Saturday Sweet

I love Saturdays. Invariably there are hooligans mucking about on the street into the wee hours of the morning, but by the time I roll over and hug my feather pillow in the sunshine of the morning, they've deserted the streets and the only noises from opposite my windowpane are the pigeons, who coo and cluck in general good-naturedness.

This Saturday was a particular treat. The postman brought my recent purchase from The Exotic Teapot for which I was quite grateful, and the door buzzer was all it took to finally get me up for the day. I sprayed down my entire bathroom with Dettol to beat the encroaching damp and mold, and with the scent of bleach and productivity freshening up the air, I stepped freshly showered into my Saturday!

I'm a lover of tea. I haven't always been, but I'm a devotee of the heart now-- there's simply nothing better than a nice cup of tea precisely when you need it. Morocco brought fresh mint tea into my life, but my current fancy is this: my new glass teapot!

I will shamelessly admit, I like flowers. Yes, I'm a girl/woman/feminist/professional and I LIKE FLOWERS. I like the way they look, they way they catch and play with light, the way they sway in a breeze, the scent in a room, the softness of the petals and the expression on the face of the man immediately before he pushes a bouquet of them into you arms. I like flowers.
This tea combines my love of both TEA and FLOWERS! It's display tea, or blooming tea, and it's fabulous. You see, dear reader, why the acquisition of the glass teapot was necessary?!
Purchase of the actual tea is at the moment entirely through the tinterwebz, but I'm hoping that somewhere around here will start stocking it soon. Here's what it looks like pre-teapot:

A little like a tea tampon, I'll admit.

 They come in about eleventy-billion different varieties, and you can buy a sampler pack off ebay.co.uk direct from China for not very much. This does mean that you get a good variety of different ones to try and no idea what any of them are! It's fine, it's tea, you won't be disappointed. Next, introduce tea-pon to hot water:

It starts to open...

...And opens a little more...

In the meanwhile, I ate my delicious omelette with
onion, grated carrot, mature cheddar and various herbs.

And here we have it! I think this one is Lyrics,
though I could be wrong-- I'm going by the
picture on the ebay description!

See-- Flowers AND tea!

My little Moroccan tea glass, not filled with
mint this time, but rather the mouthful of
petals which is blooming tea.

Still going into the evening.

The nice thing about this type of tea is that you just keep topping up the hot water-- each bloom will give you at least two full pots of tea. I sprang for the teapot warmer stand, pictured above, and powered by a tealight. This I can get behind-- pretty, and keeps my teapot hot!

All in all, quite pleased with myself on this front. I've another teapot to fuel my quest to write up my dissertation and it's pretty to boot! Next instalment of Ikebana and the rest of the Marrakesh posts soon, dears, promise!

Marrakesh, Pt. II: The Souks

The title is a bit deceptive-- I didn't actually take a single picture in the heart of the souks, despite traipsing through them time and again. You see, dear readers, the stall-holders will fleece you for just about anything, including photographing their heaping tables and glittering Aladdin's Caves. To avoid being nickel-and-dime'd to death, I abstained. What follows, however, are a smattering of the shots I did snap.

Minaret of the central Mosque--
you can see it from nearly everywhere in the Medina,
which can be damn useful for navigation

Gardens adjacent to the Mosque

My travel companions, Lulls and Alpha

Oranges and Orange Blossoms--
The air was so heavy with the scent of orange blossom,
you could taste it. I doubt I'll ever use orange blossom water
in the kitchen again without some small part of my mind back-tracking
to the moment I took this picture. Love it.

A view of the mountains from the gardens 

The dyers--
A very helpful man (who did successfully sell us some scarves in the end)
appointed himself as our guide and brought us around and showed us all the
bubbling vats of dyes and hanging skenes of wool and silks.

Most of this is sheep and camel wool for rugs.

Lulls, in the properly tied cactus silk scarf--
yeah, silk made from cactus fibre. Awesome.

Alpha and our friend.
All the jars behind them are minerals and such to make the dye.

Alpha, humouring me.

Another time we found ourselves being guided about without asking for it: the Berber Tanneries.
The pits are full of lime and pigeon poo ("to makes the soft leathers")
and all sorts of foul smelling hides. 

The man who led us through gave us clumps of mint to hold over our noses
to combat the smell, calling it a Berber Gas Mask.

I'd seen these discussed in nature documentaries, but to see them
first-hand was a fabulous experience!

The main tannery for the city of Marrakesh (as opposed to the Berber Tannery)--
This place is massive. According to our guide, 200 men can work the hides here side by side.

2 men working side by side, rinsing the hides.

