My Marrakesh

Marrakech: and 80 is the new 70

The traveling-too-much-girl rushed back from the airport.  She didn't want to be late -- she had a birthday party to go to, you see. 

Vanessa, the doting wife of the birthday boy, had turned their garden into a kind of  Arabian wonderland.  Everything looked fantastical. 

The table settings were like colored magic.

The food was fit for royalty.  (The birthday fellow was actually chummy with princes and kings but so very modest that you would never know.  Such lovely manners.) 

Everyone wore their prettiest frocks. 

This one was quite possibly the beautifulest.

Why even the trees got dressed up for the occasion.

Oh, and the music........

Just look at this singer! Not only talented ....but so handsome... 

And this drummer looked straight out of a magazine, wouldn't you agree?

The men at the party looked a little flushed when they saw the belly dancer.  Ahem, she was ample in every way, if you know what I mean....

Not to mention the performer whose specialty was dancing with candles on her head.  Imagine that.......

....The night was....well, perfect.  And it was all for the specialest of special men - darling Freck Vreeland, who was turning 80.  Not only fascinating and debonair, but quite the dancer.   

Thank goodness that 80 is the new 70.  Plenty of time for work on the memoirs.  I've put in my request for an autographed copy.  ~Sigh, with all the rest of his fans.....   

Color: a Dhaka love affair

Catch my breath with hand mixed hues.

A violet kiss, your peacock blues.

*

With emerald words blown in my ear,

Your silver green will draw me near.

* 

Long empty glass, I’ll gladly drink,

Your racy red or shocking pink.

*

So lay me down, a newlywed.

And fill my beige

                                    in your rainbow bed.

   

Dhaka: and courting insulin shock

Note to self: Cake?  Chocolate?  Resist!  Resist!  Your glucose level, a warning bell.  The sugar highs, the crashing lows.

*

But what of pretty candy girls?  In Dhaka city known to roam and sweet wares they do sell.  You their prey, a perfect choice -- bewitched by charm, a tender heart.  You falter and they cast their spell.  The flashing lights go dim.  And so you say, What harm, just one or two... or six …? 

*

Soon foil wrappers littered near....

*

I have lived to tell the tale.  But barely still.  So heed my warning, fellow traveler:  The candy girls!  The candy girls!

Dhaka: and rickshaw reverie

Give me the open air!

Give me the wind in my hair!

Give me the color, give me the kitsch,

                                     give me the one-of-a-kind!

.....

Greedy girl, learn to wait in line.

Dhaka: and only human

Airbrushed to perfection,

and packaged with such care.

Sent special delivery,

            as expected of one so fair.

                                                                                                                                   .

Objectified, beatified, deified,

she floats high in the air.

With my admiration,

dark envy she would snare….

Dhaka: and the flower girls

Please Madam, some flowers?  asked a small voice.  I cast a sideways glance and there she was, peering at me through the window of the car.  The rain poured down but she remained undeterred.  Madam, only 10 taka.  Some flowers?  Her nose now pressed against the glass.  I fumbled for my camera and at its click, she smiled, surprised.  The car lurched forward.  Wait, I urged the driver, fishing through my bag.  With my ten takas now hers, her flowers were now mine.  I breathed in their perfume. 

The rain began to ease and then ended abruptly.  The car waded carefully across the flooded street and into a gas station.  I shuffled through my papers, preparing for my meeting.  And then I heard, Madam, some nice flowers?  I looked up to a set of imploring eyes.  But while my camera captured her shiny white teeth, it overlooked her misshapen hunched back - for some things, no picture is needed to remember.  As the car pulled away, I was another ten takas poorer and another bouquet richer.  And the air was filled with the luxurious scent of the lovely Dhaka flower girls.

 

Abu Dhabi: and the possibility of a psychotic break

I stumbled from the plane, sleep sodden and confused.  My hair disheveled, my clothes crumpled, I was carried in a sea of passengers towards a seemingly inevitable destination.  Finally, and without warning, I was spit out into the airport transit lounge.  I blinked and blinked again.  Did the Abu Dhabi airport really have at its center an enormous lime green and cobalt blue tiled cyclone? 

Or was I still dreaming.... 

