Last Monday, the temperature in Marrakech reached 108 Fahrenheit/42 Celsius making it the hottest day so far this year. Here pools can be enjoyed year-round, but in May when temps typically range in the 80s and low 90s, the burning question expats and tourists are asking is where to find a cool pool. A Mermaid in Marrakesh, I love doing this kind of research — especially at an iconic 5-star hotel. Four Seasons Marrakech offers a spa and pool pass for escape and self-care for a week or a day.
At the end of March, I returned to Morocco from spring break in Italy, packed away the down jacket I’d been wearing, and grabbed my bathing suit. Truly, the name of the world-revered brand couldn’t be truer than in the Red City. Here spring, summer, fall, and even most of winter, there’s nothing but blue skies, green gardens, and birdsongs. I relaxed by the Quiet Pool … a peaceful place for adults only.
Four Seasons Marrakech offers a safe haven and the best of all worlds… a place to gather with friends and family…a romantic retreat…a space of one’s own. The 5-star luxury resort is designed with the serene, palatial gardens of the Palmeraie yet is only minutes from the magical medina, Marrakech landmarks, and New City Gueliz. Here tourists — especially solo travelers — concerned about navigating a new city will feel secure and experience the exceptional service for which the brand is known.
True to Moroccan culture, Four Seasons Marrakech is family-friendly, so if you’re traveling with children ages 4 – 12, check out the Kids Club as well as activities for older children. Some of my best memories with my children happened while exploring the world. This is why I write guides for moms traveling with children. But I also appreciate that Four Seasons does the planning for moms and provides a family and an adult pool.
Still … Four Seasons is not only for family time, weddings, honeymoons, and anniversaries. It offers women a way to celebrate the sacred relationship we have with ourselves. I was forced to learn self-care twenty years ago when I became a single mom. It was a slow process. I started with going to movies alone, then restaurants, then a B and B annually in the Tennessee mountains. I eventually traveled solo to Costa Rica. After my children left the nest, I moved to Marrakech. Here I’ve found fulfillment in my work, new adventures, and kindred spirits. I’ve also found at Four Seasons a much-needed beauty break for the soul.
I love Veronica Shoffstall’s poem, “Comes the Dawn” (printed below). I would like to find a life partner, but I don’t wait for a honeymoon or a husband to enjoy beautiful escapes. Shoffstall writes, “Plant your own garden and decorate your own soul instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.” In Nashville, I once had a garden of fifty roses. Here, I enjoy them, too.
Enjoy the Quiet Pool for Adults Only on a Four Seasons Marrakech Spa and Pool Pass.Four Seasons Marrakech brims with bouquets of roses that make a woman feel special.The garedns of Four Seasons Marrakech as sunshine for the soul.Enjoy a drink and a book in the shade.Perfect DayMom and Daughter robes and roses in Four Seasons Marrakech SpaFour Seasons Marrakech SpaRead more →
Perhaps travel cannot prevent bigotry, but by demonstrating that all peoples cry, laugh, eat, worry, and die, it can introduce the idea that if we try and understand each other, we may even become friends.—Maya Angelou
We are great believers that if you have peace, you have everything.
—Wafaa Amagui, La Maison Arabe Marrakech
Excitement swells as two enormous doors slowly swing open. I remember entering this haven of hospitality the previous fall when I first saw La Maison Arabe Country Club.
But this time I’ll be the one in the kitchen, and I can’t wait.
Our van journeys along the long lane lined with olive trees until the driver brakes. We follow the path through a green garden of palm trees swaying to a convivial choir of birds soaring, sitting, and singing. A bouquet of herbal heaven on the breeze—the scent of rose geraniums, rosemary, sage, and lemon thyme– beckons us to pinch, rub, and smell the distinct fragrances of each plant. Gracious and gregarious, Wafaa, La Maison Arabe’s Cooking Workshops Manager, greets us as we take our seats around the tented table.
Organic artichokes
Wafaa explains the power of food as the product and source of cultural connections: “Food is for humanity. We can live together. We are more alike than different in food tasting.”
She asks each classmate where we call home. Illustrating her point, we reply: “London… Lisbon…Ontario…Boston…. Colorado…Tennessee… Kentucky.” (It was the first time I’d met anyone from my birth state of Kentucky since moving to Morocco.)
She then says the best food is multicultural and is made from fine ingredients and a great civilization. Moroccan food, derived from Berber, Jewish, Arabic, and Spanish influences, gives us a taste of how diversity can create unity. With pride she recounts the mission of La Maison Arabe as Ambassador of Peace and of Morocco’s history of respect for their own culture and that of others.
Pit for roasting meat
La Maison Arabe, the first restaurant in Marrakech, was started in 1946 by a French mother and daughter, Helene Sebillon and Suzy Larochette.
At a time when the country was very conservative, Wafaa says, “These two brave women really opened the door for all women in Morocco.” Here Winston Churchill, Jackie Kennedy, and Charles De Gaulle dined often.
In 1995 Italian Prince Fabrizio Ruspoli bought the restaurant and after three years of renovation opened La Maison Arabe as the first boutique hotel in Marrakech.