After being given to tour, we got the old soft sell by the Berber elders who were, to be honest, really good at not pressuring us into buying anything. Well, not pressuring me into buying anything I didn't already want to, that is. Alpha kinda caught it in the teeth-- they changed the colour of a bag she'd expressed moderate interest in, and then she really felt like she needed to haggle for it and it was all a done deal from there. But prior to that, they brought us into a room lined with bags and deflated ottomans and showed us the differences in texture between goat, sheep, camel, cow and calfskin leathers, as well as the different designs and embellishment made by tribes and families of different women. Then, in a side room, they sat us down on a low bench and served traditional mint tea while laying out rug after rug after rug. Geometric designs from the Low Atlas mountains, "picasso" rugs positively saturated in colour and jammed with pattern from the High Atlas, silk rugs with sparse line designs from the Sahara to the south, brought in on camels from the desert. One of the men produced the ubiquitous bic lighter from his pocket and, turns out, the way to tell if a rug is really silk rather than imitation synthetic is to hold an open flame to it. If it does nothing to it, it's real silk. If the shop owner freaks out, it's a fake. Handy tip, eh?

We'd made pretty clear that we couldn't really afford to buy anything (despite the fact that all three of us left with something) and they were up front about acknowledging that. Frankly, I think the tourist population in Morocco has been depleted by all the unrest in Tunisia and Egypt and they were rather keen to simply show us what they had, interact rather than sit idle.

Once you decided to haggle for an item, there was only one man to see-- the eldest gentleman there, and clearly the one in charge. None of this petty discussion of price: he had a wee ledger on which he drew boxes, one for his price, one for yours. You go back and forth until he shakes your hand, and the price is the number in the last box. They're tough, and you've got to hold your ground, but the camel leather weekender bag I bought will last the rest of my natural life and be my carry-on bag for-absolutely-freaking-ever (that's the technical term for such a long unit of time, by the way). It's incredibly light, solid leather, has pockets and I love it. Lulls bought a gorgeous light green silk rug and Alpha now has for perpetuity what's become known as "the stinky goat bag" due to the smell of the oil.

Kitten napping in sunshine--
This little guy was in a doorframe enjoying some sunshine.
What you can't see are the motorbikes and scooters zipping past
inches from his head! The whole medina is full of cats, some waiting for
bites to drop from the butchers' tables, but most lounging about being cats.

View down from our perch on the terrace at Cafe Arabe to the street below.

After hacking our way through what must have been a comparatively deserted run in the souks (I think they must be easier to navigate when they're busy--hear me out on this one-- because despite the increase in people to navigate around, it wouldn't be possible for every shop owner in the history of ever to hail you with their wares) we needed a bit of respite. A trio of sprites on the terrace of Cafe Arabe was just the ticket, and the breeze was fabulous.

Terrace of Cafe Arabe.

View of a bit of wall art visible from the Terraces de Espices.

Giant woven rooftop teapot? Yes, please!

Sunlight through the shade umbrella.

Oranges in the tree and a motorcycle = fabulousness!

Our third venture into a cafe, this one called Bouganviellea, can you guess why?

Not a rooftop terrace, but a delightful courtyard oasis is a nice escape as well.

Still to come: Jardin Majorelle, Musee de Marrakesh, the Main Square, and the FOOD!

Marrakesh, Pt. I: The Riad

Hello, invisible readers all! Sorry it's been a wee while since we've last spoken, but many things have been afoot here at La Casa de Melville. Amidst a flurry of distinct unpleasantness (which I see no reason to get into here), two good friends and I finally put up (rather than shut up) and took a trip we've been talking about, quite literally, for YEARS.

When I first moved to Aberdazzle for my MLitt at the University, I fell in with a lovely and lively group of geologists (not as hard as it sounds in the oil capital of Europe) and during the endless nights of drinking too much and laughing too loudly, a plan was formed. It wasn't much of a plan-- in fact, all the plan consisted of was going to Morocco. Marrakesh, we figured, was a good bet as it wouldn't be as political at Rabat or as religious as Fez. Someday, we promised each other, someday we'd go and drink tea and eat couscous and buy scarves.

Someday just happened to be last Saturday. Alpha picked me up outside my door at a quarter to ten in the morning and we zipped speedily down south to Edinburgh Airport (a nice little place and decidedly more full of useful shops than the Aberdazzle Airport) where we mutually confessed never thinking this trip would actually happen. Especially with all the unrest in North Africa in the past few months, each of us figured one of the other ones would get cold feet and pull out and then the whole plan would flop like a house of cards. Apparently emboldened by each other's waiting and general game-ness, this never came to pass and thus we found ourselves boarding a Ryanair* flight direct from Edinburgh to Marrakesh. Handbags shoved in cabin baggage, we sat and chatted about what we actually wanted to DO once we got there. Turns out, we were essentially as laid back as the next person. See what I meant about the plan? Alpha and I had mentioned on the drive down that, for as long as we've been talking about this trip, we'd not actually done any research or planned anything to do while there. So, splitting two guide books between the three of us (the Lonely Planet Morocco (Country Guide) being one of them) we perused perspective restaurants and cafes and museums and gardens and utterly unpronounceable streets. This passed most pleasantly the majority of the 3.75 hour flight.

Upon landing, we cleared customs and then faced our next two hurdles almost simultaneously: exchanging currency and finding the person sent to meet us from our Riad. Alpha and I had figured on changing money via a cash machine at the airport while Lulls had gotten a few hundred Dirhams at Edinburgh Airport. Therefore, she scouted about for someone holding a sign for Riad Les Trois Palmiers while Alpha and I waited in line for what turned out to be the only functioning ATM in the entirety of the airport. Our flight had arrived early, and thus we waited anxiously in the main hall of the airport for someone, anyone, to hold an appropriate sign. We found a man holding a sign simply saying "JESUS" but he'd been waiting there even long than we had.

