Category Archives: Morocco house

A house in Marrakech

09 Saturday Apr 2016

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I’m reading ‘A House in Fes: Building a Life in the Ancient Heart of Morocco’ by Suzanna Clarke. It’s not the first time I’ve read this book and it won’t be the last. Since I read most books on an iPad / Kindle, I can see which passages impressed me the first time by the highlights placed in yellow.  This time around I’ve added even more since I can relate more fully to Suzanna’s experiences. In fact, it may serve better to highlight the parts to which I don’t relate!

While vacationing in Morocco, Suzanna and her husband were inspired to purchase a home in Fes, one of the medieval walled cities that is one of Morocco’s famed ‘Imperial Cities.’ But the Clarke’s didn’t just buy any old house. They bought a dilapidated, centuries-old house with no plumbing, no electricity, and myriad other issues with which to contend! Their goal was to restore it using only traditional craftsmen and handmade materials. It’s a great story chronicling the restoration of the house, but it also offers an insight into Moroccan customs and lore, as well as a window into the lives of its people and the relationships Suzanna forges. In the end, the house, Riad Zany in Fes, is restored to probably even more than its former glory and the writer (and most likely Sandy, her husband) have ended up restoring themselves to the very core of their beings! I enjoyed the book the first time around but I’m enjoying it even more now that I have my own perspective on Morocco and home-ownership there.

The writer Paul Bowles called Morocco a place where travelers ‘expect mystery, and they find it.’ He also said, ‘Africa is a big place and will offer its own suggestions.’ There’s no better way to find these truths out than to own a house or to renovate one, like Suzanna Clarke did.

A few of the highlighted passages that strike a chord with me:

“Maybe it was a fit of madness, but on just our second visit to the old Moroccan capital of Fes, my husband and I decided to buy a house there – – as one does in a foreign country where you can’t speak the language and have virtually nothing in common with the locals.” (I strongly disagree with the last phrase. Although I barely speak the language, I find I have a lot more in common with the locals than not!)

“Nevertheless, [we] responded to Morocco in a way we had to no other country. We found it as multi-layered and intriguing as the patterns in the tile work adorning the buildings, each of which has its own hidden meaning. Morocco has the mystique of a land from the Old Testament yet appears to be coping comfortably with modernization… Outside mosques, running shoes are lined up next to pointy-toed babouches. In the souks, women wearing long robes and headscarves escort daughters with beautifully cut hair and high heels. You can eat at a street stall, in a Parisian-style cafe, or next to a tinkling fountain in an ornate courtyard. You can find yourself in the midst of a crazy, honking traffic jam, or dodging donkeys in cobbled alleyways, or riding a camel in the solitude of the Sahara.”

“There were obvious drawbacks, like the nuttiness of buying a house on the other side of the planet, a leg-cramping, blood clot-inducing, [12-hour journey] away. And just when would we actually get to spend time there? Our jobs consumed our lives… When exactly would we fit in a commitment to a property in another country?”

The writer Paul Bowles also said this: “Because we don’t know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well.  Yet everything happens only a certain number times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four or five times more, perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty… And yet it all seems limitless.”

It’s because of this sentiment, because of the fact that I don’t know when I will die, and because now Morocco is so deeply a part of my being, that I decided to do the nutty thing of buying a house on another continent in a country where I barely speak the language! And it’s because I cannot conceive of my life without this beautiful, vibrant, and mysterious place!

A Tattletale Among Us

20 Sunday Mar 2016

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There are rules in Morocco. Or at least ways of life. And I’m just learning them. Some of them.

One day, I excitedly walked out of Dar Basyma and around the corner a few feet to see if my friends were arriving yet. I was excited because these were my first friends to visit whilst I was also there.

Apparently I did a bad thing. I noticed a  neighborhood girl watching me not with smiling eyes, but with a judgy look. I knew I had done something wrong but didn’t yet know what.

