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Dear friends,
Buoyed by your comments and emails, I headed to the library early morning, carafe of simmering coffee in hand. I stared at the empty page and it stared back at me. But then a most amazing thing occurred. I began to write. And write......and write.
Thank you for helping me look to the skies. I am so very grateful.
With love,
Maryam in Marrakesh
Image by Agatha Katzensprung
Dear friends,
I am not well. I do not mean to burden you with my problems -- you don’t come here for that --but I find myself in a most difficult situation. I have a critical deadline looming, you see. While that usually goads me to action -- the adrenaline spurring sharp thinking and creativity -- this time I find myself listless before the blank page. The minutes tick by and are gone. And what do I have to show for my efforts? Pitifully little.
My husband, seeing me in my stupor, insisted on taking me out. To the circus of all places! It was our version of the Cirque du Soleil here in Morocco. And I’m so glad he did because for that brief hour or two, I felt the weight lifted off my chest. If you have ever been to one of these shows, you will know just what I mean The feats of the performers! And with no nets! I can only imagine the training, the discipline that was required. And oh, the costumes! Nothing less than inspired, with a certain zen-like purity to them. The music was complex – rather hard to describe but almost like the beguiling harmony of songbirds set to a musical backdrop strangely similar to the rustling of tall grass. There must have been some incense because I could have sworn I smelled wildflowers. (But then again, perhaps I was imagining things.) Thankfully, I had my wits about me because I managed to take a picture when two of the performers were in mid-air. Of course it can’t capture the magic of what I saw but it might give you an idea, nonetheless.
Yours, as ever, in Marrakesh,
Maryam
PS. And if you don’t mind, could I please ask you to send my way – even if it is just for a few moments – some strength and some inspiration to make it through this rough patch. Because right now things are looking a bit dark here. Thank you.
A Moroccan beauty in a strange and mysterious land. If she felt a bit out of place at first, it was only because she wanted someone to love her for her specialness. Someone who wouldn't try to make her into something she was not, putting up ugly curtains and taping posters of kittens to the walls. But instead, someone, who upon seeing her, would feel something like the fluttering of a sparrow's wings and would hear something like the humming of a hundred humming birds. And who would know that he had come home.
And that's just how it happened. They now live together with so few quarrels that their friends are all secretly envious - but in the nicest possible way.
It's a true story. It was told to me by a woman named Hajar with a face like a painting who lives in Singapore. Her website is filled with houses and apartments - each more beautiful than the last - which now spend their days in anticipation of that knock on the door or that ring of the doorbell. Perhaps - could it be? - it is you that they are waiting for?
But for now, let me share with you pictures of the Moroccan beauty living in Singapore who got away. 
Morocco is unquestionably a photographer's paradise. Veteran American photographer Larry Broder has been under Morocco's spell since his first trip in 2003. Indeed, when friends ask him what has changed his photography the most, Larry answers with one word, Morocco.
It was the omnipresence of color in Morocco that had such an influence on Larry's photography. He explains, I remember clearly the excitement of having my eyes flooded with the unfamiliar intensity of color in clothing, buildings, walls, windows, and even a basket of rags. Everything seemed more vivid to me - - colors, lines, angles - - and it seemed that everywhere I turned, there was a photograph. 
He adds, I love the sights and sounds, the light and the abstract things I can photograph there. No other place in the world has so much color and movement---I just love it.
Larry practices a natural light philosophy in his photography. This means that he does not "boost" the color in the computer, nor does he use a flash. He illustrates this example for me by referencing his photo of an old building with light streaming through the shaded roof.
Larry advises travelers and photographers to go to Morocco with an open mind and an open heart. He stresses that the people in Morocco are very friendly, and says that he never felt uncomfortable at any time. He suggests bringing a a short telephoto lens, as well as a wide angle lens, if possible.
You can see Larry's portfolio here, including his photographs of wildlife and nature, as well as those from his different travels.
Technorati Tags: Morocco, photography, Larry Broder, photographer
Shhhhh…..don’t startle her. But the walls of the smaller of our two guest houses are..... up. She’s more than a little self-conscious, especially since she has nothing stylish to put on, her hair’s not done and she’s not wearing any makeup. Just brick and bare concrete. But -- being the way that you are – I thought you might be able to overlook all that and see the makings of something special. See her potential. Can you?
