I walk around Marrakech trying to recall why it seems so familiar to me. It’s intricate
stucco carvings, its warm ochre buildings, it’s geometric architecture seem to
be more familiar to me than pictures in a guide book, but where from?
They call it “The city of
Colours” and it is well deserving of that name! The overwhelming colour is the dusty
red adobe of the buildings; set that against the year round bright blue of the
sky, the vivid green of it’s many gardens and the pinks, blues, purples,
peaches and reds of it’s flora and you have a city as opulent in it’s colours
as a chest full of jewels. I have never been to a city that more respects it’s
own aesthetic. They hide their tele-communiation poles inside pretend palm
trees so as you look across the city you could be forgiven for thinking you had
travelled back in time. Of course Taxis, cars and motorcycles whizz around,
hinting at it’s modernity, but still, horse and carriages make up the
predominant form of travel and over burdened Donkeys still take precedence over
the van when it comes to goods transportation.
The famous souks are as much
a treasure chest of beautiful things as you could wish for. The stalls here are
past down from generation to generation and never sold. To own a stall here is
to be a wealthy man and they holler to you with confidence: “Hey Love Love,
Come take a look.”, “Lovely Jubbily”, “Fish and Chips” but they are
delightfully easy to say no to- a broad smile and a big “No Thank you” and you
are away, hassle free. When you see something you like, if you a prepared to
work hard at the haggle you can come away with a great deal and a treasure of
your own.
Nothing makes you feel quite
so much transported to ancient times as the Place de Djemaa El Fna. The main square
of the city and the gateway to the Labyrinthine Souks, the square is awash with
snake charmers, orange sellers, monkey men and mystique! Music from the snake
charmers “Pungi”, a flute like instrument made from a gourd, can be heard from
every direction and an overwhelming array of exotic smells to excite the nose:
Juices, spices, flowers; orange, mint, rose- each breath a new scent to evoke
new feelings. What was designed to be a half an hour mint tea break in one of
the squares café’s can quickly turn into an entire evening spent watching the
ancient theatre of the market place unfold.
Then I realise why it seems
so familiar. It is nothing less than a part of my subconscious mind. I have held, as long as I can remember, a dim
but definite dream of a different world within our own: an ancient, exotic
place of heat and beauty, a land made magic by its very foreign-ness. That
mythical place was made real on my visit to Marrakech.
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