Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

October, 2008.

When I look back on my adventures in Morocco, I always think of Marrakesh as the trip’s dazzling centrepiece. Everything they say about the city is true, it is nothing short of intoxicating. Indeed Marrakesh is a feast for the eyes, a place that is overflowing with art and colour. This energy thrives among the buildings, both inside and out. It runs riot through the markets and across people’s clothing. It fizzes through the city sounds from dusk to dawn and is present in the smells and tastes that ebbed and flowed during my stay.

I was very fortunate with accommodation on that trip. Back in those days I was teaching English at the European Commission in Brussels. Upon hearing that I was going to Marrakesh, a student of mine put me in touch with a friend who had an apartment there for rent. Thus I made an enquiry, received a very fair offer and boom, that was that. Best of all, the apartment was a delightfully homey traditional riad located in the heart of the centre. Just a short walk from Jemaa el-Fnaa, the city’s grandest public square.

Wherever you stay in Marrakesh, sooner or later all paths lead to Jemaa el-Fnaa. Dating back to the 11th century, when it was founded during The Almoravid Dynasty, this giant square has long been the beating heart of the city. Traditionally a gathering place for storytellers, comedians, actors, musicians, chefs, tradesmen and animal trainers, Jemaa el-Fnaa carved its reputation as Morocco’s unmissable open-air theatre.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

Photo courtesy of Luc Viatour.

Regarding its name, historians have bickered between themselves for centuries. This is due to the fact that translating it throws up a number of potential explanations. One is Assembly of the Dead, a reference to the belief that public executions regularly took place here throughout the 13th, 14th and 15th centuries.

Fittingly, the entire square was a bit dead when I first encountered it one sunny October afternoon. This, I learned, was par for the course, because these days Jemaa El-Fnaa doesn’t truly come alive until after dark.

Nevertheless, there were a few things that piqued my interest. Here and there, crowds gathered around the dozen or so blue umbrellas that had set up early. In some, fiercely contested card games unfolded through a series of giddy whoops and rumbling groans.

Jemaa el-Fnaa.

At another station, the city’s so-called henna ladies drew in tourists with promises of traditional body art. I’d been unfamiliar with henna, a muddy paste formed from the leaves of the henna plant. Traditionally applied for weddings and other big celebrations, the artists use either a pen, brush, nozzle or stick to paint directly onto the skin.

Moreover, they often apply a protective coating made from lime and sugar, which encourages longevity. Watching the ladies at work was fascinating. Unfortunately though, they proved so aggressive with their sales techniques I couldn’t linger as long as I would’ve liked.

At some point I instinctively ducked under another umbrella, where I got quite a surprise. “Hello, sir, you come to meet snake?” Uh… in actual fact I wasn’t sure I had. Grabbing me by the hand, a young boy in a purple-grey robe pulled me down to sit with him on the ground. “Sir, I make snake dance, she love the music!” he grinned.

Before I knew what was going on, he’d pulled a wooden flute out of his bag and had begun playing a jaunty tune. His snake immediately reacted, shooting up and swaying rhythmically from side to side. I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Not until, that is, another charmer insisted I take his snake into my hands. Looking back, I should’ve said no and made my excuses. However, a touch hypnotised by the experience, I let myself become ensnared in the performance.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

Much like my camel safari in India, taking part in snake charming is something I definitely wouldn’t do again. Back then, I wasn’t aware of the unethical practices of snake charmers. I didn’t know, for example, that such snakes usually have their fangs removed in order to ensure maximum safety. Nor indeed that some unscrupulous charmers even went as far as sewing their snakes mouths up, an absolutely horrendous practice.

As for the actual charming, in most cases the snakes’ attentiveness is down to the fact that they’ve been trained to associate the music with feeding time. The charmers I met that day on Jemaa el-Fnaa were fairly laid-back, seemingly happy with the fee I gave them at the end.

In contrast, I have read numerous stories of charmers demanding inflated fees. Adding extra amounts for touching, holding, taking photos and anything else they can dream up. Some even get verbally and physically hostile. For more on Marrakesh’s murky snake culture, check out this interesting article from Peregrine Adventures.

In the evenings the square burst into life at around dusk. Restaurant tents sprang up offering every kind of Moroccan dish imaginable. From lamb tajines and couscous plates to fried fish, kebabs, makouda (deep fried potato balls) and piping hot bowls of Harira, a wonderfully rich tomato soup with lentils, chickpeas and shredded beef topped with coriander.

