A Fancy Dinner in Marrakesh

This blog post is dedicated to my sister-in-law, Margaret, who is a fine chef and has a wonderful curiosity about all cuisines.

For my 50th Birthday, on February 25th, Matt and I went to very fancy restaurant. The sort that we could not have afforded in Boston. Maison MK seemed to have my number, as well as my initials. It is British owned and I felt the influence of James Bond movies as much as Morocco.

This (from the floor above) is the room you first walk into.

There is a waterfall filling the pool, with a row of candles making a line of fire above the waterfall. It would all have been a bit intimidating in its over-the-top swoopy luxuriousness if it was not for the big rubber ducky floating in the pool.

We were escorted up to the terrace to enjoy drinks before dinner. The view of the city was great.

 I guess it was close to 8:00, and we could both see and hear the 40 mosques throughout the city putting out their calls to prayer on their loudspeakers. It was a little unsettling to feel that we were in this Western den of gatronomic pleasure drinking alcohol at that moment.

Then on to the dining room.

The wine was Moroccan. They don't make much wine, and it was pretty average. But the olive bread and the butter were fantastic.

The first course was Cauliflower, Leek and Saffron veloute

Very nice, with a little olive oil dribbled on top.

This was one of our favorite parts, Stuffed zucchinin on a herb gnocci with butternut squash puree.

Then the main course. Matt got Fillet of beef tangine with prune puree, confit onions and seasonal vegetables.

I had the King prawn and scallop skewers with puff pastry and a parmesan tuille. It was exquisite.

But the star of the show was this. Spiced cumcumber sorbet with minted pineapple lassi with verveine foam. The cucumber sorbet had a hint of mint and was so cool and refreshing, then the spice created a brief sense of heat. Culinary art!

Finally, the dessert was Banana bavarois with cinnamon chocolate ice cream in a honey and nut shell. Wonderful.

And that was that.

Don't we look like Roger Moore and Tanya Roberts on their night off?

Stay tuned for the last, really, cross my heart, last post on Marrakesh: Into the Country

margotkimball@gmail.com

What to do, and not, as a tourist in Marrakesh

Historical Sites

Do visit the Historical Sites:

Marrakesh is saturated with history and historical sites. It was at times the capital of Morocco, and even the seat of power of North Africa, the Maghreb. In fact the name Morocco is derived from Marrakesh.

While walking about the city, you find yourself frequently coming across ancient walls and entranceways that hint at past glories. Unfortunately, the city and the region suffered many invasions and conquests, and if a building or monument was really impressive, that was usually enough reason for the next wave of conquorers to want to eradicate it.

The oldest, most intact structure still used for its original purpose is the Koutoubia Minaret. Built between 1100 and 1200 AD, it can be seen from most points in the city, and heard as well when the call to prayer is spoken over the loudspeakers 5 times each day.

Little remains to be seen in the city from the period to either side of 1100, when the Islamic dynasty of the Almovarids, based in Marrakesh, ruled from the Southern half of the Iberian Peninsula and what are now parts of Algeria and Mali. This period is considered by many to have been the height of Islamic culture in this region.

Perhaps some historians out there have heard of Averroes, who lived in what is now southern Spain as well as Marakesh in the 12th century. A true Renaissance man before the Renaissance, he made significant contributions to logic, physics, music theory, medicine, astronomy and Islamic philosophy and theology. 

During the Muslim rule there were many Jews living on the Iberian Peninsula as well as the African portion of the Empire. Just how tolerant the Islamists were of their culture is a point of controversy, but certainly they had a better time of it than when they were driven out of Spain all together by the Christian monarchs, Ferdinand and Isabella at the same time that Columbus was sailing towards the Americas.

The Saadian Tombs, from the late 15th century is one of the best preserved monuments because, rather than destroying them, the conquering dynasty, the Alaouites, chose to just build a wall on top of them. When that was torn down in 1917 the tombs were discovered.

The building has an impressive, calming presence. I was enjoying the sense of peace and was sorry to see a large group of rowdy tourists arriving. To my surprise, they fell into a hush and seemed to become introspective when they arrived.

Next to the tombs was probably the loveliest cluster of palm trees that I have ever seen.

The fortunes of Marrakesh had all ready risen and fallen many times when the Al-Badi Palace was built in the early 1600's. Workers from all over Northern Africa and Europe spent several decades working on it. Now it takes a lot of imagination to envision what it was.

The Ibn Yusuf Medrassa was originally built in the 1100's, then rebuilt in about 1600. It was a boarding school for boys who were going into the religion or law. I wish I had gotten a photograph of one of the many tiny rooms that the students had. Here is a larger one with its furnishings:

And, as always, all is built around courtyards:

The largest historical building is the Bahia Palace.