I had been to La Maison Arabe before as well, but before the van arrived to take guests to the class held at the Country Club outside of town, I enjoyed seeing the hotel again, beautifully beaming in the morning light.
Breakfast Buffet
Wafaa said opening the first hotel in the medina dispelled fears of the foreign as guests lived among locals:
The idea was a real adventure. .. Being inside the medina next to local people day and night seeing how people live…the smell of food… children playing all the time, women who run between work at job and work in house, men all the time in cafes gives people outside an opportunity to ask questions and to know a lot about Morocco’s style of life.
This first riad hotel led to thousands more, transforming Marrakech into a popular tourist destination which employed many and enhanced cross-cultural understanding:
People from outside Morocco see Moroccan people. We have families. We are very protective of our children. And we have this respect…. Moroccans are very tolerant, flexible people. You don’t feel isolated. People are ready to serve, to help, even to practice language. Whatever language you are speaking, we are very eager to speak it with you.
As is Moroccan tradition, we were served mint tea with bread, which we helped bake, honey, and jam.
Moroccans, unless diabetic, drink tea with a lot of sugar. It comes in large blocks and is broken into chunks.
Into the kitchen… (Photos by Jasna Finlay)
Ayoda, the Dada (Chef)
For the base of the Chicken Tagine with Preserved Lemon and Olives, my favorite meat dish in Morocco
For the Zalouk, my favorite dish of the day, we “zebraed” the eggplant and cooked with tomato, garlic, and fresh herbs.
Two hands are better than one for stirring the tagine and Taktuka, Moroccan tomato and roasted green pepper salad.
Picked from outside the kitchen
The Dada showed us how to cut a lemon peel into a decorative leaf.
She also demonstrated how preserved lemons are made. They are slit, filled with salt, and partially covered with olive oil. As they age, they turn darker.
Custard for the Milk Pastilla served for dessert
I left the class and headed for the pool ready to nap. But first, I thought of all I’d learned. I already knew that wherever I live in the future, on Fridays I’ll crave the comfort of couscous. Yet the class renewed my interest in all Moroccan food. Though I’d been served tasty tagines by private cooks, I’d eaten in some restaurants where dishes were bland; but as Wafaa promised, we learned to cook as Moroccans do in their own kitchens. To this southern girl, home cooking–seasoning to taste with as much spice and heat as I like–made all the difference. I left with a tagine and recipes I’m ready to repeat, but perhaps, more importantly. I left with a deeper understanding of and appreciation for my host country.
From my first visit to the medina I learned of Morocco’s vibrant Jewish quarter and continued hearing the history of the kingdom’s pledge to protect and to respect all people. Wafaa told tourists of Mohammed VI’s social reforms favoring women and of the late Mohammed V who protected 250,000 Jews from the occupying Vichy French forces and the Nazis during World War II. When asked to enact legislation discriminating against Jews, Mohammed V refused and responded: “There are no Jews in Morocco, only subjects.” Last December in New York City the late king was named first recipient of The Reverend Martin Luther King Jr. – Rabbi Abraham Heschel Award given by KIVUNIM: The Institute for World Jewish Studies at their 10th Anniversary Conference.
Moroccans I have met not only love food but also allow guests their own tastes.
In Morocco, though we are conservative, we live and let other people live. Morocco as a country is very tolerant. It accepts people’s traditions. Whatever your religion is, whatever your ideas…whatever your way of life, it does not matter to us. We respect our culture and we respect other people’s cultures.–Wafaa
My Saturdays in Marrakesh are spent hunting and gathering, hanging out and sometimes haggling. Though I may have errands to run, there’s no yard to keep, house to clean, or car to wash. Shopping in stores, on the street, and in the market followed by lunch in the mix or above it is a time to stock up, catch up with friends, relax.
Grabbing Grub in Gueliz
Moving to Morocco meant giving up a car and Kroger to fill my trunk with food for the week. It also meant leaving my deck grill–which I used for most meals come rain, snow, or sunshine. In the suburbs of Nashville we drove everywhere for everything. Though Target was the distance of about a city block away, it never occurred to me (or anyone I knew) to walk there and lug groceries home.
I’d always romanticized the way Meg Ryan in movies set in New York City built her dinner bag-by-bag as she strolled home from work. I thought it would be fun to live in the Big Apple, no worries over car insurance or repairs and fresh produce on every street corner. I never dreamed I’d get a version of that in Africa.
In my neighborhood of Gueliz, “the New City,” I can do a Meg Morning–picking vegetables from sidewalk carts (though here they are pulled by donkeys), choosing meat from the butcher’s display case, grabbing a loaf of bread from the bakery, and buying roses at flower stalls (a dozen for $2 ). For birthday treats or holiday feasts, there are French-style specialty shops selling cheeses and desserts. To save time, I still default to a weekly one-stop-shop, either Carrefour (a French chain that carries imported prosciutto/other pork and wine) or Acima whose citron (lemon) tarts are amazing. Though I know to buy only what I can carry in my backpack and bag for several blocks, I optimistically overstuff both. Harnessing a too-heavy backpack too many times has led to a torn shoulder over the last two years, but I’m stronger for the walking and enjoy the fresh air.
