The Moroccan Moussem de Tan Tan: and a tale of warriors on Peace and Prosperity Square

It's on Peace and Prosperity Square that I watch them -- the Saudi dancers.  Because the Moussem de Tan Tan is not just for Moroccans; nomads, Bedouins and distinguished guests from countries north, south and far afield have been invited. 

The dancers move with precision and unerring discipline. They stamp their feet in perfect unison. There’s a  bang on the drum... 

and a flash of color.

Their voices rise in a kind of symmetrical chant. 

Then they hold their sabers upright. 

One dancer adjusts his saber so it can be just so. 

But no one goes astray.   No one.  

                                  It's all strangely hynotic.

    What is this dance, I ask. 

     It’s the Dance of Warriors, I’m told.

     Oh, I say, nodding my head.  

There are no women in this Saudi dance of warriors.    

And so the men dance their dance of warriors.  Dancing and dancing...

                                                                         on Peace and Prosperity Square.

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The Moroccan Moussem de Tan Tan: and a tale of tents

The bedouins  had come from afar -- as far away as Timbuktu and even farther. They had been lured from the North to the South, from oasis to oasis, for the Moussem de Tan Tan.  Along the way they stayed in tents, known as khayma.  These were no ordinary structures, oh no.  Some had strange and beautiful patchwork insides made gleaming by the sun.  The bedouin women are the makers and the keepers of the khayma.

We -- the onlookers at the Moussem de Tan Tan -- stayed in very fine khayma. We dined in this one with walls made out of shimmering sequinned wedding blankets.  We would have made any bride jealous, I'm sure.

The floors were covered in red vintage Moroccan carpets, like some variegated artist's installation.

The khayma are grouped together in frigs, like tented villages.  All handmade out of goat and camel hair. 

And inside the khayma were the greatest treasure of all, of course.

Perhaps the applause should be for them, the lovely tent-makers.

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The Moroccan Moussem de Tan Tan: a tale of arrival

It was late when the chartered plane filled with journalists, real estate developers, historical fiction writers, spy novelists and an assortment of others touched ground. We were all there for the same reason: to visit the Moroccan Moussem de Tan Tan -- the world's largest gathering of nomads.  

I heard them before I saw them, singing in shimmering pink in the dark.

Men were drumming in striped jellabas and pointed slippers.

As I walked into the light, I saw visiting Saudi sheiks mingle in their red checkered headresses

while Algerian dancers flicked their wrists provocatively...

and bystanders in turbans took photos.

The ground was covered in a strange and beautiful patchwork of red vintage carpets.  The stairs alone were worthy of a Moroccan Oscars.

As I was led to my bedouin tent - somehow astonishingly luxurious...........

I couldn't help but wonder what the next day would have in store for me...

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Marrakesh: and a floral tale

Growing up, my mother loved flowers and gardening.  She spent endless amounts of time outside with pruners in hand, clipping and shearing.  Weekends were passed at nurseries and mulling over seed packets.  Bulbs would be forced and annuals selected with care. 

Once my brother and I were safely ensconced in school, my mother decided to further her own studies and become a doctor.  But even after she had graduated from medical school and ran her own thriving practice, she would periodically threaten to quit and become a florist, just for the heady pleasure of mingling with blossoms all day long. 

PS I took these images at the Four Seasons Hotel in Marrakech where I had the good fortune of arranging flowers with Jeff Leatham for an afternoon {followed by a surreptitious glass of champagne and pillaging of mini bar cashews}.  Jeff has done many celebrity weddings, including Chelsea Clinton's, and is hilarious! During our flower arranging, he accidentally split his Dior jeans and fashioned a sarong to cover the unexpected airconditioning.  I think my mother would like him.

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