When we left the house later that day, the girl (whom I now know is Fatima) grabbed my Moroccan male companion and whispered something in his ear. To me he said, “You wore your house shoes outside earlier. She’s telling me you’re supposed to wear your house shoes inside only and wear your outside shoes outside only.”

That’s when I knew I was being watched. Scrutinized and judged. I turned and gave her the stink eye, and then I laughed. She laughed back and that was that!

Happy first anniversary, Dar Basyma

20 Sunday Mar 2016

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I’ve owned my riad (guesthouse, home) in Marrakech, Morocco for one year. And what a year it has been! What a process of paperwork and meetings. After months and months of research, I knew I needed to start a corporation. So that came first. Naming it was the first step in that process. In the middle of one restless night I came up with the word ‘myriad’ for part of the name. I liked the word mostly because it’s ‘my riad’ when separated. Briliant, I thought. It also means countless or many, so it’s not limiting ownership to just this one riad. The final name of the corporation is Myriad Property and I love it. First step finished.

Next came the arduous task of finding an attorney (or notary as they are called in Morocco), and an accountant. Immediately I found the notary: a woman in her 40’s who is considered the best notary in Morocco. After meeting her I knew instantly she knew what she was doing and she was ‘neeshun’ or straight. Says it like it is. Follows the rules. That’s what I needed. Done.

Finding the accountant was not as easy. Especially since it was made clear from the beginning that I had no interest in doing any funny business. No corruption. I only wanted neeshun / by the rules. Finally, after about 6 interviews with various candidates, I found my man. He knows my requirement for following the rules and he’s good at that. He even calls me Madame Neeshun. Done.

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Next step was to find the house. I had looked obsessively online and worked with multiple real estate agents and knew the market inside and out. Since there’s no MLS system or the like in Morocco, I saw the same house listed in various places and at various prices, all listed in Euro. Very interesting. One agent showed me a home that I fell in love with immediately! My business partner and I spent many hours at the house with the owners and it began to feel like mine, except the price was too high and I had to admit there was just no way I could afford it – – even with the falling value of the Euro (and thus, the rising value of the USD). I am still in touch with the owners and I still have hopes that the place will be mine someday. Riad #2, hopefully.

Once realizing I couldn’t afford the one I really wanted, I considered a small one that I had seen online. It really was the only other one I had any connection to, so after cancelling all other appointments with other agents, we kept the appointment with the agents who could show me this one.

We drove through the gates of Bab Doukkala and down the narrow and busy street to another more narrow street and I knew. This was my new neighborhood. I loved the vibrancy and the energy – – and the fact that there were no tourists. The agent opened the door and we walked in and I gasped! This house was mine. My partner and I both knew it.

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The process was underway. There was so much paperwork that I couldn’t believe it. We made so many trips to various government agencies where we stood in long lines and saw a zillion government workers who required signatures in their multiple ledger books for cross-referencing. Everything is in French so it takes double-time to have everything interpreted. What an experience! And I loved every minute.

The most fun of all was naming the house. I wanted something pretty and also simple. So I googled a list of female Arabic names. I also knew I’d use the word ‘riad’ or ‘dar’ in front of it; both words mean guesthouse / house. I always like names that end in ‘a’ so narrowed the list down quickly. Basima was the name I first found, which means ‘smile.’ I have a friend who is named Basyma, with a ‘y’ so I pretty much knew that’s the name I wanted. She told me that spelled with a ‘y’, Basyma means ‘a big smile, almost a laugh.’ Boom. That’s it. Dar Basyma was born. And to this day I just love it.

In May 2015 we had our first guests. And a week later, two more came. And then a group of four. And then the tax man knocked on the door. “We know you’re renting out your house,” he said. “You owe us taxes.” We realized we had done almost everything except that part so after a trip to the proper agency, that was taken care of and we’ve been sailing smoothly since!

Of course there are many, many stories to be told. Business cards and a website was created, guests with strange requests came calling, unending neighborhood hijinks and gossip, etc. Look for additional posts with those details!

