I have been away from home for over three months now, and won’t be back there for a few more weeks. And I’ve been thinking of something an erstwhile friend said, maybe 40 years ago (these references to time, such a strange mixture of its units, the way that days become weeks, become months. . . and then one day, I’m 71 and can speak about something someone said “maybe 40 years ago” — young folks, you have permission to eyeroll here) . . . whoops, where was I before that long digression?! Oh right, remembering a friend’s long-ago comment.
She was speaking of a family vacation in Hawaii, and to many of us at that morning Moms and Tots gathering in a very rainy small town on BC’s northwest coast, the two-week getaway sounded idyllic. She, of course, had experienced it — and the “idyll” had included her three children under four. She was still providing most of the childcare, with lifeguarding now added to her duties and with Littles not adjusting well to different beds and food.
Instead of pointing out the gap between our reverie and her reality — and likely between her own pre-trip fantasy and the actual days away — she laughed and said she had a policy of never evaluating a holiday until she’d been home for two weeks. Even at the time, I wondered how long the policy had been established and how firmly she adhered to it; decades later, I have no idea if she’d even remember having said this. But the notion stuck with me.
It will surely be much longer than two weeks before I get my head around this trip, I know. From a distance, what will be the high points and the low? Favourite places? Successful bookings? Best museums, friendliest people, hardest day, biggest sacrifice made to the gods of travel . . . Wardrobe wins and wardrobe fails, greatest challenges, most pleasant surprises. . . .so many categories that haven’t yet occurred to me.
Currently trying to sort through my reaction to our first week here in Marrakech’s Kasbah, where we’re staying in a small riad, walking daily through crowded souks, dusty alleys, seeing, hearing, eating, smelling so much that is new to us. Dodging traffic whose rules we can’t quite discern, squeezing against walls to let a donkey cart pass, and then barely being missed by a motorcycle wasp-weaving round the corner at shocking speed.
And everywhere, so much colour, pattern, texture, movement. . . .
I’ve taken hundreds of photos this week, and I’ll add hundreds yet to those before we leave. At the same time, I’m feeling more and more reluctant to add content to Instagram, despite the ease of connecting with “followers” that way. Sometimes that connection satisfies, but more often it is less sustaining than what we have here. Additionally, there’s no question that it’s much easier to retrieve photos and posts here than it is on Instagram (where the only way to arrive at a remembered photo is to scroll. . . and scroll. . . and scroll.
. . . So I’m hoping to post more travel photos here as our trip winds down, and I plan to be posting more as I sort through this archive when I’m back home. And today, I offer you a small collection representing the vendors, shoppers, and products of the markets, both the open spaces and the crowded narrow lanes of the souks.
We had a wonderful and tiring day today visiting a splendid garden and two satisfying museums, all part of a legacy left by Yves St. Laurent, his partner Pierre Bergé, and the French artist Jacques Majorelle. I’m writing this in our room while the late afternoon traffic crescendos and accelerates just over the thick, salmon-pink city wall that the riad’s front door opens in. . . There’s a conversation resonating up the central (enclosed) common living area two floors down from us, and soon we’ll head the narrow, winding stairway, chat for a bit, and then head out to find some dinner at a stall in the neighbourhood (tajine? brochettes and frites? falafel sandwich? Moroccan salad?). By the time we get back home, I’ll have added 2 or 3 kilometres to the 7.5 I’ve already walked today.
Which is to say, that I’m going to leave you now with this series of Cartes Postales.
Channeling Bartholomew Cubbins and his 500 hats! But I don’t remember that his were ever quite as beautiful in their variety!
The proprietor of this stall popped his head back up just after I’d snapped this photo. He had a wonderfully weathered face that fit its setting so perfectly that I almost dared to aim the camera once more. . . Almost. . .
I assume that these fellows are waiting for a commission — this is something like a taxi stand. . . A surprising variety of goods are transported this way, as well as luggage from the riads in the quartier.
I was mesmerized by this shop, which opened out onto a wide sidewalk on the corner of an intersection. And just after I’d given in to my impulse to photograph it, a big, bearish fellow in a cobalt blue boilersuit, came up to me, shaking his index finger and saying No Photo! No Photo! Of course, I quickly apologized and showed him that I was going to delete it — whereupon he burst out laughing and indicated (limited French) that he was only joking. So we had a little chat about what kind of work and artistry he did in his ancient shop — see that fabulous spider web he’s created?