“But my favorite remained the basic roast chicken. What a deceptively simple dish. I had come to believe that one can judge the quality of a cook by his or her roast chicken. Above all, it should taste like chicken: it should be so good that even a perfectly simple, buttery roast should be a delight.” —Julia Child, My Life in France
For a dinner with friends, I bought a whole, herb-roasted chicken with potatoes from La Maison du Poulet. The owner proudly said his birds are free range and organic. The taste would make Julia Child shrilly shriek with pleasure.
On a Saturday morning Sylvia showed the two Mikes and me the French bakery above and the cheese shop below. We happened upon the chickens; the samples were so good we all took one home.
With no rent, utilities, or transportation to work to pay, my weekly budget is $100 which covers groceries (I cook a dutch oven of beef stew, shrimp chowder, chili, or coq au vin on Sunday that is dinner until Thursday and make salads or pasta for lunches), a restaurant with friends or takeout on weekends, a pool day here and there, weekly yoga (or my first year, Moroccan dance lessons) and having the apartment cleaned twice a month. Some coworkers have ladies who clean, cook, or provide childcare multiple times weekly, but my one bedroom only requires cleaning/clothes washed every other Friday for 200 Dirhams per month ($20). When I want Moroccan food, for an additional 50 dirhams ($5) and 70-80 dirhams ($7-8 for groceries), Saida, an amazing lady, cooks so much chicken couscous and vegetables that I have enough for 8 meals so must freeze some. Lack of preservatives in meats, breads, vegetables, and fruits means I have to use what I buy faster and shop more often, but I’m healthier for that.
Sometimes I eat from the hanut next door–fresh strawberries, tomatoes, cucumbers, peppers, lettuce, and lemon year round.
Carrefour Supermarket located on bottom floor of Carrie Eden Mall in Gueliz
Fresh Atlantic seafood at Acima located near Jardin Marjorelle often includes sharks and stingrays.
The central flower market is a couple of blocks up the street from my apartment.
I love when friends in my complex (coworkers and Kate) join me on the balcony for mojitos (a variation of the fresh mint tea Moroccans drink daily), wine, or Tai takeout.
When we get a Friday off, we can take advantage of couscous (made fresh in Moroccan homes and restaurants as the traditional Friday family meal) at The Amal Women’s Center which is open for lunches and by appointment only. Ritchie and I went there on a 3-day weekend in February.
I can always count on Kate for finding (and cooking) the best desserts in town. Though she manages a riad in the Medina, she is always ready to meet for a treat like Cassanova’s chocolate mousse below.
Jasna and I at our go-to rooftop, Chez Joel, for a Saturday sweet tooth.
Chez Joel’s Caesar Salad
On walks to and from the mall I passed this cute cat…till recently. My favorite boutique for inspiration recently closed.
Haggling and Hanging Out in the Old City
Sometimes I saunter through the souqs in search of great shots. Below are guys I was thrilled to find. Pillow cases and poufs are ubiquitous but it took me a year to find someone who sells stuffing. Some coworkers paid their maids to have it done, but I was determined to find the place myself and with Kate’s help finally did.
A picture of the king as a child, youth, or adult appears in every business and building.
My shoe guy had my favorite sandal design in a new color for spring. Morocco is hard on shoes; at best sidewalks are uneven and dusty and at worst they are under constant repair or don’t exist. It was time for a new pair.
The first place a colleague took me to eat in the medina after moving to Marrakesh was Cafe des Epices. Since then I go there almost every trip to the souks. When my children visited they loved it, too. Located on Rahba Lakdima, the Spice Square, it is a place to people watch, hang out with friends, and eat great food. The salads and mint tea are the best.
Since I moved here in 2014 it has been expanded to double the size to accommodate all the customers.
My wedding carpet guys located two doors down from Cafe des Epices.
After seeing Nomad across the square for almost two years, Jasna and I decided to give it a go. I’m glad we did.
Nomad has good food, too, and three levels with amazing views. The music and couches make it a great place to lounge.
The gift shop is cool,too.
By one o’clock the place was packed.
My favorite feature of Marrakesh is the rooftop bars and restaurants. Gorgeous at sunset and perfect for Saturdays, they offer an escape to to exhale the week before and breathe in a new perspective.
My favorite mural by Dotmaster of the MB6 :Street Art exhibit representing to me roses in the desert, something I’m thankful everyday in Marrakech, and the power of art to create community and love. Photo by Cindy McCain
Some use walls to keep people out. Others use them to invite people in.
The Dotmaster started painting on the streets of Brighton in the early 90s. His work has since been featured in Oscar nominated Exit Through the Gift Shop and in Martin Scorsese’s Tomorrow. Photo by Ian Cox
Work in progress Photo by Ian Cox
“Inclusion rather than exclusion is the driving force behind the festival,” says MB6: Street Art Curator Vestalia Chilton of ATTOLLO. Responsible for a myriad of murals in the medina created for the Marrakesh Biennale Edition 6, Chilton said the global collaboration began at the Marrakech TED Talks a year ago. There she asked Vanessa Branson, founder of the Marrakech Biennale in 2004, if she’d be interested in adding street art to the event ranked in the top 20 Biennales worldwide. The answer was yes, launching another first for Morocco.