 

 

 

 

 

The old medina of Marrakech

29 Friday May 2015

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Lying in bed listening to the sounds of the medina in Marrakech is one of my favorite things to do.

At night there’s a ruckus of activity of kids playing in the streets until super late, people laughing, singing, arguing; lots of moving about. But the night is completely silent only broken by the call to prayer at around 4:00 or so. It’s peaceful and it’s reassuring when the call comes; a way to know the time without having to rouse myself to look.

The birds start early and their song is glorious! The rooster crows. The donkey clip-clops with a cart bouncing behind. Motor scooters buzz by, and the garbage men’s babble makes me wish I understood what they are talking about. They sit on my front step each morning and yawn and stretch, waking up slowly it appears – – I can see their reflection in my open window, so I know they’re there with their bright blue and yellow outfits. Then the man selling things walks by. His call is what sounds like “zgite” and then sometimes “gyou” and he wants us to give him things to sell or to buy from what he has. One day I think I will give him something and see what happens.

This neighborhood is special. A mishmash of people. I see the same ones everyday but we all stick to ourselves and no one bothers me much. I might get the occasional “Hello Madame, are you fine?” but that’s all. It’s nice. I’m easing into it calmly and slowly. I enjoy trying to blend in, even though I know I don’t.

The butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker

29 Friday May 2015

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Want something for your new house in Marrakech? There’s someone who can build it or make it. Need it today? No problem; they’ll at least show up and measure the space for you, find out what you want, and take a downpayment. Then they might be back tomorrow to confirm what you said, ask a few more questions, and then voila! It’s finished!

I’ve seen the “cushion man” about 5 times. That’s not all his doing, though. I keep adding things to the list to make: a curtain covering the kitchen so the team can work in privacy, a cover for the pool that the previous owner claimed to have yet never delivered, shades for the terrace so we can sit without glaring sun, and now cushions for the new chairs and daybed! And the price? You’d die if you knew. Or at least move here and begin an export business…

Already the kitchen has been tiled, the plaster repaired and painted. The TV has been installed and positioned above the fireplace. The “wood man” has been here to measure for the cabinet and desk the team will use for house management and clients. Massive quantities of household goods have been carted down the narrow streets to this house by donkeys and men. It’s been a flurry of movement; constant comings and goings. And it’s been a lot of fun.

The only problem so far really has been with the representative of the previous owner, who is not a decent man. Looking like a young Jack Nicholson (whom I love), this guy looks flashy and untrustworthy. He stands out like a sore thumb in this traditional neighborhood filled with djellaba, hijab, and drab colors with his pink/purple striped shirts, straight-legged green pants, and loafers. Cute outfit in any other setting, except here it looks shifty and shady. He fake-smiles when he says ‘salaam alycom’ but the eyes are dead. He’s not nishen. ‘Nishen’ means straight, direct, honest in Arabic, and this guy is anything but. We refer to him as the mafia.

Turns out he has a long line of haters from the neighborhood, especially with the immediate neighbor. Mr. Shady promised him a new wall, among other things, and apparently never delivered. The neighbor is livid and says if he lays eyes on this man he will go crazy. I’m thinking now that that’s why Mr. Shady won’t come around.

The guy says he’ll call, he doesn’t. Says he’ll show up at a certain time on a certain day, and he doesn’t. Says he will bring the pool cover, but I know he won’t because I’m sure he never had one since there are no hooks in the tile to which to attach the thing. He took the faulty (and new) washing machine out of here and never returned the correct one. He won’t answer his phone and if he does he’s just lying anyway so what good does it do. He’s awful.

But if these are the only things to be wrong so far with a home bought in a foreign country, where you don’t speak the language, in a culture you are just learning to understand, that’s not bad!

So I’ll just have the “cushion man” make a cover for the pool for a good price. And if I need to buy a washing machine, I will. Anything to get away from this young Jack Nicholson character and proceed with my plans!

Boss schmoss

27 Wednesday May 2015

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There’s nothing like owning a home (that’s going to be a rental property) and having a team (Housekeeper, House Manager and Operations Manager) to show you, in glaring detail, how annoying you are!