Technorati Tags: Marrakech, Morocco, design, building, guesthouse, architecture
Canadian designer Bev Hisey was kind enough to send me this picture of her beautiful handmade Moroccan rug. Clearly inspired by Moroccan tiles, this is modern interpretation of Moroccan design at its very best. It would look stunning in a glamorous Hollywood Regency style decor -- very Kelly Wearstler. I think Hisey's background in fashion is evident in her clever choices of color and patterns. Moroccan influenced floor cushions coordinate with her rugs.
Hisey has many lovely things in her collection. Her impeccable crafstmanship incorporates techniques of hand tufting, hand knotting, die-cutting, and silk screening. Visit her online to see her full collection.
I found this article in Australian Vogue. I am imagining Houda sitting in Australia and dreaming of Marrakech. Houda is a name common in Morocco and Algeria. Even though French, I can't help but wonder if Houda has some Moroccan blood and is pining for home.....?
Do you have a secret home, somewhere? Is there another place where a part of you belongs, too?
Photographs: Andrew Cowen, Blaise Reuterswärd
I never thought that I would own a dome. And certainly not own more than one. It’s not that I had anything against domes. It’s just that having my very own seemed rather implausible. I mean honestly, I had never owned as much as my front door, much less a house with a dome. My house dreams were modest -- they usually involved four or more walls, paintings and a stainless steel refrigerator. That was as far as I got. Besides, no homes I knew had domes -- I imagined that that was just for people in Los Angeles, and having never been, of even that I was unsure.
So picture moving to a country where domes on houses were not uncommon. How very fanciful. How very exotic. How very movie set. I began to think it might be rather fun to have a dome. My own. I was willing to share.
And so I whispered in the ear of architect husband who then took his magic pencil and began to draw -- a place with not just one, but two domes. The spare just in case: one always has to plan for contingencies, after all.
I thought I would share one of my domes-in-the-making. Far from done but isn’t she pretty? My husband added a little jewelry to the dome design – small glass peep holes. So you can lie on the couch and see the dome decorated with points of blue sky (by day) or random stars (by night). Because even a dome likes to dress up for guests. And I can tell already, that this one is particularly vain.
I met my now-husband, Chris, when I was living in the land of the broken hearted. Perhaps you have lived in that bleak land yourself – the place where you awake feeling hopeless and fall asleep feeling hopeless. Where your hours are consumed by thoughts of the person who has rendered you see-through and fragile. Where every song, every book passage holds tragic and poignant meaning. Where your head is filled with imaginary dialogues (polished to perfection) with your former love. Where you weep. And weep and weep. Where you wonder, seriously, if you can ever love - like that - again.
I had been banished to that dark place when Chris found me.
He was a man of few words but numerous gestures. On the outskirts of that cheerless land where I was living, Chris took me for walks in the woods and canoe rides on the river. He taught me how to hit golf balls and how to catch fish. He packed me picnic baskets and picked me wildflowers. And despite my very best attempts to send him away, he stayed and loved me even when I was incapable of loving him back.
Slowly, the deep fissures in my heart began to mend. The blood pumped, the skin flushed. And when, on one unseasonably sunny day, Chris proposed a forever with him, only one response seemed possible. I packed my bags, and without informing the gatekeeper of that joyless place I had called home, I left.
So it’s Valentine’s Day. And to my dear husband Chris, I offer not chocolates but thanks. For the one-way bus ticket that took me away from that sad and terrible place– the land with no sign posts and little hope. I have never forgotten.
And to you, friendly reader and keeper of secrets, I wish a very happy day, with or without a valentine.
Image by Jenny Holzer
Well, here it is. Tristan and Skylar's new lair, custom built after a design of dear architect husband. Very Kasbah looking, wouldn't you say? Detailed discussions are underway for admittance, involving passwords (chocolate chip cookie is one contender, banana peel is another). Secret handshakes also are being tested - unfortunately so elaborate that they can never be repeated twice. Plans for decorating are in progress. After a first inspection, Skylar looked at me gravely and asked whether the house might not be painted a rosy pink (over Tristan's strong objections). Overheard interior design discussions have bandied about rainbow stripes and the possibility of polka dots.
It's difficult to break it to our small children that this structure -- soon to be stuccoed -- is actually the gate house at our beloved olive grove. It is here that friends and guests will have their first glimpse of our place. So I was wondering, how might you feel about being greeted at a pink gate house with rainbow striped detailing? Would it be off putting at all? Might it dampen your expectations of a stylish place to stay within?
PS The sky is very beautiful here in Marrakesh, isn't it?
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