Already a big year for the country, 2016 began with Morocco opening the world’s largest solar farm in the Sahara, and in Essaouira, unveiling North Africa’s largest mural (6400 square meters) painted by Italian street artist, Giacomo Bufarini aka RUN.
RUN’s Essaouira mural, largest in Africa, illustrates two people on opposite sides of the stream–one playing music, which the city is known for, and the other listening. Courtesy of Vestalia Chilton
The 6th edition Marrakech Biennale–Not New Now– running until May 8 with free admission celebrates the city’s artistic and cultural leadership in building bridges between the Islamic world, the Pan-African diaspora and the West. The event is overseen by Reem Fada, Curator for the Guggenheim Abu Dhabi, who believes the multi-disciplinarian approach connects local and international audiences to “new ideas and artistic visions from Morocco and abroad.”
On display for MB6: Street Art in the Marrkaech Medina, the “Galery in the Sky,” are murals by Mad C (Germany), Dotmaster (UK), Giacomo RUN (Italy), Dag Insky (France), Kalamour (Morocco), Alexey Luka (Russia), LX.ONE (France), Lucy McLauchlan (UK), Remi Rough (UK), Sickboy (UK) and Yesbee (UK).
On a press tour led by Vestalia and a lunch interview at Kosybar following (video below), I saw the gifts left to the city and learned more about the genre.
Creative contrast Photo by Cindy McCain
A study in contrasts, the works convey not only innovation and change but also universal, timeless values. They juxtapose human diversity with commonalities.
“Street art has no ego. If people like it, it stays. If not, if goes. One mural is already gone,”Chilton explained.
Once graffiti artists on the run, painting where they weren’t allowed, this new generation of contemporary urban artists are critically acclaimed agents of restoration rather than rebels. The independent spirit and creativity of the underground scene which produced works accessible to the general public in urban environments has risen to become the biggest art movement since Impressionism.
The work of Alexey Luka, progressive Russian artist, can be enjoyed in the square of Café des Epices. His work have been exhibited in Moscow, Saint Petersburg, Amsterdam, Lyon, Paris, Portland, Rotterdam, and San Francisco, and Rome. Alexey is a member of the creative association ‘Artmossphere’ which organized the 1st Moscow Biennale of Street Art in 2014, supporting Russian street artists and graffiti writers. Photo by Ian Cox
Worldwide acceptance has led to commissioned public works and inclusion in high profile galleries and art festivals. Mainstream culture and media has created demand for the sale of originals and multiples, which allowed street artists to break into the art world with access to galleries, museums and auction houses such as Christies and Sotheby’s.
Morocco’s Renaissance Man and the Biennale’s Native Son, Kalamour, has been passionate since childhood about drawing, photography, painting, and music. His paintings and sculptures have been exhibited in Canada and his home country. Also an award-winning video artist, Kalamour’s releases have been featured at festivals in Morocco and Portugal.
Kalamour at work Photo by Ian Cox
Kalamour’s work on Cafe de Epices Photo by Cindy McCain
Gallery work by Kalamour Photo by Cindy McCain
British born artist Lucy McLauchlan (below) has work in galleries and museums and on multi-story buildings throughout Europe, gigantic billboards in China, on walls outside Moscow’s Red Square, and on New York subway tunnels. She deeply respects nature and uses etches of leaves and other elements of her environment in her paintings.
Lucy McLauchan Medina Mural Photo by Ian Cox
Lucy McLauchan originals Photo by Cindy McCain
Mad C Photo by Cindy McCain
Just outside the gate of Dar El Bacha is the work of the most famous participant in the project, MadC. Despite being booked five years out, Claudia Walde enthusiastically joined the Marrakesh project and created a fan frenzy on social media. Her mural was created with seventy cans of colors. Born in Bautzen, GDR and currently based in Germany, she holds degrees in Graphic Design from the University of Art and Design, Halle, and Central Saint Martins College, London. Her two books on sticker art and street fonts published in 2007 and 2011 are praised for their anthropological insight into the graffiti art movement. Her name, derived from her childhood nickname, “Crazy Claudia” encourages all to live their creative dreams.
Giacomo Bufarini, RUN Photo by Ian Cox
RUN, Italian-born Giacomo Bufarini, is a beloved muralist of international street art. His Marrakesh mural is outside Palace Bahia. A lover of travel, the London resident’s epic-sized murals distinguished by detail and complexity, colorful faces and interlocking hands, stretch from here to China and attest to his playfulness and commitment to communication. His characters speak languages of diverse audiences, and while painting in Essaouira and Marrakesh, the artist impressed Moroccans with his willingness to take time for friendly chats. His measure of success? He says if a child likes his work, he is happy.
