Our tour continues with a trip to the tannery. Idris walks us into a leather shop and the proprietor takes over and escorts us up a series of winding stairs lined with mosaic, just like in the Dar Seffarine. Everything seems to be built upward in the medina. The real estate seems to go skyward as in Dr. Seuss books. He must have visited Fez. I am thinking of the birthday book and the elaborate cities he created. Maybe they are his invention, but now that I have seen this complexity of living, I think he may have traveled here and been inspired - something to look up.
Up the series of stairs we are lead out onto roof terrace where you can see the vast skyline of the medina and the numerous minarets create that their vertical statement.
Our host hands us each a sprig of mint and says, "Hold this to your nose. You will need it." Now we understand Idris' joke before we went up: "Chanel #6." The air reeks of dead animal. We look below and see numerous limestone wells like a bee hive and barefoot men walking between them on the narrow ridge separating.
Some are actually in the pits. Others are active doing something with the animal hides. They look like bees busy at the hive from our height. The pits closest to us are filled with a light aque blue liquid and this is the acid or alkali mixed with pigeon poop and cow urine, which causes the hair to separate from the skins which must sit in there 25 days.
Then further back there are deep colors: red, blues, browns. The dying pits. The shop owners describes how the hides must soak up to 25 days as well to dye, but the men must pull them out each day and put them back in. They also have to work the hides and stir up the dye to get an even bath. Because of the hard work and the chemicals many develop health issues including rheumatism. The pits represent a cooperative which has been in existence as part of a guild for centuries. The animals slaughtered for this purpose are sheep, goat, cow and sometimes camel.
From here we are invited down to inspect the wares and perhaps make a purchase. The buying bug is starting to hit my companions and they ask to see leather cushions. I head downstairs on a mission to buy my brother his good Moroccan leather wallet. None of them get anything though after examining lots of things, but I buy my wallet and a fine brown leather jacket for maybe not a steal, but a great price knowing once again that I am not necessarily ever going to be back here.
Next stop is the rug shop and this is an entirely different story. The reticence I saw in the leather shop erodes as we sit down on benches and cushions surrounded by the most amazing colors and patterns.
Idris settles in after introducing us, to watch as he has done in the leather shop. We know he gets a commission, but he is very non-pushy and gives us good advice, we think, about whether we are getting a good price. The rug merchants, who are several brothers, not so. They push and are very good at their job. They start slow. First we are taken into a side room to watch a man weaving at a loom. They describe this as Fassi men's weaving, which is mostly brown colors of wool blankets made by the men of Fez.
They bring us tea. They pull out the muted drab blankets woven by the men. These are very pretty and subtle, but we are not biting yet. They suggest we feel the material: how soft. The lay these on the ground in front of us where we are seated.
Then come the simple Berber carpets from the High Atlas that are one color with a few simple designs on them.
They explain how the Berber women used to make rugs that were covered with animals and flower forms, because they were not Muslim. Then eventually Islam became more of an influence and once converted the women no longer could make these images. They also stopped wearing the distinctive blue facial tattoos that you might still find on the faces of older Berber women. I have seen some of these women in the medina in Rabat. Now the younger women make tatooes with henna, which are non-permanent.
Next they pull out rugs from the High Atlas and these are gorgeous geometric patterns, but in muted grey, reds, blues. Made mostly in wool. These are the ones I like.
The Berber women who weave these carpets by hand, create little imperfections like the two red dots above in an overall blue pattern. This is to represent humility in the face of God - only Allah is perfect. This may also serve as protection against the "evil eye" similar to the adornments on the doors in the Oudaia in Rabat. I am reminded of Dr. Mernini's lecture earlier in the week at The Villa des Artes, when he spoke of their program to sponser Berber girls to make spontaneous images in their rug weaving thus giving them a true artistic voice, Normally girls work toward making images and designs which the public like and are available for purchase.
Then come the ones from the Mid-Atlas. They are similar in design, but the colors are more vibrant reds and blues, with the deep orange yellow added in. "What are the colors from?" Saffron, poppies, artichoke, mint. All natural dyes. They invite us to feel the rugs, the quality, see the weave done by hand in villages by the Berber women.
With each rug we ooh and ahh. They describe how some of the rugs are reversible with a smooth summer pattern on one side and a thicker pile on the other side for winter. "How do you clean them?" "Oh well just turn them over every season and let the dirt fall out."
They are masters at building us up. Selling their product. We drink more tea. Then come the rugs from the Rif Mountains, which are wild in color and design. Pastels and crazy quilt patterns.
With some twenty rugs laying at our feet our heads are reeling, but everyone except Hilda who is demonstrating great restraint, seems determined to get something. The rugs dealer goes though them and lifts them up sorting them into a "maybe" pile and a "no" pile. We are invited to lay our choices out and look at them.
I look at one from the High Atlas with grey green and red and then another, I think mid-Atlas, which is subtle browns, but made of sabra the agave silk. They tell me it is an old rug no doubt in an attempt to bring up the value. No matter. We all buy something and have a lot of fun bargaining. There are no real steals, but some very decent deals for beautiful work and we can only hope that the women artisans in the villages will at least see some of it. Our purchases are carefully rolled, wrapped and labeled and will be delivered back to the Dar Seffarine for us. Again I am reminded of the Birthday Book where anything the birthday boy wishes is whisked off and delivered to his room.
