By Beth Arnold
An ongoing series about uprooting our lives in America and moving to France. For what's happened before, see previous Jours of Our Lives entries here.
AS AZIZ DROVE us out into the Moroccan countryside, we saw many sheep with their herders; newborn lambs; donkeys carrying riders or gigantic water bottles, packages, God knows what. We stopped for cows to cross the road. Sometimes their front legs were tied together so they wouldn’t wander too far away. I felt sorry for the hobbled animals. There were no fences anywhere.
The land was covered in verdant green grass that looked woven like the carpets, with neon orange flowers as their embellishment. Omar said that in two weeks time red poppies and blooms of blue and white would add to the vibrant landscape. Vineyards spread over plains, and men and women hoed the vines with their own steam. The plethora of satellite dishes that topped every house and building—no matter how primitive—seemed out of place.
Moulay Ismail was supposed to have rocked the country with his cruelty. Clearly a man of great appetites, he had hundreds of wives and fathered a reported 800 children, the descendants of which now guard his tomb. He may have provided for the originals, but there must be too many to count in these later generations. We’ve heard that another man of celebrated appetites, Mick Jagger, has a house in Meknes. I prefer his brand of rock.
As we left the city, we saw a man tilling a hillside with a mule pulling an old-fashioned plow, a sign of the kind of agrarian economy that no longer exists in our own country. The rolling hills were covered in groves of olive trees. In some groves, great sheets were spread on the ground beneath the trees while men hit the branches with sticks to shake off their crop, and then bagged them up. As this work went on, women and children relaxed on pallets underneath the olive’s shade. Two men sat and poured tea while their little lambs slept.
The countryside spread out before us like patchwork—rich dirt, lush fields, silvery olive trees. Omar says that if you cut an olive branch and give it plenty of water, it will grow. It is called the “tree of light,” because the oil was burned in lamps. The Moroccan olives are rich and ripe, some of the best we’ve had anywhere. Somehow I didn’t expect this fertile terrain here.
The temperature was hot (imagine the summer) when we arrived in Volubilis, yet another colony of the Roman Empire. I will say again, those Romans! Of course I studied them in history class, like everyone else—but that was for school, when I was more interested in getting a good grade than truly understanding what their record meant. But as I’ve traveled more and more, and I’ve seen their settlements throughout the world, I’ve gotten a sense of the vast Roman Empire which almost seems unbelievable in its scope and ambition—much less the administrative difficulty of keeping these strung-out colonies in line. No wonder there was constant war.
Volubilis is a stunning city built in the 2nd and 3rd centuries. The outlines of the houses and shops remain, along with the triumphal arch, baths, basilica, brothel, and capital—monuments of a bygone culture. But the mosaics are the thing—exquisite, detailed images and ancient design that’s timeless in its beauty. Venus, Hercules, and Orpheus all had an address here. Those Romans knew how to live and to make things lovely, how to pick a position that held nature in its finest view—as do the current residents, who happen to be storks. No doubt these statuesque birds have good taste, since they’ve made their own massive nests on ancient columns and can command the scene around them.
It was another good but long day, and in the evening Jim and I decided to treat ourselves by ordering room service in the Palais Jamais for dinner. We needed our rest. Tomorrow we would head to major Matisse territory.
*
ALL ALONG THE road to Tangier, I noticed women picking some green leafy plant. Omar said it was called bakoua, and it makes a good salad. They carried it in bundles on their backs, like their babies. We were deep in the countryside, and I think for the first time I saw women riding donkeys. None were dressed in Western clothes. They all wore a piece of cloth—usually red and white striped—but sometimes stripes of yellow, green, and blue over some kind of pants. Matisse painted people in outfits like these.
We stopped in the Rif Mountains, at a village called Chaouen, for a lunch of salad and brochettes. Chaouen is a laid-back town, and Jim and I both liked it. We wandered around the medina with no crowds or dark streets. Sunshine poured into them. I wanted to find some of these Rif skirts and did, through a young Moroccan man who spoke great English and is engaged to an American woman from Chicago. His brother is already married to an American in the diplomatic corps, and they’ll soon be going to the States to get ready for a transfer. These guys were cool, and Chaouen was a nice contrast to the big cities with their frenetic pace. It was quiet and easily manageable, the Rif Mountains majestic. Not a typical tourist destination with required agenda, which made it a relief.
But Tangier was where Matisse found his greatest inspiration, and so we left the peaceful countryside for the teeming port city—home of smugglers and pirates, robbers and spies, adventurers and artists, and even a few diplomats.
Omar would leave us here—he had to return to Fes for a wedding. And we insisted, against Aziz’s protestations, that he too leave us alone here for the next few days. It had been fun having guides, but now we wanted to explore the mystery of Matisse’s Tangier at our own pace, day and night, on our own.
Beth Arnold
April 14, 2004
Morocco
*
Unless otherwise indicated, photos by Beth Arnold. Not subject to use without permission.
Beth Arnold lives and writes in Paris, where she produces her "Letter From Paris" new media project.
Jours of Our Lives illlustration by artist (and couturier) Elizabeth Cannon. To find out more about her, click here.
You can find the Chasing Matisse book by James Morgan here at Amazon--or you can find it in or order it from your favorite book store.
If you'd like to start at the beginning of Jour of Our Lives, click here.
