Pictures: Lyle Such
Words: Thu Buu
Camera: Canon 5d MkIV
Before having done much research on Morocco, I ignorantly imagined this country within the sandy grasp of the Sahara Desert separated from the coast by only a range of mountains. The fact is, only a small finger of the Sahara Desert creeps into Morocco. Between the coast and the desert lies an impressive and diverse range of geography that had never even crossed my mind to associate with Morocco. We were truly in awe of the landscape we traveled through in this country.
Not even half an hour into the drive into the desert, we nudged our driver, Mustafa, to pull off to the side of the road because I had spotted a field of poppies. He assumed that we were only going to get out of the car to snap some pictures, but before he knew it, we were already running into the field. On this first day, Mustafa quickly understood that we were not his usual clients.
We stopped at an argan oil shop. We really didn’t want to at first, but thought what the heck. I didn’t know that argan nut even existed let alone that its oil is used in many beauty products or that Morocco is the only source of this product. We bought some to try. My little bottle of pure argan oil lasted six months. One pump was enough to generously moisturize my face each night. I liked the light-weight feel and how quickly it absorbed leaving only smoothness behind. I have tried to find other argan oil here in the US, but so far, none has the same pure quality. v
Today’s drive was slated to be a long one, but surrounded by forever changing scenic views prompting some unscheduled stops, it didn’t feel long at all. Another noteworthy stop was at the ruins of Telouet Kasbah. Built in the 18th century, it was the home of the most important person in the region, the village chief. The immaculate details that went into designing and decorating this kasbah is truly sensational. Every intricate piece was hand-made, hand-carved, hand-painted, and assembled one by one. Legend deems that it took 300 workers over three years just to complete the decorations on the doors and ceilings alone. What a show of wealth and power.
The chief’s quarters decorated with heavy colors of gold, green, and blue portrayed strength and seriousness when compared to the lady’s quarters just across the lobby. Her living area inlaid with white marble and jade-colored tiles provided a loftier, brighter and more feminine touch. A large bench under the bay window in an alcove allowed for sunlight to stream in with views of the village below and the mountains beyond. I wonder if she sat there, observing and imagining the lives her subjects lived, which must have been so different from hers.
For some reason, I had such a hard time remembering our driver’s name at first. I kept thinking it was Mufasa, like Simba’s dad. It must happen a lot because he had a lesson planned. He played a song called “Mustafa, Mustafa, Don’t Worry Mustafa” on his phone over and over again. The accompanying video was so cheesy and fun that it was well imprinted into my memory from then on.
Because building materials are made from the surrounding mountains, homes built on the slopes become part of the landscape. Interestingly, many homes are built into the mountains, the cliff-side becoming part of the house, the back wall or sidewall, for instance.
