotubia, the minaret in Marrakech, and saw thousands of Moroccans out for the evening with their families. It was beautiful to see! There were demonstrations of some sort going on (as usual!) and it was exciting to be part of the energy of people standing up for the rights they believe are worth fighting for. It was fun to see lovers gazing in to each others eyes in the park mere inches from someone else doing the same thing. It was great to see and be a part of that energy! And the sun setting around the Kotubia was beautiful, too!

Hammam

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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Descended from Roman baths and modeled after Turkish baths, hammam were originally patronized by Moroccans whose homes lacked indoor plumbing. The baths also are rooted in the Islamic ritual of ablution: Muslims wash distinct parts of their body before their daily prayers. With modernization, though, the hammam have morphed into soak-and-socialize centers. Pronounced ‘ha-mom’, it’s a place to go to bathe around other people. A real experience.

Barbara and I intended to go to a public hammam where local women go. We were told it was open until 9p.m. every day so we arrived just before 7. But we were turned away. We’re not sure why. Maybe because we were tourists? Or maybe because we sauntered in with Mokhtar and women without their heads covered were thrown in to a tizzy of screaming and scattering?! Who knew we weren’t supposed to walk in there. With a man. Unannounced.

So we went to a tourist hammam instead. It wasn’t fancy but it was filled with women from the West. The entry was beautiful with brightly colored upholstery and fabrics all over; very welcoming and what we think of as Moroccan. We selected our services: a bath, a scrub, and a massage; and paid the 400 dirham fee, or $46.00 for two of us and we were ushered in to a dressing room where we removed our clothing and were handed a small (very small) piece of fabric on a string as a “covering.”

It all happened so fast. One minute I was behind a cranberry-colored silk curtain fully clothed and the next I was standing in a room with a string and fabric around my lower parts, fully exposed to my friend and everyone else in the room. There wasn’t hardly even any time to be embarrassed since we were whisked away to a room with marble slabs and steam. I do remember, though, being somewhat relieved to know Barbara was without her eyeglasses. “I hope she’s blind as a bat,” I remember thinking. (Note: while Barbara can’t see clearly without her eyeglasses, she later mentioned that she looked at me once and saw, and I quote, “A big blob with a string digging in to it.” And that, my friends, is how she described me in the hammam!)

We were each paired with an attendant who would be with us for the remainder of the visit. Our attendant ushered us first in to a room with arches and columns and marble all around – – big slabs of marble. The floors were wet and slippery. I cautiously skated my almost naked self to a slab and ungracefully eased myself down, making myself as comfortable as possible on a slab of marble in a room with other mostly naked women. Soon, though, the steam was turned on and everything became foggy and unclear and I became more comfortable. It was here that Barbara and I were able to really talk in private about the things we had wanted to discuss. The hammam is a place for socializing – – and for this reason alone I can see its benefit. After about 30 minutes of steaming and relaxing and becoming comfortable with my nakedness, the attendants came in and rubbed our bodies with olive oil soap – – a dark greenish/black “soap” that’s really just like semi-mashed olive pits and skins. It smells like olives and has a roughness that exfoliates. And when I say exfoliate, I mean exfoliate! Oh my gosh. It was unbelievable. First of all, it felt great. She slathered on this stuff all over me and scrubbed the living daylights out of me but it didn’t hurt. In fact, I uncontrollably groaned during this process. It was unreal. And then I happened to feel my skin and noticed a thick and bumpy residue on it. Thinking it was the olive oil soap, upon closer inspection I realized it was skin! Exfoliated skin! All over my body. It was everywhere. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing! It looked like strands of spaghetti. And I was surprised there was any skin even left covering my bones! I have never experienced anything like it.