Photo by Ian Cox
RUN Photo by Cindy McCain
Another Favorite by RUN Photo by Cindy McCain
Photo by Cindy McCain
One of the most dramatic moments of the tour was turning a corner off frenetic Mohammed V into an alley car park and seeing the works of LX.ONE and Remi Rough canopied above.
Photo by Ian Cox
Mural by Surrealist Sickboy Photo by Cindy McCain
In one week eleven painters completed the MB6 Street Art exhibition, but their contribution to the city and the world that enjoys it will be appreciated long after. Below Vestalia, joined by a member of her team, Elena Ivanova, speaks warmly of Moroccan hospitality, kindness, and the human spirit inherent in this city and this global collaboration.
Whether wanting to explore Spain (and other countries’ roads that lead there), pursue a personal dream, ponder in peace, practice wellness through hiking or yoga, learn language, hear stories from travelers around the world, Spanish Steps leads the way in offering options. I fell in love with Spain last year, and experiencing that gorgeous country with Spanish Steps is now high on my Bucket List.
After hiking with Mònica Fernàndez, a talented Spanish and English teacher, through her native region of Galicia, in Southern Spain, and in the Sahara, I am excited to learn she will co-lead tours below with other dedicated members of Owner Judy Colaneri’s Spanish Steps staff including co-guiding with her husband, Alessandro Martinez, October 12-19.
All Camino tour dates in Spain, France, and Italy can be found here. Tours fill up fast so if interested take the step that leads to more here.
Making a grand entrance must have originated in Marrakech. Crossing that first threshold from the manic Medina into a roofless riad respite– blue skies or stars above—is a moment no one ever forgets. I am still thrilled every time I follow surreptitious streets snaking through the medieval city… duck archways and dodge motorbikes, donkey carts, and darting cats… then knock on a heavy wooden door that slowly swings open into a secret, peaceful place.
One of those surreal experiences when so much of what my heart loves to see, hear, taste, and touch materialized like magic. Here classic French Elegance, Hollywood’s Golden Age Glamour, and Desert Dreams meet…a rhapsody in blue.
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Welcomed warmly by owner Alexandra Richards, I could hear past the streaming foyer fountain Mancini crooning “Moon River” to a chirping courtyard chorus. Named for the Emberiza family of birds indigenous to South Morocco and considered sacred in Marrakesh, the boutique hotel that took two years to renovate was guarded by these feathered friends. They had comforted Alexandra who moved from Melbourne and found the process, like other expats building a new home in a foreign country, fraught with frustrations. A Barrister of Queen’s Counsel, the highest appointment and level of professional recognition in Australia, the Human and Civil Rights attorney is, no surprise, a strong, smart Leading Lady of her new life. But she is also a woman of beauty, style, wit and grace and reminds me of Big Screen legends like Lauren Bacall and Faye Dunaway.
When I asked what moving to Morocco taught her, she replied:
“One thing I have learned here is to ‘never say never and never say always.’ I believe Talleyrand said this of politics and war. I would say it of everything here.”
To a musical mix of Moroccan, French, and Frank (Sinatra), I wandered the riad as slowly as the turtles who live there, delighting in the details—gorgeous artwork, antiques, bedding, and baths. As I climbed the stairs to tiered terraces, then the rooftop, I could imagine Truman Capote working or Holly Golightly playing here. Riad Emberiza Sahari is a venue for artists’ retreats, weddings and social gatherings, solo or romantic escapes, and the ultimate girls’ getaway. Offerings include excursions, cooking classes, massages, yoga, or meditation.
Alexandra and Kate, a friend who lived near her in Melbourne though they never met until each moved to Marrakech.
As darkness descended the riad became even more magical–the pool and fountains dancing, flickering, reflecting lights and candle flames to classical music. We talked at table under orange and lime trees about our love for our children and for this strange, irresistible city.
I would return months later for Kate’s birthday and always look forward to seeing Alexandra. She inspires me as a woman of reinvention, as one who followed her dream and created an oasis where others can rediscover theirs. Riad Emberiza Sahari is the manifestation of who she is and what is right with the world– a dramatically beautiful, comfortable, and peaceful place.
Alexandra: “I agree with Winston Churchill that ‘Marrakech is the most beautiful place in the world.’ But a place of great beauty AND great ugliness, a place of contrasts and contradictions. Therefore it never lets you alone and you always know you are alive.”
“If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?” –Percy Bysshe Shelley
It’s January, and my Facebook feed is a flurry. A snowstorm has hit the US–including my home in the south– leaving all covered in white. Here temps have been in the 70s and climbed to the 80s this weekend. The Atlas Mountains that were covered in snow all last winter are bare. But on the rooftop of The Pearl, aptly named, all is winter white. At the perfect place for lunch and a panoramic view, roses, bougainvillea, and snowball bushes bloom.
Namazake, the Japanese restaurant on the top floor, serves on the terrace.
I had been here once before with my friend, Synnove, who chose the rooftop for dinner last spring. The sushi is delicious, but in this beautiful hotel just having a drink provides a feast for the eyes.
Today was a good day. On the walk home, Kate pulled me into Dino for a treat. We may not have snow, but we have ice cream.