The Moroccons do amazing things with doorways.

Dating back to just the end of the 19th century, it betrays European influences. The French particularly had a strong presence in Morocco by that time.

They must have spent a lot of time with their heads back, because the empahsis on ceilings is unbelievable.

The gardens are spectacular. And thank goodness for the women who were living there, since that was most of what they would get to see.

Matt and I were charmed by this cat that continued to groom itself despite the presence of tourists, sometimes large groups of them, that walked right around and over it.

Wild cats are everywhere in Marrakesh. The fact that they were usually tame and relaxed gave me a good feeling about the inhabitants of the city.

What NOT to do as a tourist in Morocco

I rarely worried about having my money taken from me by force (particularly striking as my purse was stolen in Madrid just the previous week) but losing it voluntarily due to other's cleverness and persistance was a definite hazard. The Internet can provide you with much advice on how to avoid this problem. Matt and I both read the advice, and made most of the mistakes they described anyway. As he said, reading up on things was mostly helpful for realizing right after the fact just how stupid we had been. So here is an example.

We returned one day to a stall in the Souks (the markets on the narrow streets) to purchase a table cloth and a bedspread. We went through the usual bargaining process, not achieving a great price in the end, but okay, not a big deal. He then asks us would we like to see the studio where the women do the weaving. You can take photos, he says, knowing that we Westerners are forever wanting to take photos, which they often object to. I, of course, just look at the blog, am as bad as anyone for taking photos. We followed him quite a way when he finally bows us into a building. The proprietor is waiting to recieve us. But it is not a workshop, it is an enormous rug store.  Of course, we could have left, but once again our curiosity and our desire for lovely objects, or images of such, leads us further astray.  We were there for what seemed like 1/2 an hour, now haggling over runners, killiams, etc. We finally managed to leave without a rug, but with our shirts.

Now we were a little uncertain which direction to take to get back to the Square.  Immediately there was a boy of about 13 right there offering, in very elementary English and in French, to show us the way back. We were a little suspicious, having read something about this on the Internet. Anyway, we thought we knew how to get back. We start off and he continues to follow us trying to strike up a conversation, "You are German? British?" "You like Marrakesh?".  And he continues to tell us which direction to go. At first we think to ourselves, "Yes, yes, I know it is that way. Just get lost." Then as we keep walking we are thinking, "Oh, is that really the way to go? Guess so, because I don't recognize this place." Suddenly, we are really relying on the boy to show us the way back. Now and then he will say "Just around that corner and you can see the square." But there are more corners. Finally he says, "Just there, you will see the square", and he is clearly expecting me to pay him for his help. I am both relieved to think that he has gotten us back to the square and annoyed that this has gone on for so long. I give him what I have in coins. He objects that it is not enough, and I would have given him some bills as well if Matt hadn't said "Enough." So, he takes his coins and leaves, FINALLY. And we go around the corner and there is no square. In fact, we are far, far from the sqare and way out of tourist territory.

We walked and walked until we came across some people who were clearly Westerners and got directions from them. It was a LONG walk. It had not cost us much in money, but it was a high price to our pride and to our feet.

Stay tuned for Dinner Out.

Comments? margotkimball@gmail.com

Marrakesh

For those who were expecting news from Marrakesh days ago, my apologies. The city was such an overwhelming sensory experience, it has taken a long time to sort out my thoughts. 

Our fears of being caught in protests, possibly anti-Western protests, came to nothing. While they have their share of economic problems, Morocco seems less discontent with their government than other countries in North Africa and the Near East. The previous king, Hassan II, was a ruthless dictator type and probably might have inspired the same sort of protests that we have seen in Tunisia and Egpt. But his son, the present king, Muhhamed IV has instituted some reforms, and rules more gently.  He resides in Rabat, but happened to be visiting in and around Marrakesh while we were there. I guess it is traditional to fill his view with the Moraccan flag, because it was out in abundance in the places that he was expected, or had recently been. This photo is from a trip we took into the countryside:

But I am getting way ahead of myself. I can not speak so much for Matt, who has travelled quite a lot and lived in Iran during his high school years, but Adele, Iris and I had not been out of North A merica and Europe and we were in a state of astonishment for the first day. I also felt quite self-concious and awkward about being a tourist in a third world country with a very different culture.

At the end of the day, Adele was laughing, saying that in order not to feel awkward and out of place, she had planned to "blend in" while we were in Morocco. Sometimes, a cartoon with fish works better to convey an idea than a photograph. Also, people often object to being photographed there, so here is Adele as a fish, "blending in":


Adele feeling decidedly not invisible. A girl wanted to touch her hair.