From the steam bath we were ushered in to another room. ‘Ushered’ is the wrong word. We were ‘skated’ in to a different room. The floor was so wet and slippery and my skin so slippery from the olive oil soap that I greasily clung to my attendant for dear life. How she supported me even that short distance to the next marble slab is beyond me. It was in that other room where she attacked my feet with some kind of sharp tool that made me do this crazy kind of a scream-laugh for the next few minutes! I giggled until I could hardly catch my breath. And just when it started feeling good she switched feet and I went through my contortions all over again! Barbara wasn’t in the room yet so didn’t know what was going on. I hardly had the time to tell her before she started doing the same thing! Hilarious! We were doused again with hot water all over and under and around every part of ourselves and then ushered in to a shower where we were able to wash our hair and rinse ourselves off in private (something not offered at a public hammam or one where the local women go). Next stop: the massage room for a 30 minute round of naked massage. This was fantastic and I was able to really relax and enjoy the whole experience. She even did my stomach, which is an area most massage therapists in the states don’t do. It was nice. When finished, my relaxed self leaned on her for support through the rooms with wet slippery floors and then she said goodbye to me, hugged me, and smiled. It was meaningful and beautiful. A bond had been formed for each of us and it was nice to acknowledge it. Girl power. Common bond. Naked-is-naked no matter what country you’re in. Beautiful.

I redressed and laughed at the fabric-attached-to-string that I had been wearing and we left to meet Mokhtar outside in the rain waiting for us to bring us home. Barbara could hardly stay awake and barely made it home to the riad before she fell in to bed relaxed. Meantime, Richard, Mokhtar and I went to dinner at my favorite place in the new town near the university for tajine, bread, and harissa. It was fun to show the place to Richard and to hear his raves about the food! What a great place to eat. The sad thing is, while I know how to get there, I don’t remember the name of it. But I will return there again; it was so good and in such a great location! We were all so tired that we didn’t last long at dinner before we returned and went to bed, happy and relaxed.

A racetrack doubles as a highway

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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Whilst driving to Essaouira we were on a road that went through what looked like a racetrack. In fact, all the seats were facing us, or the highway/road, as though we were on the track itself. Turns out we were! When it’s not in use for a car race, the track itself is just the regular highway or road out of town. Apparently it’s closed off and becomes part of the racetrack when there is a race going on. Here’s what Wiki says about it:

‘The Marrakech Street Circuit (also known as Marrakech Racetrack) is a 4.624 kilometres (2.87 mi) temporary street circuit in Agdal district, Marrakech, Morocco. The circuit is venturing by MGP. MGP’s partner in Morocco, D3 Motorsport Development has been given the responsibility of the design of the street circuit. It is the same architect company that designed the Surfers Paradise Street Circuit in Australia. Groupe Menara was supervising the construction in Route de l’Ourika and along Boulevard Mohammed.The paddock had been paved along the walls of the Royal Garden and more than 2500 concrete impact blocks and many debris fence panels had been put in place to bound the track. The 2009 World Touring Car Championship season’s third round at the street circuit was held on 3 May 2009. It was the first international car race in Morocco since the 1958 Moroccan Grand Prix at the Ain-Diab Circuit in Casablanca.’

The jewel of Morocco

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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After walking around Essaouira and enjoying the day together, we went back to the seaside and had a lunch of Moroccan salad, the fresh catch of the day and Coca-Cola. There are a bunch of little fish shops set up all around on the beach where you pick your spot on a picnic table, select your waiters, and then choose from the fresh catch of the day and, voila! Lunch is served! There are also roving musicians who serenaded us whilst we ate. All the while the waves crash on the shore not too far away, the sun shines down, and we continue to be joyful. Richard’s toast was fitting: To our continued adventure with new friends! And then we dined on fresh squid, fresh sea bass, prawns, and sardines! Tres bon.

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After lunch we realized we needed to hit the road if Barbara and I were going to make our hammam visit that evening. So we popped in the CDs Mokhtar and Richard just purchased and headed back to Marrakech. I was sad for the day to end. But I was also looking forward to everything that was still before me. Especially the hammam experience.