She was on a mission, moving at a clip, and I had to nudge Paul to let her pass — she turned to smile her thanks. I was grateful as well, because I had the chance to admire the sass of her flashy metallic gold loafers, probably not authentically GUESS despite the claim made across the instep. Restores all the individuality that the hooded robe and hair covering tends to mute. . .
Really don’t need to add words here, do I? But murmuring something here about wool’s gorgeous propensity to grab dye. . .
That door! Those rugs!
Shoe-making supplies, apparently from shops that have either upgraded or gone out of business. . .
Let me end on this PRIMarily exuberant image!
And now you can share your thoughts, if you would, on Travel, on missing home and stocking up on experiences vs. curling up and processing all the new (and often overwhelming) information being “onboarded.” Big transition ahead of me, and I’m both looking forward to being home next month and somewhat apprehensive about what that will feel like (for example, it’s currently 24C here — was 31 yesterday, while back home the highs are mid-teens, and it’s been raining for weeks. We’ll be coming home to winter after the longest summer of our lives, and I’m sure I will welcome cocooning, but . . . 😉
Tummy’s growling now, and there’s no pantry in sight so we have to go scare up something to eat. I’ll look forward to your comments soon — and although I’m hard pressed to respond to them right now, I read and appreciate every single one. Thank you!
Fascinating, thank you so much for these pictures! So much I want to know, like what are the wire frames the ladies in the last pic are carrying? And those yellow things in the shoe supplies stall….hats? slippers where the edges go around the under sole? The cobweb maker, did he look a bit spider-y?
Also interested that you are eating salad; I remember being told not to years ago in that part of the world, although not in that specific country.
ANYWAY, now I’m going to look again more slowly at each picture!
Ceci
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The wire frames looked to me like lampshades, and I assumed that the women were either decorating OR covering the lampshades for sale. I looked again today at “those yellow things” and I believe they’re the leather tops of babouches (moroccan slip-on sandals), as you’ve guessed.
And you made me chuckle, but no, not the least spider-y.
I’m always careful when I’m eating salad away from home — even with the high standards we have for food safety in Canada and the US, lettuce is often being recalled — and anything shredded is always only as clean as the hands of whoever last handled in. . . prefer to eat cooked veggies unless I know the kitchen well. And so far, so good here!
Che belle cartoline -the riotous colour, the unfamiliar scenes, the overwhelming sense of an ancient land – what a feast for the senses! I hope you tried one of those hats on – they’d look great with your curls.
I travelled mostly alone for 5 months in Europe as a 20 year old, so several lifetimes ago. I remember the strong impression of life that was very different to the one I knew in Australia, and there were many good days and some bad days, just as there always are. When I think back on that time, I recall the old saying “wherever you go, you take yourself with you, and you will always find yourself”. I’ve never travelled for so long since but whenever I’m away from home I take comfort from that saying, and a little sadness too, x
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I envy those of you (Belle, in these comments, Rose as well) who travelled on your own extensively decades ago. I missed that opportunity, wish I’d banked some of that youthful energy and insouciance! 😉
So true, Wherever you go, there you still are!
While I am enormously envious of your travels, I would also have trouble being away from home for so many months. I wonder if this is another symptom of aging or if I’m just becoming a hermit! Thanks for sharing all these beautiful and colorful photos with us. You photograph the same things that catch my eye when traveling abroad, so I really feel like I’m there. It’s a bright spot in a miserable week. Thank you!
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It is difficult being away at this age, no question (but I don’t know what it would have been like for me when younger). I do find that I wish for more “JUST me in a quiet room alone” time. . . (embracing my inner hermit isn’t easy at the moment! 😉
Your photos are fabulous, bringing to life for us a place so distant and foreign and so very colourful! I look forward to seeing more.
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Thanks! Isn’t it colourful?!
How different these “postcards” are from your photos sent from European cities. I can’t imagine being away from home for so long. the longest I have ever been away is two weeks, which felt like forever even though I enjoyed seeing so many interesting places. I suppose one reason is that I always seem to have beloved pets which I am reluctant to leave for long periods of time.
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Lots of difference, yes! (although when I think back to Naples, Palermo . . . definitely some commonalities. . . And then when I post some photos of the stunningly beautiful architecture, you might see even more)
Yes, it would have been too complicated to travel for this long when we had our Golden Retrievers, the cats. . .