Harira.

One of my greatest culinary discoveries on Jemaa el-Fnaa was a traditional dessert advertised simply as Spice Cake. There’s little online literature about it, which I found surprising, as the cake was available at stalls all over the square. I would describe it as a kind of moist, fluffy ginger cake with hints of cardamom. Mmmm.

If one really wants to double up on the ginger, you can take the cake with a glass of spicy ginger tea. Probably a bit too sugary for some, but I couldn’t get enough of this winning combination.

Admittedly, I was a touch disappointed with the so-called nightly entertainment on Jemaa el-Fnaa. In fairness, several articles I’d read had prepared me for this. Bemoaning the fact that much of the square’s traditional music and theatre had given way to scammy fortune tellers and fairground games such as the bucket toss and balloon darts.

One very popular activity, pictured below, was a fishing game where you had to hook up bottles of soda using a very long, ungainly rod. Yes, the prize at the end of it all was a bottle of soda. Meh.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

Overall though, I loved the whole vibe surrounding Jemaa el-Fnaa. One evening, while exploring the Old Medina, I wandered into a tumbledown antique shop.

Among the grubby plates, cups, teapots and jewellery, I came across a beautiful canvas painting of Jemaa el-Fnaa at sunset. I instantly fell for it, spellbound by the glowing horizon and blurred crowds. The man who worked in the shop claimed to have painted it himself. Following a bit of bartering we settled on a price and it was mine.

Needless to say the souqs are a huge part of Marrakesh’s appeal. However, with no particular interest in shopping, and having already scoured the markets of Casablanca, we made do with just a cursory walk through the main alleys.

One thing I did do was pick up a giant bag of traditional sweets from this friendly vendor at Souk Semmarine. What a bounty it was, bulging with delicious Moroccan staples such as baklava, mammoul and chebakia.

I also found myself reeled in by a herbal store (herboristerie). Not that I had any interest in stocking up on their so-called medicine, but because the whole enterprise proved so fascinating. Cramped, dark and cool, the interior was pungent with competing spices and oils. Shelves filled the walls, with hundreds of glass jars and their contents of weird flakes, mysterious powders and gloopy liquids.

A Marrakesh Herboristerie.

The store’s white-coated workers, meanwhile, wandered around asking customers if they had a specific ailment for treatment. Those who buy have their chosen amount weighed before the final bill comes in.

Herboristeries are a big deal in Marrakesh, so it’s always fun reading people’s opinions. The jury definitely seems to be out. Some say the natural remedies on offer are a revelation. But there are plenty of naysayers too who insist these places are little more than scam centres. If you do partake, keep a careful eye on the weighing process and what kind of bag they use, as there are plenty of clever tricks employed to encourage an inflated price.

Before leaving, I had a good laugh at the aphrodisiac shelf and its row of giant jars. Not missing a beat, one of the pharmacists came up to me with a sympathetic look. “Sir, you will be amazing by how much this can change your life”, he claimed, nodding towards the jar pictured below.

Away from the markets, I crossed off several sites that showcase some of the city’s most stunning architecture and art. First, we popped into the utterly gorgeous Marrakech Museum, housed within the former Mnebhi Palace.

Built in the late 1800s, this incredible building was home to Morocco’s Minister of War, Mehdi Mnebhi. From 1900 to 1908 Mnebhi was literally the right hand man of Sultan Abdelaziz, who encouraged his minister to build the lavish home and spare no expense.

Marrakech Museum.

The resulting structure was a masterwork of Moorish design, with stone pillars, carved cedar wood doorways and mosaic tiling throughout. Its showpiece, beautifully restored in 1997, is this vast central courtyard, a tree-laden riad garden back in Mnehbi’s day.

It was such a joy doing a 360 of that courtyard, picking out all the exquisite design details. Particularly the staggering central chandelier, made of brass plates adorned with epigraphic cuttings.

A maze of corridors, rooms and smaller squares run off the main courtyard. They call it an art museum, but the actual pieces of art on display play second fiddle to the house itself. Rather, you might come across an occasional row of sculptures running up a set of stairs. Or a tiny room, like this one, sparsely decorated with just a handful of paintings made by local artists.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

My favourite part of the museum was getting onto the upper floor viewing galleries. Just gazing out over the courtyard imagining what an amazing home this must have been for Mnebhi.