The music made me emotional. I couldn’t deny that this portion of the trip was almost over. The relationships with the people I had spent so much time with were important to me already and the thought of not seeing them regularly was already sad for me. I’m never good at goodbyes, that’s a fact. As a child I cried when we sold a car, a piano, or left a hotel room. But add music to the mix and I become a real wreck. Only Barbara knew how emotional I really was there in the back seat.

We continued to drive and listen and it was soon evident to me that Mokhtar was becoming tired so we stopped at a roadside bus stop for coffee. As we pulled in to the parking lot Barbara and Richard and I were aghast at the tourist buses that were stopped there! Mokhtar never takes us to touristy places so we were hesitant – – until he reminded us that these are Moroccan tourists. Ah! No problem then! We’re fine with Moroccans; just not international tourists. It was a very fun stop because we were able to see so many people in colorful garments eating and socializing before they embarked the bus for faraway places in Morocco. Mokhtar said some of the buses would take 10 hours to reach the destination! And they were packed-full. This stop was notable, too, because people were interested in eavesdropping in on our conversation, I noticed. A few people positioned themselves close by and smiled at some of the things we were laughing and talking about. Also, there were so many cats. So. Many. They were eating the scraps of fish and whatnot people were throwing them and it was quite gross. They were mangy and skinny and feeble. Why I don’t know. They seemed to have unlimited amounts of food at this place from travelers yet still they looked scrawny. I figure they must’ve been sick and steered clear of them at all cost.

It was on the way home that we were stopped by the police again. This time because Barbara and I were not buckled in the backseat; which we didn’t know was a law. It was an annoyance and we felt bad that it happened but we didn’t know. It was also on our way home that we saw the king and his motorcade! It was very exciting for Mokhtar, who has mentioned several times that he’d like to meet the king. Mohammad VI has a good reputation with the people. He is a young king and very active in Moroccan life, with many sightings of him out and about with his children, participating in normal life. Since I don’t know much about him I think I will do some research and will perhaps post something about him here if it seems interesting.

We continued on until we were in Marrakech and looking for our hammam. I will save this for the next blog entry! What an experience the hammam was!

I swear, Essaouira!

22 Sunday Apr 2012

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OK, bad play on words for this title, I’ll admit, but since ‘Essaouira’ is pronounced as ‘eh-sweer-uh’, I thought it was kind of funny. It’s like the town of Ouarzazate sounding like ‘where-zuh-zaht’ or ‘where is that?’ I wonder how many other towns in Morocco sound like stuff? I do know that the Berber people are called Amazigh and every time I saw that word I thought of ‘amazing.’ It’s still how I pronounce it when I see it. (The word means free man, noble man or defender.).

This is part 2 of my post about Essaouira. It was such a beautiful city and a full day that I’m doing it in multiple parts. We visited the seaside first; the first sea views or really even water views that I’ve had since arriving in Morocco. And it was beautiful! There’s something about the sea and water for me: the movement, the smells, the sounds, the cool air – – everything! And all of this in the ancient city of Essaouira with its crumbling buildings and rich history. Simply amazing.

Most of the buildings around today are from the 18th century. In the mid 1760’s, the Sultan Sidi Mohammed bed Abdallah installed himself here so he could have his corsairs go and attack the people of Agadir who rebelled against him. He hired a French architect, Theodore Cornut, to create a city in the middle of sand and wind, where nothing existed. The port soon became a vital link for trade between Timbuktu and Europe. It was a place where the trade in gold, salt, ivory, and ostrich feathers was carefully monitored, taxed and controlled by a garrison of 2000 imperial soldiers.

By 1912 the French had established their protectorate, changed the town’s name back to Mogador and diverted trade to Casablanca, Tangier, and Agadir. It was only with independence in 1956 that the sleepy backwater again became Essaouira. After Orson Welles filmed Othello here, and since Jimi Hendrix paid a fleeting visit and the hippies chose Essaouira as a hang out, the town has seen a steady flow of visitors, from artists, surfers and writers to European tourists escaping the crowds of Marrakech.