The rug shop is so happy with us that they arrange for us to have luncheon on the roof. Again we ascend the long winding tile lined staircases a la Dr. Seuss and on the way Raquel and I stop into another showroom floor filled with more rugs. The temptations are endless. How can one choose just one?
We are served a simple meal by a man in a djelleba and a blue turban It is Besara: chick pea soup with a paper full of spice: paprika, cumin, hot pepper to sprinkle in and some of that fresh Moroccan bread from the community ovens and eau gazeuse, of course. Delicious.
We are all very excited by our buying spree and this experience high above medina only heightens it, but our bellies are filled and life does not get much better. We are loath to leave this spot. This moment. But eventually make our way down the winding tiled staircase and say our good-byes.
"A la prochaine," I tell the rug merchants and as always they respond, "Insh'allah" by God's good grace.
The next stop is the weavers', where we observe the loom and the creation of silk scarf from sabra. The colors in the scarf shop are again a feast for the eyes; stripes of color in every hue and color combination. The sabra has a particular sheen, which makes the scarves seem like jewels.
We ask about the colors and as in the rug shop the same natural dyes: saffron, poppy, indigo, artichoke, mint. A few more purchases are made; a bit more bargaining. I'm glad to have practiced in Rabat as the prices seem 3 to 4 times higher in this tourist mecca. Hilda finally succumbs and buys a shiny black, gold and red scarf. I buy one in the colors of sunset as the salesman describes.
The Moroccan national anthem is "Maghribuna watamena" - "Our Morocco, Our Homeland." Maghrib is the Arabic name for Morocco. It means the land of the setting sun from "gharb" - the west. (Mernisi, 1994)
Becky and Raquel go upstairs to try on djellaba, but the pressure to buy becomes a little to intense from the salesmen.
When Idris suggests that we might like to go to the pottery factory outside of the medina, everyone's nerves seem a little frazzled. Our feet are tired. We are over saturated with sights, smells, sounds. Our purchases are all delivered to the Dar Seffarine, waiting for us, so Idris delivers us to our door as well through the winding streets and hectic sights of the medina.
A final photo and good-byes in the courtyard of Dar Seffarine and we are left to rest, shower and check our e-mails until dinner at 8:00.
I take my shower in the red-tiled bathroom with the jar of argon oil and listen to the enchanting sound of prayer fill the air once again as well is the mingled sounds of French and Arabic so close below the window. Raquel, Becky, Jennifer and I watch the sunset from the roof terrace with its large couches with white cushions, and then engage in a lively discussion about world religions.
Dinner is held in the terrace dining room, expertly cooked by Mohammed. Zohar the night manager greets us at the stairs. There is couscous with lamb and vegetables including pumpkin. Plans are discussed for the morning when we are to travel to Meknes by way of Volubilis in a van with another guide. Till then...
Animation sketch for Horton Hears a Who
from Dr. Seuss
Up the series of stairs we are lead out onto roof terrace where you can see the vast skyline of the medina and the numerous minarets create that their vertical statement.
Our host hands us each a sprig of mint and says, "Hold this to your nose. You will need it." Now we understand Idris' joke before we went up: "Chanel #6." The air reeks of dead animal. We look below and see numerous limestone wells like a bee hive and barefoot men walking between them on the narrow ridge separating.
Some are actually in the pits. Others are active doing something with the animal hides. They look like bees busy at the hive from our height. The pits closest to us are filled with a light aque blue liquid and this is the acid or alkali mixed with pigeon poop and cow urine, which causes the hair to separate from the skins which must sit in there 25 days.
Then further back there are deep colors: red, blues, browns. The dying pits. The shop owners describes how the hides must soak up to 25 days as well to dye, but the men must pull them out each day and put them back in. They also have to work the hides and stir up the dye to get an even bath. Because of the hard work and the chemicals many develop health issues including rheumatism. The pits represent a cooperative which has been in existence as part of a guild for centuries. The animals slaughtered for this purpose are sheep, goat, cow and sometimes camel.
From here we are invited down to inspect the wares and perhaps make a purchase. The buying bug is starting to hit my companions and they ask to see leather cushions. I head downstairs on a mission to buy my brother his good Moroccan leather wallet. None of them get anything though after examining lots of things, but I buy my wallet and a fine brown leather jacket for maybe not a steal, but a great price knowing once again that I am not necessarily ever going to be back here.
Next stop is the rug shop and this is an entirely different story. The reticence I saw in the leather shop erodes as we sit down on benches and cushions surrounded by the most amazing colors and patterns.
Idris settles in after introducing us, to watch as he has done in the leather shop. We know he gets a commission, but he is very non-pushy and gives us good advice, we think, about whether we are getting a good price. The rug merchants, who are several brothers, not so. They push and are very good at their job. They start slow. First we are taken into a side room to watch a man weaving at a loom. They describe this as Fassi men's weaving, which is mostly brown colors of wool blankets made by the men of Fez.