 In fact, Adele was the least likely to blend in. Not only is she tall and blond, and in Western garb, but as a female between the ages of 11 and 20, she is a rare sight on the streets. Iris is just at the cusp. Shop owners enjoyed interacting with her, but kept a distance from Adele.

But, to back up again, I had followed the advice of friends and brought extra suitcases for purchases. Okay, sorry, here is another aside; my advice is, don't bother with the extra suitcases. Unless you enjoy bargaining and you are good at it, you will be exhausted just trying to get a reasonable price for a pair of sneakers and probably won't end up buying all that much. Oh yes, and if you are a decent bargainer, don't bring your overly empathic spouse who would just as soon give her wallet away as think she might have underpaid someone. Here are Matt and me at a rug shop during our tour of the countryside:

Matt has decided he can't spend anymore money on the rug than he has offered, so the rug seller has turned to me, "Please, tell you husband to raise his price. I know that you understand what hard work our women have put into these rugs. And they take care of the children. They are artists who put their hearts into these rugs....." and so forth. Clearly a psychologist as well as a rug seller.

Hey, are we still at the airport?
 So as we exited the terminal, we had a foolish amount of luggage and little idea of how to find our hotel. Just the sort of tourists who could be relied on to spend far more than necessary to get to our hotel. A young Moroccan man with decent English and an air of authority had soon ferried us over to his friends' taxi. Thanks to Matt I can tell you that it was a type of car that is virtually immortal, a 300 series Mercedes from the 1980's with a mere 416,000 kilometers on the odometer.

As the two men crammed out bags in, I was trying to figure out what other car there was for the passengers. But no, the back seat had been preserved and with a bow the young man waved us into this space which I'd have been dubious that three of us could have fit into.

So many new sights! Camels, men in robes (djellabahs), people gathered around fires, old cars, older bicycles, and carts pulled by all manner of animal including people.



Do you see the eggs on the back of the bike?



The driver took us to a plaza on the outskirts of the old city, into whose narrow, crowded streets cars do not venture. This plaza was a hilarious confusion of cars, bikes and the many carts all seeming to be weaving about eachother with little regulation and many near misses. I burst out laughing when I saw a man holding a fully laden silver tea tray walking unperturbed through the confusion of traffic.
We were surprised to be set down at the side of this mayhem, and were wondering where our hotel was and how we would get to it, when we saw that the driver and and another man were putting our luggage into a beat up metal cart with palm trees painted on the sides.

Painted on the back of the cart were the names of several hotels, including ours, so we prayed to Allah and followed the gentleman into the maze of the old city.

Marrakesh began nearly a 1,000 years ago as a trading post for the Berbers, the people of the High Atlas Mountains. As it grew tribes from the Sahara Dessert and the North African coast came to trade as well. The old city grew up and around a complex weaving of streets that began as market places. Throughout the many invasions, and rises and falls of its fortunes, Marrakesh has continued to be Morocco's center of trade for crafts, and many of them are still made by the Berber women in the mountains, and sold by the Berber men. It feels a bit like an enormous, ancient shopping mall with a patina of modernization. There are still donkeys and mules pulling carts down the narrow streets, but there are many more scooters and motorcycles narrowly missing the pedestrians as they whiz by.

The main street is no wider than a large alley, sometimes 10 feet across, sometimes just 8. The merchandise pours out of the stores to line the street.
As I wanted to look at everything and, no doubt, had a look of amazement, I was a tempting target for merchants, beggars and people offering or requesting things that I could not make out. My coins were soon gone.

I tried to appear uninterested to that the shop keepers would not jump out to sell me things.

But I could not resist this apothecary with its rows of colorful jars. Hazam was patient and happy to tell me where things came from, how they make dyes and so forth. I went back several times, sometimes just to drink tea and talk about politics and the economy.

Many of his items are the raw or pure form of ingredients in cosmetics, soaps and medicines that we use, such as sandlewood, amber and menthol. But Hazam specializes in items used for what his young assistant called sorcery. Hazam, who knows tourists from the West better, quickly corrected him, "No, no, not sorcery, anti-magic." He showed me a large jar of snake skins that can chase evil spirits from the body. I passed that up, but I was pursuaded to buy some Nigella seeds. Hazam took a look at Matt and said without hesitation, "You keep your wife up with your snoring. You must smell of this seeds," He crushed some up and, with much insistance (okay, and some help from me. He does keep me up) got Matt to sniff from the seeds. You quickly become aware of the route of your sinuses right up to the brain. Unfortunately, it did not actually affect the snoring. But it can definately clear out the nasal passages.

But, back to that first day. The man with the cart led us off the main street into a quiet residential area.