I so enjoyed Morocco when I was there. In Marrakech I had a great time in the markets sipping peppermint tea with the sellers and bargaining – which I became very skilled at – and would be congratulated by other sellers re my skill!
The longest time travelling I did was decades ago = 9 months – hitchhiking here there everywhere – no concern at on as to where I was going – where I was going to sleep etc. It all just fell into place. So carefree. All were good days.
Now when I travel I like to know before hand where I will be sleeping and let the rest unfold.
It’s wonderful being exposed to different cultures. So many memories for you.
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9 months travelling! So much easier when we were younger. And yes, I preferred just to book a first night and then be freer to change plans. Not anymore. . .
Oh my…and I never say ‘oh my!’
So many thoughts and images and insights.
I love the thoughts of your friend …but two weeks? Definitely not enough for me. Particularly, really especially particularly, from our last adventures. I realised I needed one whole month to let all those various thoughts that kept flying about to have enough time to settle. They almost have settled. Almost.
All of the memories that I love to capture (highs, lows, favourites, kindnesses, challenges, things never to do again, great things to have packed, surprises, stupid ideas).
Absolutely love all of the glimpses into your travels. Thank you Xxx
Your photos are so beautiful…the colours, textures, patterns. Lovely. Thank you.
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Well, that was a really big undertaking, and so much to evaluate. I’m already finding that our hiking in Cornwall seems so far back, but I’m quite confident that little anecdotes I’ve temporarily forgotten will have a chance to surface as memories settle into place back home. (And aren’t you glad you kept that great sketchbook of yours? Perhaps you’re beginning to sketch from photos as you’re back home evaluating — I sometimes do that after a trip.
Thanks for sharing these amazing images from a place I’ve read about but never imagined I’d see in color! When I travel, it does take several weeks to remember and reflect on my experiences. Such a gift to enjoy this with your intrepid travel partner.
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I’m happy you enjoy the photos.
Another voice for taking time to process after a trip — and yes, I’m very lucky to be able to travel with this guy, celebrating our 50 married years, someone to share the memories with.
Ten months working and travelling Europe alone was by turns frustrating and exhilarating, but then I was 20 and nothing bad could possibly happen when you’re that age, right? Definitely wouldn’t hitchhike now, but would not trade that experience for anything.
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Such a treasure trove of memories — I love what Diana Athill wrote about having that resource, being able to travel again from her armchair in her 10th decade. . .
You seem to be really enjoying Marrakech. We were there 30 years ago & it looks exactly the same . I even think I recognise that metal workers shop . But , I have to say . It was our most unfavorite place in the world & that’s putting it mildly . We were threatened with a knife whilst wandering round the souk . A fellow Brit we met was assaulted & robbed , she was so envious of us as we were only there for a week & she was there a fortnight . We found the oppression of the women shocking & oh , the poor donkeys , we’d never seen such gratuitous cruelty on any of our travels . I’m not talking overworked here . We’ve been sending regular donations to the Brooke Charity for horses & donkeys ever since , we were so upset . I was saddened to see the donkey on your Instagram. I see the guy had the usual big thick stick in his hand . Hopefully things have improved in the last 30 years ?
I love those pictures! The power of color to draw me in and cheer me up never diminishes. It’s impossible to stop taking photographs when traveling, isn’t it?
I’m back a few weeks from my longest summer ever (a trip half the length of your trip, but the longest vacation I’ve ever had). I only wished to be home on some treacherous roads that had me scared out of my wits and just before the trip was over and I faced the airport travel – I wished to be past that point. I loved being in Greece and could have kept going. If the trip were longer, I probably would have opted for staying in one place a little longer than we did. Our mission was to see a lot and it was a terrific experience.
Since home, I haven’t sorted through my photos. I have gone looking for a few to show people, but I’ve mostly been too busy to sit still for long. We left a lot of outdoor projects to be done upon our return and we’ve been busy with them. While I haven’t looked through all of my photos, I have mentally revisited parts of the trip often. My husband said that he has 6000 photos from the trip and that we should sit and look through them. I am not sure that I have the mental bandwidth at the moment. Perhaps on cold winter nights, in front of the fire.
Amazing photos! I can’t stop looking…and being thankful that you chose here to post as I don’t do Insta. Thank you