Marrakesh: and a tale of appearing on the Travel Channel's Street Eats show

Anyone who knows me knows I'm a foodie.  My husband is happy with a bowl of cereal (for dinner!) but that would never do for me.  However, clearly, good food doesn't necessarily mean the fancy variety, and I've always been a lover of street food.  So I was happy to be asked to be on the Travel Channel's Street Eats episode in Morocco.  

Here's a little clip taken on the fly. {That's my daughter and former Peacock Pavilions' colleague Stephanie Alman with me.} 

Would love ot hear if you think eating street food in a foreign country is a No-No! Or do you dig in with abandon?

PS New and gorgeous stock of Moroccan wedding blankets known as handiras in Red Thread Souk.  Take a peek if you have a minute!

Marrakech: and a tale of a birthday

It was a birthday.  So I wore an ivory satin coat and a glamorous ring because birthdays are occasions to do that sort of thing.

We piled into the car and arrived at a cottage in downtown Marrakech.  Everything was aglow.

I even spied my book in the candle light on the coffee table.

There was drinking at this birthday.

And plenty of it.

And there was special musical accompaniment by local talent.

The music was required, you see, because there was dancing.  The birthday boy loved to dance.

And so did everyone else.  

And although his wardrobe had remained identical, many birthdays had past since this picture was taken of the birthday boy. {His hair was longer, there were a few more wrinkles, the baby now went to art school in France} ...

Nonetheless, the years had undoubtedly served to remind him, that in the end all that really mattered was this.... 

Amour cushion by Zid Zid Kids.

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Kabul: and a tale of beauty's uncertain future

Yes, I looked for beauty in Kabul and I found it.  But I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be allowed to exist unfettered.  You see, the talk was all about the Taliban.  About them coming back. About what would happen when the US troops pulled out.  

There was a sad past.

There was a weary present.

There was an uncertain future.  

There was depression, there was anxiety, and there was resignation.   There was hope, too.  

 But there wasn't enough. There wasn't enough hope.

 

I wanted so much for them, for the Afghans. I wanted their leaders to make good choices.  But what choices did they really have?

I could only hope that the country, its people and its beauties would not go forgotten.  Not be relegated to the evening news with its faceless deaths on densensitized screens.  

{Let's ensure the forgetting doesn't begin with you or me.} 

Learn more here:

Afghan women worry: Who will protect our rights after the US leaves? 

 Renewed push for Afghans to make peace with the Taliban 

Taliban targeting Afghan women and government workers, UN report finds

Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the Afghan jewelers

My grandmother Jean was a very tall woman who wore heels. Her clothes were tailored, and she was always dressed for visitors {as who knew, after all, what the day might bring?}.  One of the keys to her inimitable style was her jewelry. Not layers of pearls or discreet gold chains. Not charm bracelets or diamond rings. But tribal jewelry. Indeed, very often my grandmother could be found wearing weighty ethnic neck pieces. Against the black sheaths she favored, the tribal jewels seemed to channel intrigue - as if she had bought each piece from a turbaned dealer in a saffron scented souk somewhere. And sometimes she actually had.

And so it was with a sense of longing and nostalgia, that I watched the student jewelers of Kabul. As they melted, filed, and soddered, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother Jean.

In my mind's eye, I could see my Grandmother Jean weighing that bracelet in her palm or holding up those earrings to the light....

Yes, I could almost hear her say, Asalam-aleikum. Could I possibly trouble you for the price? 

Images taken at Turquoise Mountain in Kabul, Afghanistan.

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