Morocco specializes in embellished doors.
The Beauganvilla Hotel was once a residence, or perhaps more than one. Traditional Moroccan homes are built around courtyards. The Beauganvilla has two, one with banana trees growing up towards the roof terrace:

 And another with a pool. Hanging out here reading books was Iris and Adele's favorite way to recover from what was sometimes an overwhelming onslaught of new experiences.

After a rest we ventured back into the streets and to the large square which is the commercial center of the old city. It is an enormous space with a confusion of odd things going on.

All over, people set up little camps, a chair, a cushion a small rug, maybe an umbrella: snake charmers, fortune tellers, henna applyers, food sellers, even the occaisional dentist with primitive tools. Adding the strangeness  are unfamiliar sounds, the horns (or would that be flutes?) of snake charmers, the sound of drummers, the clinking of casinets by water sellers, and 5 times a day the call to prayer over loudspeakers from the mosques.
 A man with a monkey accosted Iris - "Here, here" he said," A picture with thegirl" I protested as I knew he would expect money and did not know how much, but the monkey was all ready on Iris, nuzzling her nose to nose.

So cute! I snapped a shot.
Just what the travel tippers tell you not to do - Do not accept a service before agreeing on a price!

"Another, another!" he says. "No, no." Say I pulling Iris away. "How much?" "200 dirham" "What! too much. I don't even have that." "Yes, yes, give me euros!" " No. I have 30 darims. You can have that." "No, 200. Give me euros!" I pushed the 30 dirhams into his hands and went off as quickly as possible with Iris as he continued yelling at me. He was not as charming as the monkey!

Both girls got henna tatoos,

I was curious about the snake charmers but could not bring myself to get too close.

We were getting hungry and the girls were not feeling adventurous enough to try the food on the square. They were especially not interested in trying anything carniverous, having seen the meat hanging in the windows of the butcher shops.

This is quite tame. I could not bring myself to photograph most of the meat that I saw. Suffice to say that nothing is spared, nothing is hidden. You get a real good idea of who that animal was and what their insides look like. Also, I don't think I saw any evidence of ice or other refridgeration. Perhaps that is partly why Morrocan meat dishes are well cooked. Matt and I did not shy away from eating meat, or anything really, and to no ill effect. Most dishes are cooked and served in crockery called tangines.

The girls were quite interested in a sign that we had seen for a vegetarian restaurant.

It led us to an alley that was just 5 feet across. The door was below head level and led directly down and into a kitchen.

 This was quite confusing to us and we would have left if Matt had not all ready looked up the Earth Cafe on the internet and found that it has a large and enthusiastic following.

The green drink was something divine with cucumbers and mint. I hope to figure out how to make it.

Though there are no windows, and beyond the usual charming Morrocan couches and cusions, there was scant decor, the food was fabulous, a vegetarian and vegan heaven. The clientel seemed to be mainly Europeans in their 20's. A french woman near us told a very loud joke about Americans and their too big suitcases. A good thing it was not one of the typical jokes about Americans being too loud!

Adele and I made our way to the bathroom. A charming sign above the toilet read:
Please paper in the trash bean.
Otherwise problem with water chanelling
Thank you for your apprehension.

Moroccans are a warm and welcoming people, and certainly, along with our enthusiasm, we had much apprehension, so the last sentence really resonated with us and we would repeat it to each other throughout our stay in Marrakesh. "Thank you for your apprehension". 

After dinner we returned to the square. It had been completely transformed. Every night a sort of carnival takes place there. Elaborate outdoor restaurants and markets are erected. Thousands of people were shopping,

and eating dinner. One stall with many happy patrons featured rows of roasted goats heads. Balanced on top of the heads were bowls of goat brains. We bought some dates and nuts.



Major crops in Morocco include dates, figs, apricots, almonds, and walnuts.



A number of stalls were devoted entirely to the production of sauted snails.

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And there were hundreds of groups of people clustered around street performers, musicians, people offering games to be played. We could not make out the appeal of this one, though it was very popular:

And through it all was the constant stream of beggars. Each one of whom seemed to request money of me at least three times. We were especially amazed by a young girl, appeared to be 8 years old, who wandered by herself thoughout the crowds selling cookies from a basket. She was quite fearless and persistent.
　

 The night was still young on the square when we had had all we could take and happily retreated to the Beauganvilla Hotel for a night's rest.

　Stay tuned for the Palace Gardens, a Camel Ride, and advice on foolish mistakes to avoid as tourists.

As always, I would love to hear from you. Especially if you know more than I do about Morocco and would like to correct or clarify anything. Leave a comment here (but you have to register with Google first) or just send me an email: margotkimball@gmail.com