Saying Good-bye to Morocco
Our last full day here. Ikuko has arranged that we do not have to work at the
Fondation so we are entirely free to wander, to shop, to have a last breakfast
in the wall of the medina with wonderful yogurt in a little clay pot.
Hilda and Jennifer and I sit and watch the world go by on
the dusty street the new shiny Rabat subway, with its elaborate geometric
graphics, is not twenty feet away on the tracks. Livingston, Ikuko and Richard have taken the subway
over to Sale for the day.
We head over to the embassies and the Villa des Artes, where
the archeology museum is hidden.
What a gem of a place.
Small and unassuming with display cases a little dusty and the labeling
very casual, the pieces they house are astounding. Marble statues from Volubilis; an entire mosaic
recreated from Volubilis in the main entrance; a pair of
bronze acrobats; an elaborate scoop for wine which was used during
bacchanals.
Hilda and Jen go upstairs to see ancient examples of Fassi
pottery. A woman leads me to
the back where there are statues of Venus and the marble head of a beautiful
young Roman boy. In the last
hall the light is subdued.
The display cases are even a little dusty, but hold incredible examples
of gold jewelry: a circlet snake bracelet; a swastika symbol in lead – Pre-Nazi
symbolism it has a very different meaning. In Sanskrit “su” and “asti” translated to swastika
means literally “to be good” and generally indicates the right turning swastika
which the Nazi’s co-opted as a symbol of the power of the Aryan race. In Buddhist belief the left
turning swastika is a symbol of eternity (Wikipedia).
Sketches of relics in museum including
lead swastika
I think my favorite item is the bronze dog, life size or a
bit smaller. It seems poised
to attack or to play with a snarling jaw and ears pointed up just as you might
encounter it in the street of Volubilis.
Roman bronze dog believed to be associated with
Diana the goddess of hunt
I sketch this and some of the jewelry when the tour
guide comes in with a group.
They admire my sketches and he points to my $10 shell button necklace
from Chinatown in NYC and says, “That looks very old.” Which it is since I purchased
it probably $15 years ago, bur “old” is a relative term when surrounded by such
relics.
On the other side is an open-air courtyard with plants in
the middle and neolithic stone carving all around the sides. These were also found in the
Volubilis area. I am
transfixed, as I am enamored of primitive symbols of the human figure.
They remind somewhat of the
figures created by Boushra Benrazzi’s patients in the psychiatric ward in
Casablanca; flattened figures demonstrating a one-dimensional image of
self. There is a
curious stone carving of several interlocking spirals, similar to ones found in
ancient Celtic culture.
Neolithic stone board game
detail from apartment building decoration
Spirals and stars in the Rabat Ville train station
Spirals in the Oudaia stone walkways
Spirals are everywhere in the designs of buildings and in graphics in
Morocco in general. I wonder
about the spiritual connection to this image. Spirals are an important symbol in energy healing and
can been seen often times in the work of clients who are either descending or
ascending from a depression.
I stop to draw this image because photography is not allowed
as in most museums.
Horses or camels?
One of the museum guards sees me and says, “You have a
camera? Just go ahead, but
do it quick!” He gives me a
wink and a nod and tells me to go upstairs and photograph the Fassi pottery
quick before anyone else sees.
This small favor comes at a price of 100 dh or about $12 because he
convinces me to buy a dusty old museum catalogues in French, but which contains
numerous black and white photos and perhaps some explanation for what we are
seeing. I am happy to have
it and to make a small contribution to this wonderful little museum which has
artifacts to rival anything at the MET in New
York.
Assyrian or Babylonian?
Roman text
Astrological instruments
Fez pottery
An oil lamp with a Menorah - or a genie lamp?
From the archeology museum we stop in again at the Villa des
Arts to see the galleries and view the collaborative show between a Moroccan
and a Belgian artist.
Villa de Artes
Work of Moroccan school children
Fireplace in gallery
Detail of ceiling in gallery
Swastika/spiral fountain design
The
next stop is Chellah, which is a bit of a walk and for the first time since our
journey began we don’t have blue skies and crisp air. The sky is overcast and greenish. The air is muggy and smoggish
portending the hot spring and summer ahead. We pass the palace with its great walls and
avenue lined with orange trees.
The blossoms are fragrant. Government ministries with their whitewashed
walls mark the other side.