My persnickety demands surprise even me.

  • No labels on anything. Not on pillows, sheets, towels, pans, bottoms of candles – – nothing. ‘No paper labels,’ I shout in my head like Joan Crawford. (This Mommy Dearest reference would be lost in translation if said aloud)
  • No clocks. Don’t let guests even inkle the time. Let them completely relax and lose themselves in the culture and flow of Marrakech life. Besides, if they knew they’d be eating at 22:00 hours, they’d freak.
  • No dust or grime on any light switch or electrical plug or ledge or moulding or surface of any kind.
  • These actual words came out of my mouth, “Your first priority is to make it pretty.” This came to mind when I noticed the House Manager had put a dish scrubby in a leftover container of spackle or something like that. “If it’s not pretty, don’t use it,” I say.
  • No matches or candles allowed in case a guest forgets to blow them out.
  • More sauce in the tajine (I did say ‘please’, at least)
  • Duplicate sets of keys sorted by color for each room. Each room has its color.
  • No talking on the phone when clients are here.
  • ‘We’re getting Dar Basyma tee shirts so we look professional’, I said. Yes! This came from my mouth! I absolutely hate having to wear the tee shirts/outfits my company makes us wear from time to time so I really can’t believe I said this.

And after all of this, the House Manager came to me tonight and said, “Put the coffee cups here, not there. You come here if you need them.” I had to laugh because this really isn’t my house; I’ll be here like 3x per year and they will run the place, for crying out loud!

Dar Basyma

26 Tuesday May 2015

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Three years ago, almost to the day, I visited Morocco for the first time. Within moments of that first visit I knew I loved it, especially the rural areas. A slow rhythm of life in the villages with children playing, animals roaming about, and women in traditional clothing talking to each other and minding the household tasks. Birds sang, winds blew, rain came and went, tranquility! And exactly what I needed at the time.

Marrakech, however, was my least favorite place of all the places I visited that trip – – and a few more trips after that! It seemed “too much.” Too much movement, too many people, too loud, too much traffic, too hot, just too much. But with each visit, Marrakech grew on me and I missed the activity and movement of it all when I was away. I came to realize its charm and wildness and joy. There’s a vibrancy here, a pulse. It’s undulating with life and activity and I like feeling a part of it.

On each visit I met more people and became more comfortable with my surroundings. I got more of a sense of the real place and not just the tourist view I held before. I explored the medina, the old part of town that most tourists see and the new city as well. It started feeling familiar by finding stores similar to what I’m used to at home and restaurants dubbed “my favorite”. It became a place I wanted to visit over and over again. And I did.

On the 9th or so visit, I bought a house! After looking at dozens of places and analyzing neighborhoods, researching the feasibility of purchasing as a foreigner, spending hours meeting with lawyers (notaries, as they are called here), interviewing accountants, and visiting various government offices (where everything is done with pen and paper, many times, at multiple stations around a room for checking and double-checking later), I finally selected an accountant, a notary, and a home.

Taking renters into the home means having a bonafide business registered with the Moroccan government. I created it and called it Myriad Property. It means ‘an unlimited amount’ but also, separated, it becomes My Riad Property, so it has double-meaning. It’s registered and operational, soon to be taking in revenue.

The place is named ‘Dar Basyma.’ Dar = house and Basyma = Big Smile. I had a choice in spelling to name it Dar Basima (which means ‘smile’) but I chose the spelling with a ‘y’ because I have a friend named Basyma in Beirut, Lebanon and wanted to take that spelling for her. I think ‘big smile’ fits better anyway! Exciting for sure!

So now I’m at the house, getting things up and running for guests. Already we’ve had two sets of visitors and there are four of us working on it: an Operations Manager, a House Manager and a Housekeeper. It’s a lot of fun and I hope it continues to be. It’s already busy enough that we’ve had to turn people away!

This is the beginning of something big, incha’llah.