A LETTER TO THE HAGUE
mariëlle videler
Dear Nancy,
Thank you for your beautiful letter!
My stay at the Kasbah in Tamdaght was amazing, intense and very warm thanks to the hospitality of the family Montaser. Tamdaght is situated about five hours driving from Marrakesh, at the other side of the High Atlas Mountains. It’s the beginning of the Pre-Sahara. The Kasbah was built in the 17th century and is named Kasbah de les Cigognes (storks). Although when you Google it, you will probably only find the commercial version of it. The Montasers live here with permission of the former king Mohammed V. The members of this big family are grandma, nephew, two daughters, one son, six grandchildren and two cats. They have no Internet connection; I could not write to you via the blog, instead I wrote a notebook full about the journey and my stay. It feels just as you wrote: my eyes didn’t overwhelm my thoughts. The notes reflect my first impressions of Morocco, life in the Kasbah and my search for patterns that connect.
While writing this letter, J. and I are in Marrakesh on our way back to The Netherlands again. We have to make a stopover in a hotel, before taking our flight back. J. is visiting Marrakesh and I am sitting on the bed with my computer. All the curtains are closed so I can’t see the outside. It is very tempting to open them; it’s the middle of the day. I know I am in Marrakesh but I feel like an alien who isn’t in the right place. The experience of traveling blind is beautiful. As if I was transported through an underground tunnel to Tamdaght. The glasses transform the journey into a sensual transition with very hard cuts. Amsterdam – Tamdaght – Den Helder. The contrast couldn’t be bigger or more interesting. There is one little disadvantage of transforming a familiar way of traveling into this new way of transition: it gives me a feeling that is worse than a jetlag. Especially now on the way back I feel as if I have totally lost my head: I feel dizzy and a little bit sick. It made me think of the experiences I heard people had when they first travelled by train or car. They could not deal with the speed. From the moment I wear the glasses that I covered with felt, I switch directly to my intuition. I hear sharper, smell more intense and become more aware of shape and structure. After landing in Marrakesh, J. brought me to a hired car. During the first kilometres in the car, while the lights of the night danced on the inside of my glasses, I listened carefully to the engine of the car. Is this car going to bring us safely to Tamdaght? I seemed to be a good quality vehicle…
Quote from my notebook:
‘then all of the sudden we stop. Police. All my senses turn around to focus. Do I have to take off my glasses? Why do we have to stop? I hear that J. has to show his passport. A policeman starts to ask him questions. Then he notices me, which I know because J. says he will take the card with the Arabic text (Post 005) out of his bag. He gives the card to the policeman. The policeman says my name. At first I don’t recognize it, he repeats. He asks me if I am okay? This sounds as an investigating question, not the same way as I often ask this question out of courtesy not really interested in the answer. He walks around the car; J. opens the window on my side of the car. I tell him I am doing very well and smile in his direction. Then he shakes my hand, ‘the ice is broken’, but to make sure he is convinced I tell him as much possible personal details about where we are going. He repeats some of the text on the card and asks what my impression is of Morocco up till now. I tell him it smells very nice and that I enjoy the sounds of the birds. All of the sudden he asks me if I have children. Again he shakes my hand and emphasises that there should be two children next year, twins. Bon voyage… We just escaped a ticket for driving to fast.’
Somewhere at the beginning of my notebook I made a schedule of the main ingredients for this project: Blinded Resident. There’s the blind journey, the discovery of Morocco, the exchange at the Kasbah, the search for patterns and the meeting with Moroccan women in Den Helder. By traveling blinded through Morocco to one specific place and taking off the glasses only there, it feels I came to stand still; I zoomed in and was able to give it all my attention. This feels very much in contrast with the tourists that I met visiting the Kasbah in Tamdaght during my stay there. For them the Kasbah is one of the many things on their list and the Montaser family is just part of the décor. Everyday I sat for a few hours, writing in my notebook, on the stones of the staircase in the courtyard of the Kasbah. This spot was opposite of the gate (Post 010). I could certainly sit more than a month on this spot: so many things to see, a lot of intriguing small things happen and every time J. returns through this gate. He tells me stories about the outside, about Tamdaght, the garden and Aït Benhaddou. Aït Benhaddou is the first Kasbah close by, built in the 11th century and the backdrop of the famous movie ‘Lawrence of Arabia’. It has almost no permanent residents and is very touristic. The gate that I watch is the only view I permit myself. One day I saw a woman passing the gate. Slowly she walked away from the gate. Tied on her back was a large bundle of wooden branches with leaves. This way of discovering Morocco also confronts me with my dependency on others; I try to surrender myself to this feeling. Slowly I learn about the country, the warmth of the people and the temperature that shines inside me.
Quote from my notebook:
‘this afternoon Bahia, the lady of the house, takes me gently but firm on her arm through the gate. Of course, the ritual of putting on the blinding glasses has just been executed. Bahia guides me over bumpy gravel paths, stairs, through what I experience as the small winding streets of Tamdaght. I feel the shadows of buildings; the light behind my glasses reduces. In my head I build a little village. When we arrive, Bahia stops. I smell fire, the heat meets me and the wall radiates. Bahia tells me to enter. I hesitate but Bahia encourages me and gives me a little nudge. Then I take off my glasses. Wow where I am I? Daylight falls through a hole in the ceiling. Dust dances in the sharply defined light beam. The space is small and formed by ash grey walls. In the middle of the room on the ground stands a small spherical oven. A woman sits in front of the oven and bakes circular breads. The smoke coming from the oven is very intense and smells heavy. Bahia asks if I would like to take a picture. The woman doesn’t want to be photographed and Bahia offers herself as a stand-in. And so I learn that she, like most woman of the village, can do everything, baking, weaving, making oil, tufting… ’
I am back in my room in Marrakesh. Tomorrow morning we fly back to Amsterdam. Finally it is dark outside and I am more peaceful. J. returns with a big smile on his face. I finish my letter for now but soon my writing to you continues, Marco Polo’s story remembered me to tell you about the cat hunting birds on the roof.
Love Mariëlle
Marrakesh, March 2, 2014