Six months after Whitney Houston’s death, the movie, Sparkle, a twelve-year project she co-produced, was released. It was a remake of a movie she fell in love with as a teen. The movie she’d hoped would be her comeback was her swan song. The girl who began in gospel, who struggled, who died…a woman loved by many… reminds me here that when I spin in dread, doubt, or desperation, too disoriented in the dark of uncertainty to look up, God, thank God, is always looking down.
Apparently not only March can come in as a lion. December and January have, for me, roared. Fraught with some of the hardest decisions I’ve been faced with in years, one I knew was coming, one I did not, I’ve felt terrorized at times. Sad others. Confused most. And yet the last two days I awoke singing this:
I sing because I’m happy,
I sing because I’m free.
His eye is on the sparrow,
And I know He watches me.
Maybe it’s because yesterday, like every Saturday morning in Morocco, I opened my eyes to blue skies and birds on my balcony. Here it’s already spring. Tiny finches with nest-building bits in their beaks—a piece of string, a snip of vine—are busy. Yet they perch and sing, rest and rejoice.
Today I awoke early again before sunrise. Focused on the future, I didn’t get enough sleep last night. As on the fifth day after I moved here, happy until circumstances threatened my peace, I climbed the stairs to the rooftop. Sixteen months ago as I watched the sunset my sense of safety, of protection was restored. Today as I watched the sunrise, I felt the same way, and I knew clarity will eventually dawn. I must dwell in patience. In faith. I needed to look up as far as I could see, knowing I am seen.
When I came down, I watched as I did yesterday two women sing, Ethel Waters and Whitney Houston. Again they made me cry with comfort, hope, peace.
When I was in high school our early church service and teen band needed an organist. I volunteered. I’d never played the organ—only the piano—badly, but I have always been curious, loved challenges, and taken literally the verse that says with enough faith, mountains can be moved. My grandmother and I, like Jay Gatsby, were born with “a romantic readiness” –a stubborn belief that faith makes all things possible. So with the same tenacity with which I tried out for my high school dance team despite wearing a brace for scoliosis (yes, like the one Lisa Kudrow wore in Romy and Michel’s Class Reunion which got all the laughs), I took up the organ. (And I made the team though I now half-cringe, half- marvel at the girl busting moves for an entire year in such a contraption. Thank you, classmates, for never making fun of me.)
The first piece I learned for my organ debut was “His Eye is on the Sparrow.” It was chosen by my piano teacher, my Aunt Artie, who had long ago given up on my practicing scales and gave me a crash course in chords. The words to that song, carried on the wings of a homing pigeon, reached me in Africa this weekend. They call me to new adventures…at home.
Psychologists say we change every seven years–that seasons of growth are the natural order. Seven years ago I started this blog and called it “Cindy McCain’s Rich Life”–first as a reference to being confused with the millionaire Heinz Heiress and almost- First Lady which landed me on MTV Canada–second, and more importantly, because I did and do believe Life is Rich. How did I feel rich then? In gratitude I counted the ways…
Abundantly blessed with family, friends, faith
Abundantly blessed with hopeful romanticism and full moons from Italy to Tennessee
Sumptuous...Dolce Vita
Highly seasoned or very sweet, full-bodied…chicken tikka masala, tres leches cake, chocolate, Malbec, limoncello
Mellow or vibrant tone…Sinatra, salsa
Warm and strong color… Irish beef stew, sangria
Highly amusing, entertaining, unexpected… most days
Life was rich then and now. Since moving to Morocco–a milestone in letting go and letting God take me to places inwardly and outwardly more incredible than I ever imagined–I’ve focused mainly on travel on this blog. Still, my main purpose for writing was and is to express gratitude for and find joy in this journey we call life.
Much has changed since January, 2009. Much hasn’t. Sometimes I’m full of faith–fearless. Others I look too far ahead and am thus afflicted (as Southerners used to say) with the paralysis of analysis. Though most of my time on this continent has been full of sunshine, illumination, light and learning, over the last month I’ve felt at times where I was seven years ago (and seven years before that) when in the belly of Mammoth Cave. Again I have just enough light to see the next step. Sometimes I panic, let go, and grope the wall though I’ve never really felt alone. I know change is coming and though I have no map and can’t see what’s ahead when I fly home this summer–where I will work, where I will nest– I know my Guide is watching me.
And now we welcome the new year. Full of things that have never been.–Rainer Maria Rilke
I preferred one waltz with a beauty to a lifetime with someone less rare.–Marlena de Blasi, author of A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance
I wondered if I’d feel the same after seven years, Venice. Were the times proof that you are my first love or just flings? And there have been so many others. Like Casanova, you have had throngs of lovers; for me, your rival was only St. Petersburg last year.
Each time you pulled me close with seductive strength but stayed guarded. Dignified, decadent, detached. Silently allured me to taste your beauty, to wander your world, to seek and find exactly what my soul craved. You led me down streets that ended, forcing me to retreat and start over. Or were you teaching me to find other paths? Promises, then departures; neither ever felt permanent. You’re the romance of unrequited love, the sighs of all that’s unfulfilled and ever longed for. The ecstasy in the moment and the promise that maybe one day…
And then I saw you, poignantly the night before New Year’s Eve–a time to look back and peer forward–as I stood on the deck of the water taxi. You appeared through the mist and cold. Luminous and lavish. Still standing. And I? Still feeling. Alive.