Lulls, who had been the one to confirm all the details with the people at the Riad attempted calling and eventually found another Riad guide who informed us that we had the wrong number for ours but that they were on our way. Not a terribly auspicious start, but as soon as we relocated to the foot of a large sign, a gentleman with just what we'd been looking for walked up, smiled, and welcomed us to Marrakesh. He then walked us directly to a microscopic tan taxi with no seatbelts and a driver who only spoke French who drove us with great speed and skill into the Medina: we'd arrived.

There were motorcycles, motorized bicycles and scooters a'go-go, driven speedily by men in business suits, boys in joggers and women strapped with infants alike. The window was rolled down, and the late afternoon sunshine air played havoc with my hair and I felt myself grinning like an idiot. There was a scent of orange blossoms heavy on the breeze and I giggled involuntarily. It was better than I had imagined.

We were rather unceremoniously off-loaded at the mouth of a street we would later learn was Dar al Bacha. We'd also later learn that the reason there was a stand of police there as well was because the Royal Abode was right there on the corner as well. We waited nervously with our bags at out feet for someone to tell us what to do next. Turns out, ours was but one of the parties being collected from the airport that afternoon, and once we were all together we headed off to the Riad.

Down Dar al Bacha past shop windows and stands selling fabulous wares, left at a convenience stall which seemed to have a small selection of everything under the sun, and then into a maze of tiny, bending streets between towering walls of pink clay. Later we'd navigate them on our own, but I'm endlessly thankful to the staff of the Riad that, for the first time getting there, we had a guide. But then we were at a door flanked by two metalwork lanterns and the door opened to us.

Night-time and the moon on the rise from the rooftop terrace of Riad Les Trois Palmiers

We set down our bags and took in this gorgeous new setting in which we'd found ourselves. One of the members of our new-found excellent staff gave us a tour of the premises and afterwards I scampered back down to the room, fetched my camera from out my handbag and beat feet back to the rooftop to drink in the skyline and the night air. The minaret you can see in the photo, dear reader, is that of the old school of the Ali ben Youssef Medersa. Once we'd found the air a bit cool, we headed back inside and down to dinner.

Upstairs hallway overlooking central courtyard.

Door to our bedroom

 There were several different bedrooms around the establishment, mostly with double beds, some even in little private and secluded rooms on the rooftop. Ours, however, was on the ground floor and through these impressive doors. The deadbolt you can see, dear readers, is completely and totally functional.

Three beds for we three tired travellers

 The mattresses were firm, the sheets cool and the pillow cases of excellent thread count. To say I was pleased would be a massive understatement.

Ceiling of the bedroom with this nifty and highly illuminating lamp

Bathroom, complete with Boots bag from the shop in the airport

 The shutters open onto stained glass and metal work, but for privacy and decency we kept them shut. Just out of frame to the right was the enormous open shower which had phenomenal water pressure. Much, much appreciation.

Les Trois Palmiers... makes sense

 The central courtyard had these three substantial palm trees, beneath which we sat and had both dinner and breakfast on a few occasions (though not at the same time). Off this was the kitchen and various sitting rooms with low slung chairs, benches with many, many cushions and the french-speaking television, I think.

Beautiful seating in the atrium

Everything was crisp and clean and cool and intricately carved. I could have sat here for an age, honestly.

Looking up

The view looking up at the internal hallways from the aforepictured seating. Our door is just barely visible beneath the arch.

Plunge pool and mosaic backsplash

The most I did was dip a foot into it, but this little plunge pool is fully functional, and a godsend I would imagine for the summer visitors. Imagine floating about in comfort while the staff furnish you with endless pots of sweet mint tea... le sigh.

Further mornings saw us venture out and do all sorts of shopping in the souks, but here's a selection of further images from within our gorgeous habitation:

In the entryway-- how stunning are the gladiolas?! And umbrellas for guest use? Perfection!

Fountain with basin and mosaic backsplash on an upstairs landing.
No water in it now, but something tells me, come summer...

The tops of Les Trois Palmiers

How fabulous is this stairwell?!? The soft, curving lines of the plaster against
the geometric patterns of the lampwork and rugs was fantastic.

That upstairs hallway again, but in daylight this time.
Isn't the snug at the end the most comfortable place to share a secret in the history of secret-sharing?

Rooftop terrace

A lemon on a lemon tree? Yes, please!

Another fabulous snug where we drank mint tea one afternoon and played gin rummy.
Yeah, we're that cool.

Detail of the gin rummy snug ceiling

Another ideal spot for confidences

"What are you doing?" "Sneaking." Sneaky Lulls!

 Watch this space for further details on the grand henna adventure, dinner, gardens, souks and museums galore... oh, also FOOD!

________________________
*: Please don't take this as an endorsement of this particular budget airlines-- They've screwed me over in the past and frankly, you get what you pay for, so... not a whole lot. They're bastards, but they'll (most of the time) get you from one place to another.