On the way to Chellah
near the palace and ministries
Military
guards mark the route in their green fatigues bearing the red Moroccan
star. They also bear machine
guns and remain serious – not to be engaged in conversation. We pass through the port and
across the highway to the entrance for Chellah, where we see Becky and Raquel. We are all hot and
sweaty. They are off in search of
shade. Jennifer has never been
to Chellah, so Hilda and I show her the way and she wanders while we settle in
to finish paintings begun yesterday.
Hilda painting
As we work the air fills with the clacking sound of storks
and then call of the muezzin rises for the noon-time prayer.
It is a transformative moment in
an ancient mystical place.
Many groups of tourists come through: German, Italian, French -then a
group of school children from Rabat.
They swarm us to look at our paintings. They are very curious because we are Americans. I can only get them to back off
by saying I will take their picture. After that a troupe of American college students comes
through with two guides, and it is jarring to be all of a sudden be immersed in
the jabber of American English.
I ask a girl where she is from – Bedford, NY – right near home. She’s here with Hofstra
University on Long Island.
Their semester in Barcelona has taken a week trip over to Morocco. Their guides are so loud,
shouting across the ruins to the group. We have become so used to the gentle blend of French
and Moroccan Arabic.
A group of tall Arab men approach and admire our
paintings. I try speaking to them
in French, but they say, “Oh no we are from Saudi.”
An ancient tic-tac-to board?
Another group approaches. They ask where we are from and
vice versa. They are young
in blue jeans, sunglasses, dark curly hair. “We are from Tunisia.”
“How
is Tunisia these days?” I ask.
“Okay…Land
of Revolution!” they say and I say, “Yes we in America are very inspired by
your country. We now
have Occupy Wall Street, but we are very proud of your country.”
They
say, Thank you, thank you,” and leave, but soon return and ask that I repeat
myself for one of their i-Phone video recorders. So I do:
“Congratulations, you are an inspiration to the rest of the world.” Then I wonder how soon it
will be up on Youtube or Facebook.
The palace gate
We walk out of Chellah, past the palace. When we peak in the gate it looks like
more ministry buildings so we don’t bother to go in.
Lunch is behind the Gare Rabat Ville at a place where Hilda
can try the rotisserie chicken.
Our table is outside surrounded by street cats. We throw them bits of our leftovers. They are dusty and grey with cuts and
knots in their fur. We
contemplate the dramatic difference between here and the American treatment of
animals like cats and dogs where we have the luxury to afford pets. I have only seen one leashed dog
in our time here and think of the dog in the shade at the entrance to Chellah
who seemed so hungry and alone.
Jennifer is partial to cats and actually runs pet bereavement groups in
her private practice in Manhattan.
The small toddler son of the café owner wanders about on the
dirty sidewalk near the cats.
He picks up objects and puts them in his mouth. He wanders out into the street
and the owner and his wife shout him back firmly, but gently in Arabic. There seems to be great affection
for children here and men are very affectionate with each other often embracing
and kissing cheeks, or walking arm and arm down the street. Women too. We note that in NY this
child would be strapped into a Combi or McClaren stroller, which reminds me of
the documentary “Babies” showing how differently babies are raised and treated
in different cultures across the globe.
Our long walk and lunch have left us dusty and tired. We head back to the Splendide to
rest and freshen up.
But I have my little baboush to pick up in the medina so we return in
the afternoon swearing not to buy anything else or we won’t be able to get on
the plane! Of course we have
all been to the bank one more time to ensure that we have the $300 or so needed
to pay the week’s hotel fare and the cab to the airport in the morning. But I have in mind perhaps one
more scarf in a beautiful saffron yellow. Jennifer is in search of almond cookies to take
home and Hilda shows us the shop that sells really good quality Fez pottery
where the prices are a quarter the price they were asking in Fez. So a few more purchases. Across the street is the good leather
shop where Hilda had purchased her suede bag. There is a soft red goat skin wallet with my name on
it – just gorgeous.
Impulse buy - red goatskin wallet
300 dh –
just what I need for dinner and the taxi tomorrow morning. I resist and he says, “Credit
card.” I say, “No,” but in
the end impulse buy which I now do not regret and one last trip to the bank for
enough to get me home.
(Eventually I have exactly $1 and ½ dh when I board the plane in Casa.) We end up at Said Jazzuli, the weaver's shop again and he offers us tea after we each make a final purchase from him.
Tea with Said Jazzuli in the weaver's shop
One more scarf for the road?
We end our afternoon at the tea shop in the Oudaia by the
water and speak about what awaits us in New York. We make a plan to visit the new Islamic wing at the MET and
have lunch at a Moroccan restaurant.
Watercolor of Sale from the Oudaia