You are no Don Juan. Like Elizabeth who married England, you carry a great burden for all who love you. With grace buoyed by hope and faith, you beckon us to enjoy the time left on this earth before all goes under.
And yes, Venice. Though I fell in love with Saint Petersburg last March, you seem to be still The One.
An Italian friend once told me I’m simpatica—that I understand what it means to live The Life and that I’m a woman meant for a Grande Amore. I was definitely fashioned from birth a romantic, and the entire country of Italy has always felt like a soul mate. With many questions in 2016 looming, returning to a place that is meant to be wandered was, like the “fit” that is Morocco, a choice made for me, not by me.
Some call it serendipity, others destiny. I call it God. Marrakesh was exactly what I needed when I stepped off the plane sixteen months ago. Starting 2015 with the loves of my life, Taylor and Cole, in London was the best NYE ever– a blessed beginning of one of the most amazing years I’ve ever experienced. And likewise, watching fireworks from the Bridge of Sighs— choosing to exhale in trust and love rather than weariness and worry—I watched 2016 light up the sky. A sight I’ll remember the rest of my life.
I knew I’d love hearing church bells and Buon Anno spoken in the most beautiful language on earth. How do I love thee, Italy? Let me count the ways.
Paradoxically, Venice is unified by bridges and divided by dead ends. As with life, without warning a seemingly good road can suddenly plunge one into dark depths. Or maybe each halt teaches the art of retracing, rethinking, then rerouting a new course.
The Ponte dei Sospiri, or Bridge of Sighs named by Lord Byron in the 19th century, is a place of blissful beginnings and tragic ends. Prisoners who crossed the Rio di Palazzo to the Doge’s Palace prison were said by the poet to sigh as they looked upon Venice’s beauty a final time. Yet couples who kiss on a gondola under the same bridge at sunset as St. Mark’s bells toll are said to be blessed with eternal love.
Italy and life abroad continue to teach me. Here’s seven secrets Venice shared for 2016…
1) Wandering can do wonders for the soul.
“Not all those who wander are lost.”–J. R. R. Tolkien
‘It was one of those architectural wholes towards which, in any other town, the streets converge, lead you and point the way. Here it seemed to be deliberately concealed in a labyrinth of alleys, like those palaces in oriental tales to which mysterious agents convey by night a person who, taken home again before daybreak, can never again find his way back to the magic dwelling which he ends by supposing that he visited only in a dream.’–Marcel Proust
Like the Marrakech medina, Venice is constructed as a medieval maze of mystery and adventure. Jasna and I enjoy wandering both. I’ve learned since moving to Morocco that when I let go and relax, God always brings peace and sometimes the world brims with bliss. So when Jasna pointed at the Giudecca Canalrestaurant and said, “Let’s eat there, it’s pretty”– neither of us having any idea we had chosen for lunch a historical literary hub– I accept it not as a coincidence, but as a gift. Both English majors, we were thrilled to learn that Hotel La Calcina, (aka Ruskin’s House) was where creatives such as John Ruskin (who I studied in a Victorian prose graduate course) lived and Ranier Maria Rilke (one of my favorite writers), Marcel Proust, Bortolo Giannelli, Giuseppe Berto and Francesco Maria Piave gathered. A muse to many, Venice fed free spirited expats Lord Byron, Robert Browning, Truman Capote, Ezra Pound, Ernest Hemingway, Charles Dickens, and Thomas Mann and continues to inspire art today. A magical place to christen a new year of writing.
Jasna
2) Trust the journey. Relax, wait, move, live passionately patient in faith and hope.
“I beg you, to have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don’t search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer.”–Ranier Maria Rilke
Christmas peace out
3) “All great art is praise.” –John Ruskin
4) Be true to who you are and the One who designed you that way. We are colorful creatures all.
Waiting for 2016
5) Con Dio tutto è possibile. (With God all things are possible.)
Dream lofty dreams, and as you dream, so shall you become. –John Ruskin
Now to him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to his power that is at work within us.–Ephesians 3:20
In Venice everything seems possible. I’m grateful for Anu’s invitation. She’d made plans to be there a week in an affordable hostel she found 4 minutes from St. Mark’s Square. Jasna flew from England and I from Marrakesh to join her a couple of days. My round trip ticket was $125–and our triple room cost me 57 Euros per night. And though December hit me hard with new challenges and I questioned my decision to go, I knew I may never spend New Year’s Eve in Venice again– particularly at such a price. Thus, I moved forward with plans prayed over and made in good faith. I refused to let regret rob me of joy. I let go and received the gifts of the trip from the moment a kind Italian man grabbed my suitcase as I was running to find a train to the last night when Anu invited me to dinner with her Italian family–sweetest people ever.