So there’s some more history of Essaouira. I find it interesting to know its history because it is definitely a place of interest and beauty – – but I didn’t know some of this stuff until returning home. It’s a great place to just walk around and visit the medina, the souqs, the beach, etcetera. As of 2001 it’s been on Unesco’s World Heritage list. It has a mellow atmosphere with narrow winding streets that are lined with little shops. There are so many wooden doors all over and beautiful buildings that it’s hard for the photographer in me to keep moving. As I’ve said before, if forced to stand still in one spot for 30 minutes or so, I’d be able to fill a complete disk on the camera with photos! It is absolutely the most beautiful seaside village I’ve been to so far – or at least until I visit the next one.

I knew a few things before arriving in Morocco: I was going to buy a Moroccan rug in the colors of red and blue, I was going to buy something wooden and brightly colored, I needed some little glass tea glasses in bright colors, and I was going to buy djellaba for me, my sister, and the kids. Check, check, check, and check! Having already taken care of the first two things on the list (and then some!) earlier on in the trip, I saved the glassware and the djellaba for Essaouira. Instead of a djellaba that customarily has a hood, I really actually bought Tourag caftans for all of: mine in light blue w brown embroidery and theirs’ in royal blue w bright gold embroidery. I could have bought all sorts of cool stuff on this trip but did a good job of saying no to most everything except the things on my list. And I know I’m going back so there’s always next time!

We walked around in the medina and looked out on the ocean. It was beautiful. The city is walled and we walked on top of the wall, along the sea, and I took a bunch of pictures. There are many shops inside the sea wall that have been there for decades. It’s really quite something. And the thing I liked about it, and have mentioned before, is that it’s a place for locals, not just tourists. In fact, it’s not very touristy, except for the shopping I suppose. But even that’s low-key and people rarely bother you while you’re looking at their stuff. In fact, I had to seek someone out to help me with a purchase! That would never happen in Marrakech, or anywhere else I’ve been in Morocco for that matter! I loved it. The djellaba purchase was the only one I bargained for and ended up getting them for much less. But the glasses were already such a great deal that it wasn’t even worth bargaining for less! It was a perfect price for me and was fair for the shop keeper as well! Deal deal. Good for you, good for me. We left the purchases there and continued walking around the souq. It was amazing! Having a beautiful sunny day doesn’t hurt, I’m sure. And being with people I adore isn’t bad either, but this little city is a jewel! I absolutely love it!

The color purple

22 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by in Morocco

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From the Lonely Planet, I learned this:

‘The port that is today called Essaouira was hot property in ancient times because it had one thing everyone wanted: the color purple. Imperial purple couldn’t be fabricated and was the one color strictly reserved for Roman royalty. This helps explain the exorbitant asking price, which according to Aristotle was 10 to 20 times its weight in gold. The natural dye came from the spiky murex marine snails that clung to the remote Purpuraire (Purple) Islands.

Technically the Phoenicians were there first and discovered the stuff, but everyone wanted purple power. Savvy King Juba II established a coastal dye works in the 1st century BC to perform the tricky task of extracting murex dye from the vein of the mollusk, and kept his methods a closely guarded secret.The hue became wildly popular among royal celebrities of the day. Clepatra loved the purple so much that she dyed the sails of her royal barge purple to meet Mark Antony.

But violet soon turned to violent. Legend has it that Juba’s son Ptolemy was murdered by Emperor Caligula for having the audacity to sport a purple robe, making the trendy Ptolemy possibly the world’s first fashion victim. The bright, unfading dye was never successfully produced commercially and the secret extraction methods were assumed lost in the siege of Constantinople in 1453. But in Essaouira the stuff is mysteriously still available, for a price. The mysteries of the color purple still passed down from one generation of murex collectors to the next, and jealously guarded.’

Interesting. Next time I visit, I’ll go on a quest to learn more about this.