Unfortunately for him though, he lost ownership of the house in the early 1950s. This was when the French, in cahoots with Thami El Glaoui (the autocratic ruler of southern Morocco), overthrew Sultan Mohammed V. El Glaoui simply took the palace himself as a spoil of war. Mnhebi, working in London as the Moroccan Ambassador, could do nothing but thank his lucky stars he wasn’t in Marrakesh at the time.

After Morocco regained independence in 1956, the state claimed ownership of the palace. In the 1960s it became a girls’ school before undergoing an ambitious renovation in the 90s. The Omar Benjelloun Foundation carried out the work, overseeing its transformation into a museum.

Marrakech Museum.

Another incredible complex is Bahia Palace. Built in 1867, this was a palace in the true sense of the word, as it was the home of Sultan Muhammad bin Abd al-Rahman. His son, Ba Ahmed, later ruled from here and was responsible for much of the surviving structure we see today. Many of the family’s grandest royal ceremonies and celebrations took place in the sweeping Court of Honour, pictured below. 

Photo courtesy of Val Traveller.

Much of the treasures once housed within the palace were sadly lost to looting in the years that followed Ba Ahmed’s death. Still, the compound has been beautifully restored and, much like Marrakech Museum, it’s a joy to go exploring around its 150 rooms and courtyards.

Another similarity to Marrakech Museum is the abundance of traditional art, including vaulted Islamic muqarnas and marble fountains from the city of Meknes. Some of the gorgeous painted shuttered windows were among my favourites too.

One afternoon, on our way between sights, I stopped for a photo outside Koutoubia Mosque in the medina’s southwestern quarter. Dating back to the 12th century, this is Marrakesh’s oldest mosque and arguably the city’s most iconic landmark. At 70-metres high, its minaret might not be bothering any world records, but it is the highest structure in Marrakesh.

Its name comes from the old Arabic word for bookseller, referencing the fact that hundreds of book vendors used to trade around the building’s entrance. As a non-Muslim I couldn’t actually go inside, but it was cool to hear the call for prayer blaring out of its pinkish form.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

Another brief stop came at the Saadian Tombs. This massive burial compound serves as the final resting place for a host of Moroccan sultans, along with their wives, brothers and closest political advisers. Sultan Ahmed al Mansour oversaw its construction in the 1580s.

In fact, well aware that he himself would end up in the complex one day, he demanded nothing but the best materials. I’m talking the very finest imported Carrara marble and pure gold sourced from The Middle East. Pictured below is the tombs’ pièce de résistance, Chamber of the 12 Pillars. 

Photo courtesy of Matt Kieffer.

In a city that is generally lacking greenery, I’m so glad I paid a visit to the lush oasis that is Majorelle Garden. As regular readers know, I adore botanical gardens and this lovingly tended 2-acre space has a truly unique history attached.

The celebrated French painter Jacques Majorelle bought the land in 1923 having fallen in love with Marrakesh. Soon, he began painting there from a small shed before starting work on landscaping and planting the land.

It all went so well he decided to build a painting studio on the grounds. And then a cubist villa for himself and his wife, Andrée Longueville, to live in. He hired the French architect Paul Sinoir to design it, naming his home The Blue Villa. Today it houses an exhibit on Majorelle’s life in Marrakesh in addition to a Berber museum.

Majorelle Garden.

Incredibly, Jacques spent the next forty years improving and expanding his garden. Strolling down shaded pathways between bamboo groves, pretty ponds, rose plantations and cacti corners, one gets a clear sense of what a labour of love this must have been for him.

Wherever you go, there are pleasing injections of Majorelle Blue amid the greenery. You can see it on plant pots, water features, doors and walls. The term refers to the distinctive shade of blue in which Jacques often painted. A colour he says he discovered on the tiles of traditional Moroccan houses.

Majorelle opened his garden to the public in 1947 due to the fact that it had become too expensive to maintain. However, by the mid 1950s it had fallen into an ever-increasing state of disrepair. And things only got worse when the great painter died in 1962.

It wasn’t until the mid 1980s that, at long last, Majorelle Garden got the makeover it so desperately needed and deserved. Fascinatingly, it was none other than the fashion designer Yves Saint Laurent who spearheaded the movement.

A huge fan and collector of Jacques’ work, he saved the garden from ruin and revamped it so that future generations could enjoy this special slice of Marrakesh nature and history. When Yves himself died in 2008 his partner Pierre Bergé scattered his ashes within the garden. He also installed this touching memorial, which consolidates Yves Saint Laurent’s own place in the Majorelle Garden story.

Once Upon a Time in Marrakesh.

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