Oh, I'm leavin' on a jet plane...

It's true -- my bags are packed, and I'm venturing out again.  Just a quick jaunt across the world once more to the land of monsoons.  (You do know, don't you... that my blog is my alter ego, right?  By day, I am a professional do-gooder.  ~Sigh.)

Let me show you what awaits me..... 

Needless to say, I plan to take pleasure in puddle stomping opportunities .... 

Images by bulletproof .

Lori Park: and one enchanted evening...

Saturday night in the medina and I'm pinch-hitting for Maryam and heading for the huge and mysterious Musee de Marrakech, a magnificent 19th century palace perfectly restored by Omar Benjelloun and now run by a foundation headed by his elegant widow Naima. The Musee holds treasures aplenty, ancient Berber jewelry and clothing, rare Jewish artifacts and rugs of astounding quality. But best of all is the never-ending courtyard with central fountain and all they myriad rooms leading off it.

What better venue for American artist Lori Park's remarkable exhibition of ethereal wire sculptures, which were the big draw for the art cognoscenti of Marrakech, a wonderfully eclectic mixture of Moroccans and international types of all ages, who gathered last Saturday evening to celebrate the opening of "Radiance" which runs until the 30th of September. Park's very contemporary work - sculptures of torsos, twisting and turning, attired in gloriously colored paper dresses adorned with dried roses - such dresses that Yves St.Laurent's brides might have dreamed of - are on show in the douriyia and the ancient hamman. In one dim corner, where fires had once been stoked, figures suspended from the ceiling seemed ghostly and eerie. As Park herself suggests, the whole palace - not to mention Marrakech - lends itself to a certain and stunning theatricality.

Many, many thanks to darling friend and blogger Elizabeth for doing this review for me. How I wished I could have been at the opening (Sweet daughter Skylar had a fever and I didn't want to leave her side.).  But Lori and I have made a date for tea at the Museum and a stroll through the exhibit.  I can't wait!

Musée de Marrakech:
Place Ben Youssef - Marrakech-Médina
Tél.: 212 24 44 18 93

Open daily from 9:30 to 6

P.S.  This is my 200th post!  And I have had 4, 997 comments (and treasured every one).  Eeek!  It's hard to remember what my life was like before blogging.  Do you bloggers feel the same way?

Marrakesh: and an entirely true fairy tale garden

Once upon a time, a girl of peculiar origins stumbled upon a secret garden.  Well, it wasn't really secret, but let's not spoil the story. 

It was called the Majorelle Garden and it could be found in the oasis city of Marrakesh.  (Ah....oases.  Visions and hallucinations are so charming....)

The Garden had been created by the French painter Jacques Majorelle and later purchased by Yves Saint Laurent.  Oh-la-la. 

Jacques Majorelle had a certain fondness for a particular cobalt blue that came to be known as Majorelle blue.  Many people (okay, maybe just the girl in question) thought that this color had healing properties, since it was sure to cure depression just upon gazing at it. 

And as an added insurance policy against grumpiness, there were splashes of sun -- umm, I mean yellow -- here and there in the Garden.

There were 350 varieties of plants in the Majorelle Garden. (The girl thought about counting them all but was known to get her numbers confused after 237.)  The plants came from five different continents -- it was a well traveled garden, you see.

The cactus were particularly impressive.  It was a fact that if you stared at them long enough, they looked just like little alien beings.

There were fountains, reflecting pools, and mermaids. (Well, the mermaids might just be a rumor but let's not quibble about the details.)

And everything looked just like a painting.

On the garden property there was an enchanted house, which was formerly the Majorelle art studio. 

Upon inquiring about the price of the house, the girl was told that it was for sale for$14.03, exactly.  She emptied her piggy bank and moved right in with her family. And they lived happily ever after.  (Disclosure:  This girl was known to fib quite a bit but I am quite sure that this part of the story is true.)

The End

Majorelle Garden Address: Avenue Yacoub el Mansour (main entrance on side street) Marrakech

Ticket price: 30 Moroccan dirhams Tel: 212- (0)24 301852

Hours: Daily, 8-5 in the Winter and 8-7 in the Summer. Closed mid-day for lunch.