Listen Up! by Mark Howard

Author:Mark Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: ECW Press
Published: 2019-05-14T04:00:00+00:00

After a couple of days, we had seen and bought everything we could, so we took a trip out to the desert on camels to camp overnight. It was like something out of Lawrence of Arabia; we stayed in a huge tent full of rugs and sheepskins. The staff cooked our meal in a tagine pot outside — a fire-tender lamb that melted in your mouth, with carrots and potatoes drenched in tangine spice, which we ate while lying outside on big exotic pillows. We were served wine in metal goblets by veiled women.

Once we finished, a small group of musicians played clay drums, darbuka, and djembe, and other stringed instruments made from goat gut. There were also metal castanets and violins that they played from their waists. It was an incredible sound. After the band played for a while, belly dancers came out, wearing bells on their ankles and veils over their faces, and it was incredible to watch how fast their hips moved.

We watched them while we smoked hookahs, huge pipes with multiple hoses, and the hash was flavored with exotic, sweet fruit. Then we were served hot Moroccan tea with mint leaves and cubes of sugar in a glass. It was an overload for the senses. We slept in a bed covered in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets and woke to the smell of breakfast — eggs baked over the fire in metal jaffle holders, served with sausage, carrots, handmade breads, and the traditional mint tea.

With five days left in Morocco, we decided to fly to the city of Fez. It was beautiful where we were staying in Marrakech, but it was modern. I was in Morocco because I love mosaics and wanted to stay somewhere with a true Moroccan feel. We were told if we wanted that, we would have to go to Fez and stay at Palais Jamaï hotel. So we flew to Fez on Royal Air Maroc. Once we got out of the airport, we caught a cab and found ourselves on a guided tour we didn’t ask for. The taxi driver took us to a pottery warehouse out in the country. We took a tour and then told him we had to go.

By the time we got to the hotel, it was getting dark and we had wasted most of our day. We checked in and went up to the room, which was disappointing, as it was nothing but English Colonial furniture and no mosaics. I began to think it had been a mistake to go to Fez. I didn’t even put down my bag but went back to the front desk. I told them I wanted a room with mosaics and a Moroccan vibe. They told me they didn’t have any rooms like that, so I showed them something I’d ripped out of the Royal Air Moroc magazine, a picture of their hotel with a room that was all mosaic.

They told me that was the Presidential Suite, so I asked to see it.

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