A Journey To Marrakesh-homefront

Travel-and-Leisure To this day, every time I travel, I carry with me an infamous quote: If music be the food of love, play on. Since the verdancy of my youth, when my eyes first perused the weathered pages of The Twelfth Night, Shakespeares incisive take on music has reverberated. If music be the food of love, play on. Classic rock was a galvanizing force, even then; in fact, Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young inspired my first, and most memorable, sojourn to Marrakesh. I was twenty-two years old, extricated from the tethers of academia, and filled with a wanderlust that simply could not be lulled. It dawned upon me one day, as I lounged torpidly in the backseat of my boyfriends 1984 Jetta GLI, that it was my vocation- in that moment- to explore the worlds vast expanses. However dramatic, however nave, in that moment I had resigned to my most innate desires; right there, amid the tattered, sullied vestiges of a gray Jetta GLI. Invigorated by my own resolute, I emerged feverishly from the vehicle. As I was departing, however, a familiar suite of vocals halted me in my tracks. CSNYs four delicate harmonies emanated from the radio, their ebullient voices offering up the perfect destination. Marrakesh, they cooed in intricate harmony. Marrakesh. It was a popular route for travelers in the 1960s, for hippies mostly, who roamed the citys mythical faade in search of hashish and other exotic, Arabic gems. It was an object of fascination for visionaries like myself, who fancied an exotic reprieve from the mundane, a majestic world .pletely unlike ones own, where one would find inspiration around every corner, in every foreign crevice. That August, I mustered both the courage and the funds to travel solo to Africa. My green, glimmering eyes were transfixed by a deluge of mystifying images: vibrant azure pottery in the Potters Souq of the medina quarter; snake charmers and contortionists drifting along the Djemaa el Fna; the intoxicating aroma of Arabic spices mingling with sweet perfumes; and American and European artists carousing in the streets, inebriated and swaggering, bellowing poetry in the citys slumbering hollows. In Djemaa el Fna, I unearthed the secret for which I had been looking. In Marrakeshs main, inner city square, quite possibly the largest in Africa, I found the pulse of the radiant city. Juice vendors and colorful fruit stalls dotted the bustling square; alluring snake charmers, astrologers, acrobats, and fortune tellers colored its palette with bizarre, enticing offerings; storytellers relayed tales in their enchanting Arabic and Berber tongue; and a myriad of chefs perfumed the air with decadent victuals. Each day, Id slip into Moroccos largest souk (or traditional North African market), and lose myself among colorful crafts and daily bartering hubbub. Id drift among the vibrant labyrinth of baskets, dried fruit, pottery, leather goods, and a bevy of fluorescent attire. Like a child, I devoured this mosaic of activity, my appetite voracious. Each night, Id slip from Djemaa el Fna and its orchestra of entertainers and artisan treasures into one of many cafes overlooking the nightly scene. Id watch as juice vendors closed their stalls and depart from the square, the space then usurped by rowdy adolescents or an exotic snake charmer. From my vantage point Id observe the whirlwind of activity, a nightly revelry I only recently discovered and yet, had seemingly existed for so long. Even now, so many years later, I can conjure the sensations: the musicians guitars as they jubilantly strummed; the glowing lanterns, large like the moon and suspended overhead; the intoxicating aroma of Djemaa el Fnas nightly feast; the voiceslaughing, bartering, storytellinglike African symphony. About the Author: 相关的主题文章: