Walking the Kingdom

Bab Boujloud,
originally uploaded by Raven Weaver.

Yesterday (Saturday) an official guide came to the house to take me on a walk through the city. While reading the inflight magazine on the last leg of my trip here, I realized that I was going to a kingdom. I've visited countries before that have monarchies but are ruled by governments. This was my first time visiting a kingdom with a ruling King. My first small walk in this kingdom was following Si Mohammed Wednesday evening from the cab to the riad along a narrow passageway with many twists and turns. The next day he returned to the riad and showed me the way to the souk where I might purchase fruits and vegetables, round,flat, fresh loaves of bread, spices, herbs, eggs or a camel's head should the need arise. I am fairly certain that it will not. Fingers crossed. We bought plump dates, grapes, bananas and lastly, mango juice from a glass-fronted fridge that he said was famous in the souk and was to be my touchstone for making it home successfully. He then made me guide him back to the riad. I did. Sigh of relief. The next day was Friday and being a holy day, most shops in the souk would be closed and thus it would be quieter. What better day to attempt to make it there and back alone? Since you are reading this, you know that I was successful. However, a far different level of confidence exists when there is a person following you who can correct any mistake you might make in direction versus when you are all alone in the narrowest most convoluted passageways. I did have a moment of irony when I had gotten back to the front door and spent a number of minutes trying to coordinate the multitude of locks which each unlock in a different direction with a varying amount of turns of their respective keys. It would have been laughable at a later date to have made it safely to and from the souk only to have to spend the night outside. (A much, much later date). Saturday dawned with a blue sky. A pounding on the door announced Rachida who does not speak English nor French and had come to clean. She addressed me as Madame. It took a moment to figure out that I was the one she was talking to. Being the only other person in the entire house. Fifteen minutes later and a second pounding at the door announced Sanae who was the cook of the amazing meal awaiting me on the stove on my first night here. After the somewhat adventuresome travel day attempting to get from Paris to here, her dinner and dessert were most welcome. Sanae kissed me repeatedly on the cheek and then began bustling about the kitchen while asking what I would like for dinner and what I might need her to pick up from the market. We agreed upon turkey tangine with prunes as I couldn't very well ask for the wonderful Kefta again (maybe next week). Si Mohammed arrived next with Khalid the guide which saved me from answering any further questions from Sanae. I had already disclosed my age (gasps from everyone who knows me), that I was unmarried, what I did for a living, and perhaps my S.I.N. but I'm not sure:-) Khalid and I set off, luckily, because I was beginning to feel a tinge of embarrassment that four people were apparently needed to keep my life rolling along smoothly while here. (am now concerned that I may be useless upon returning to Canada...) It was also exciting because this was my first time leaving the riad through the upper door. This door leads to quieter, wider, more peaceful streets. At the invitation of two men placed as security at a large, imposing door, Khalid and I entered. I will not attempt to do justice to the riad inside except to say that every surface of this palace was tiled, the garden was vast and the view of the medina sweeping. Each room left me thinking that I couldn't be impressed any further. The following room proved me wrong. Four families live here. A wealthy Moroccan man has purchased this crumbling treasure and when the renovations are finished in a few years, the families will move. It was a great gift to have seen inside those walls that were barely hinted at by the size of the front door. Our walk continued upwards, ever upwards and while I was enjoying the calm of these barely peopled streets, Khalid informed me that I must never walk from my upper door along this route alone. He thereby completely nixed my intentions of going to Cafe Clock by this route numerous times a week. While I was crestfallen, he explained that the lack of pedestrians meant that thieves were more prevalent. I will now happily stick to the throngs of people in the souk. We at last emerged in the Batha (read wealthier) district and visited the museum. I did not plunder the display cases of textiles. I thought long and hard about what my chances were for a successful escape. Then thought about it some more. We followed the sound of music when we left the museum and entered a building across the street. A young hennaed girl in glittering robes was borne aloft on a litter carried on the shoulders of four men. Her hands moved gracefully to the loud music and a man with an official badge smilingly shoved me to the front to watch. We exited in front of the litter to the outside courtyard where Khalid explained that she and the other young girls similarly attired were orphans. The community held this party for them to let them know that they were included and cared for and a part of the fabric of the community. It seems a most thoughtful act. We continued along in the hot sun past the palace of the King's brother which was on our right. No photos please. Then immediately on our left a vast park. People of the medina normally use it as a communal greenspace to picnic in but as it has been under renovation for two years, no one has access. Where do they picnic now? Many hours later and a few petite taxi rides (and one illegal taxi ride), we had seen the King's palace (no photos of that one particular door please), a panoramic view of the entire valley from the tombs atop a hill covered in drying sheep skins, had a lunch that included my first of many sweet mint teas, visited what used to be the Jewish Quarter with all of the ornate balconies, and AT LAST MADE IT TO BAB BOUJLOUD or the Blue Gate. Khalid walked me to the top of Tala'a Kibeera or the Large Street. He pointed out a stall with giant English crumpets that he said Moroccans eat for breakfast with goat's cheese or honey. I quietly promised myself to return as soon as ever I could find my way back near a breakfast time. After waiting all day long it was gratifying to visit Cafe Clock which is a mecca for expats and has weekly yoga classes that I was anxious to become a regular at. Correction, had weekly yoga classes. Apparently, as I was informed by the proprietor Mike who was most welcoming, the instructor bought her own riad and now teaches private classes. Great, just great. Another riad to try to find my way to. And back from:-) I told Mike that I'd be back the next day for my first coffee since arriving here. (More gasps from highly caffeinated Vancouverites). Downwards and left or was that right and then the Moulay Idriss Mosque. It felt strange and a bit wrong to be allowed to stand in the doorway and photograph the inside of a place revered by so many. Under the beam that prevents horses and donkeys from passing, down the lane, under another beam, past the fondouk or was that past the fondouk and under the beam? How am I ever going to find my way on my own? Who wants to have to rely on a petite taxi from R'Cif souk to Bab Boujloud every time I want to have a coffee or a giant English crumpet? I want to be able to find my own way without it taking 4 hours and a panicked call to Si Mohammed. Dehydrated and with creeping exhaustion, we ducked down a cramped alley to emerge in a high-ceilinged dark room with (happy smile) large looms being worked by men creating shawls blended of cotton, wool and the fibers of the agave plant. This place I will return to. Perhaps daily. Another left and blindingly gilded wedding litters and dais. I exclaimed fatigue at the djellaba shop (partially because I was not so thrilled with the quality) and agreed to save the tanneries for another day. A short-cut (that's it, I'm never going to be able to backtrack) and at last my touchstone, the glass-fronted souk fridge. I became the guide until we reached the lane to my front door. At that point Khalid had to use his mobile for light because the lane was pitch black. Seriously reconsidered ever coming home after the sun had set. He departed after we agreed to continue walking the kingdom on Monday. Lifting the lid of the tangine, I gave an admiring glance at Sanae's cooking but could not face eating one bite. We had walked for eight hours. I slept very well curled up with my hot water bottle and did not wake but barely for the false call to prayer (false call occurring about 25 minutes before the real call). My next walk will be shorter. Inshallah, as they say here.