I highly recommend Casa per Ferie La Pietà, more a hotel than a hostel, with a panoramic view from the terrace, a beautiful breakfast room, clean accommodations, and nice people. I’d never stayed on the island before–usually too expensive–but here there is no commute by water taxis. The three of us stayed in a huge room with restrooms/showers across and down the hall. It is quiet, family friendly, and a great place to escape alone or meet other travelers.
View from our room–one bridge from The Bridge of Sighs
Anu
Terrace view
6) La Dolce Vita (The Sweet Life) is family, friends, food and fun.
Taste and see that the Lord is good.
Venice is like eating an entire box of chocolate liqueurs in one go.–Truman Capote
Spritz Veneziano, an aperitif made of Prosecco wine, Campari, apple, and sparkling mineral water
Christening running shoes with Prosecco on New Year’s Day
Prashanth, Anu, Carmen, Sandro, and Marta
7) Dum Spiro Spero (While I breathe, I hope.)
Marta (pictured above and expecting her first child) told me her parents’ love story. Her mother, Carmen, met her father, Sandro, in Peru in 1981 when they were both students climbing Machu Picchu with friends. After three days together, each returned home–Carmen to Argentina and Sandro to Italy. Because she didn’t speak Italian and he didn’t speak Spanish, they wrote letters in French. In October Sandro returned to visit her family. After fifteen days with her (plus the three in January), he proposed. They married, she moved with him to the lake district of Italy near Como, and they’ve been happy since. Oh how I do love a good love story.
In Germany I let go of fear. In Venice I remembered again all is well and will be well. In 2015 God gave me the desires of my heart–beauty, adventure, and love of family and friends. And though His love is all I need, He gave me the confidence to dare to dream…to believe again… that somewhere in 2016 my Grande Amore, whoever he is, awaits.
“I don’t pretend to understand these feelings, but I’m willing to let the inexplicable sit sacred.” –Marlena de Blasi
Age appears to be best in four things: old wood best to burn, old wine to drink, old friends to trust, and old authors to read. –Francis Bacon
It began as a house swap inspired by one of my favorite Christmas films, The Holiday. My friend, Amy, would stay at my apartment in Marrakesh while I would stay in her apartment in Hamburg, Germany. I’d also travel to see Arunima in Idstein, but she convinced me I’d be spending all of my time on a train. I didn’t want to be a bother, but she said I’m family.
I met Mithu, (still Arunima to me) discussing old authors in my English class. She was my student and graduated high school in 1986– the last year I lived in Kentucky before moving to Tennessee. Though she hasn’t aged in three decades she was and is an old soul, still taking care of people she loves, still loved by many. The Super Student is now Super Mom. And a lifelong friend.
Thirty years ago she was my TA and Girl Friday (and Monday-Thursday), a pro at managing the yearbook staff, helping me with my paper load, and keeping a new teacher sane. She helped me pack up my life in Lexington and even visited me a few years after that in Nashville. In the time since we’d seen each other, she became a mom of twins in Germany who are now the age she was when I met her. Knowing I couldn’t fly home Christmas, she and her sons, Lucas and Max, graciously opened their home to me. And I am so grateful they did.
I knew reconnecting with this old friend would make my first Christmas away from my children bearable. She must have been exhausted after a weeklong business trip to Crete, and when she had time to decorate, cook, clean, and gift shop I have no idea. I do know that when she picked me up from the airport, same warm hug, same wry sense of humor, same kindness and ease, we picked up the friendship as if no time had passed. Now both adults, expats, single moms, we have even more in common.
Who knew in the ’80s two Kentucky girls would spend this Christmas together in Germany? I will never forget walking into her quiet, peaceful home, advent candles glowing before a beautiful tree.
Or wandering the quiet Sunday streets of Idstein, a town founded in the 12th century. The oldest building, the watchtower below, was built around 1170, but became the “witches’ tower” around 1676 during witch hunts similar to those in Salem.
Here mistletoe abounds.
I will never forget talking the new Star Wars movie and books with Lucas and Max who are majoring in German and English (or playing Activity which required game-challenged me to explain, pantomime, or draw the English translation of German words and phrases–like “pipe of an organ” or “beer crate” for my partner to guess).
Or walking with Ingrid, the boys’ grandmother, in green fields flanked by a German wood and a pink sunset after she and Mithu prepared dinner. We returned to a cooked goose and white linen.
Fresh apple pie, our Nachtisch (aftertable/dessert in German)
Baker and Bearer of Roses
Or being invited to the home of Patrik, Arunima’s boyfriend, where I had Christmas lunch with his mom and sister.
Raclette on Christmas Day–simila to fondue, meat is grilled at table and topped with melted cheese
Or the night before I left, after a week of all the food, food, food (to be said in the rhythm of Dr. Zeus) Arunima served,
we relaxed, talked, and laughed over wine and a movie. Prost! (Cheers!) to her visiting me in Marrakesh soon.
As 2016 calls us to all look ahead in hope,
I love that “Auld Lang Syne” (meaning “for the sake of old times”) reminds us to first look back in gratitude, remembering one of life’s greatest gifts, old friends.
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Happy January!