They bring us tea. They pull out the muted drab blankets woven by the men. These are very pretty and subtle, but we are not biting yet. They suggest we feel the material: how soft. The lay these on the ground in front of us where we are seated.
Then come the simple Berber carpets from the High Atlas that are one color with a few simple designs on them.
They explain how the Berber women used to make rugs that were covered with animals and flower forms, because they were not Muslim. Then eventually Islam became more of an influence and once converted the women no longer could make these images. They also stopped wearing the distinctive blue facial tattoos that you might still find on the faces of older Berber women. I have seen some of these women in the medina in Rabat. Now the younger women make tatooes with henna, which are non-permanent.
Next they pull out rugs from the High Atlas and these are gorgeous geometric patterns, but in muted grey, reds, blues. Made mostly in wool. These are the ones I like.
Detail of design representing the Evil Eye
The Berber women who weave these carpets by hand, create little imperfections like the two red dots above in an overall blue pattern. This is to represent humility in the face of God - only Allah is perfect. This may also serve as protection against the "evil eye" similar to the adornments on the doors in the Oudaia in Rabat. I am reminded of Dr. Mernini's lecture earlier in the week at The Villa des Artes, when he spoke of their program to sponser Berber girls to make spontaneous images in their rug weaving thus giving them a true artistic voice, Normally girls work toward making images and designs which the public like and are available for purchase.
Then come the ones from the Mid-Atlas. They are similar in design, but the colors are more vibrant reds and blues, with the deep orange yellow added in. "What are the colors from?" Saffron, poppies, artichoke, mint. All natural dyes. They invite us to feel the rugs, the quality, see the weave done by hand in villages by the Berber women.
Detail of Berber design
With each rug we ooh and ahh. They describe how some of the rugs are reversible with a smooth summer pattern on one side and a thicker pile on the other side for winter. "How do you clean them?" "Oh well just turn them over every season and let the dirt fall out."
They are masters at building us up. Selling their product. We drink more tea. Then come the rugs from the Rif Mountains, which are wild in color and design. Pastels and crazy quilt patterns.
With some twenty rugs laying at our feet our heads are reeling, but everyone except Hilda who is demonstrating great restraint, seems determined to get something. The rugs dealer goes though them and lifts them up sorting them into a "maybe" pile and a "no" pile. We are invited to lay our choices out and look at them.
I look at one from the High Atlas with grey green and red and then another, I think mid-Atlas, which is subtle browns, but made of sabra the agave silk. They tell me it is an old rug no doubt in an attempt to bring up the value. No matter. We all buy something and have a lot of fun bargaining. There are no real steals, but some very decent deals for beautiful work and we can only hope that the women artisans in the villages will at least see some of it. Our purchases are carefully rolled, wrapped and labeled and will be delivered back to the Dar Seffarine for us. Again I am reminded of the Birthday Book where anything the birthday boy wishes is whisked off and delivered to his room.
The rug shop is so happy with us that they arrange for us to have luncheon on the roof. Again we ascend the long winding tile lined staircases a la Dr. Seuss and on the way Raquel and I stop into another showroom floor filled with more rugs. The temptations are endless. How can one choose just one?
More rugs upstairs!
We are served a simple meal by a man in a djelleba and a blue turban It is Besara: chick pea soup with a paper full of spice: paprika, cumin, hot pepper to sprinkle in and some of that fresh Moroccan bread from the community ovens and eau gazeuse, of course. Delicious.
Besara - chick pea soup
Our server and Idris chatting while we check e-mails
We are all very excited by our buying spree and this experience high above medina only heightens it, but our bellies are filled and life does not get much better. We are loath to leave this spot. This moment. But eventually make our way down the winding tiled staircase and say our good-byes.
"A la prochaine," I tell the rug merchants and as always they respond, "Insh'allah" by God's good grace.
The next stop is the weavers', where we observe the loom and the creation of silk scarf from sabra. The colors in the scarf shop are again a feast for the eyes; stripes of color in every hue and color combination. The sabra has a particular sheen, which makes the scarves seem like jewels.
We ask about the colors and as in the rug shop the same natural dyes: saffron, poppy, indigo, artichoke, mint. A few more purchases are made; a bit more bargaining. I'm glad to have practiced in Rabat as the prices seem 3 to 4 times higher in this tourist mecca. Hilda finally succumbs and buys a shiny black, gold and red scarf. I buy one in the colors of sunset as the salesman describes.
The colors of sunset
Becky and Raquel go upstairs to try on djellaba, but the pressure to buy becomes a little to intense from the salesmen.
"When am I ever going to wear this?" Raquel asks.
Raquel does not succumb, but Becky does and buys a beautiful deep blue djelleba in silk.
A final photo and good-byes in the courtyard of Dar Seffarine and we are left to rest, shower and check our e-mails until dinner at 8:00.
Hilda, Jennifer, Idris, Raquel, Rebecca, and Mohammed
Discussing world religions while listening to the calls of the muezzin broadcast
from the minarets around the medina.
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