It was a last minute decision to take a break from research for a couple of manuscripts and a 2014 Middle East Studies Association talk. On a whim and a desire to escape the heat of Fez and Marrakesh, I took a grand taxi Mercedes sedan circa 1980 from the portal near the Saadian tombs in Marrakesh, Bab er-Rob, to the city of Demnate. My first thought was to go to Setti Fatma in the Ouarika Valley, which is known for apples and hiking along mountain streams.
A local guide can arrange family home stays and it was a few days before the annual moussem festival. Demnate is east of Marrakesh on the road to the Cascades d’Ouzoud and the Ait Bougomez Valley in southern Morocco.
It was Sunday, which is suq day. Anyone who sells anything that is useful for local daily life converges on an open field just outside of town. My goal was simple: find local crafts, olive oil, honey, and almonds for which this part of Morocco is known. I even brought an empty Oulmes bottle, just in case. Oulmes water is bottled near Setti Fatma.
I figured I had earned a feast day after engaging in nearly every sport I could in Essaouira and Sidi Kaouki. They included running on the beach, taking windsurfing lessons instead of kite surfing, and trying to surf. Essaouira is also known for thuya wood handicraft shopping and delicious food and sweets. Try Patisserie Chez Driss, Les Alizes, Gelateria Dolce Freddo, La Triskalla, the fish grill hidden inside the port that a fisherman recommended (buy your fish in the morning market), La Découverte, and Le Patio. There is a Thai restaurant steps from Place Moulay Hassan, a sushi street “bar” inside the madina, and local wineries, like Le Val-d’Argan, thanks to the concierge ladies at La Médina Spa in Essaouira for the information. If you stay at La Médina, they will organize a tour to the vineyards. A shop to buy local wine is just down the coast from them and up a side street.
The taxi to Demnate meandered through the dry countryside, picking up and dropping off passengers like an informal bus. The road and landscape was mostly flat and dry like a desert with occasional mounds of rocks along the road. Except for the small and mostly single story, box-like settlements, electric wires and supports, and a large power station, there was not much in this landscape, at least at first glance. When we picked up a man carrying his containers of honey, I suspected there may be more than meets the eye. It took about an hour and a half to arrive from Marrakesh to Demnate.
A few kilometers before the city gate, I asked to be dropped off at the suq organized at the Salle Omnisport field. The ten am sun was hot, so the first thing I did was buy a hand woven palm hat, which went well with the blue embroidered blouse from the Bab Khemis secondhand clothing joutia or flea market in Marrakesh. The elderly gentleman, grinned as he quoted me a price he then halved immediately. I could not argue with such disarming tactics! He tried to sell me a hat with bright colors woven through plain. I insisted on the plain. Later, I discovered women do not usually wear either type in this area, at least not the day I was there. Perhaps this is why he was laughing, along with a few of the men I passed in the marketplace and a policeman after he interviewed me.
Other woven goods were on sale. Most striking were those that incorporated and reused rubber and plastic. Manmade materials were substituted for palm, reeds, or other natural media, objects from which were also in the suq. I like to think that the artisans were employing items that might normally clog a landfill or litter a field. In the suq, there were old tires cut and folded into two handled shallow containers and animal feed bags. There were colorful bundles of bidons, or used water and oil containers, next to plastic baskets. The multicolored examples, which patrons used in the Essaouria vegetable suq, appeared to be woven from flat and fairly thick plastic cord that could be used to bind bundles before shipping. There were two-sided carriers in black that are usually slung over a pack animal’s back. Containers used for bread were constructed from multicolored “mika” or thin plastic wound around a center core.
It took me about an hour and a half to walk through the Demnate suq. Though I did not find many textiles, argan products, honey, or olive oil vendors, I did see mounds of fresh vegetables, used clothing, and other items manufactured in Morocco, such as foot tall columns of Cosumar sugar. Inside a line of tents men waited for shaves. A homeopathic medicine vendor sat on a piece of plastic tarp on the ground with tins in front of him. Another man with a small glass enclosed table was selling cell phones and INWI renewals to a crowd of men around him who listened intently to his explanations. Homemade wooden and painted shelves were in one aisle. On a small hill, a collection of brown tagines and other ceramic cookware were carefully placed. Some had tan colored abstracted vegetal and geometric decoration. A small group of almond farmers, their wares spread in piles on plastic sheeting, were near the front of the suq closer to the part of the road leading into town. They sold almonds they described as spicy and sweet.
Off the road, representatives from the Haut-Commissariat au Plan, Centre National du Documentation in Rabat were telling suq attendants in Berber and Darija that they were going to be taking a census regarding, among other questions, who had electricity and water in their homes. In and around Demnate are many Berbers, and the government says they are conducting the survey to learn what types of future economic and social development programs will respond to local needs. Rural areas are a special focus.
[i] I did not notice any Sub-Saharan African immigrants like I’ve encountered in the north, such as Rabat, the Petit Socco of Tangier, and a Fadila bus traveling between these cities. That is another essay. I wonder what the census will say about them.
Before I left the grand taxi, the driver showed me where to find a three to four dirhem mini bus into the city of Demnate. On my way into town, we passed the grand taxi station, which is near the arches that mark the start of the city. The taxis can go anywhere, I was told, though it is about an hour to Cascades d’Ouzoud and two hours to Beni Mellal. The small minibuses, which people use to travel to nearby villages, stop and wait to fill up with passengers about a hundred meters past the city gate and near a café at the base of the hill leading up to the municipal market. Unless you are part of a packaged tour or in a rented car, the grand taxis and minibuses are the best way to get around this region. I also saw some intrepid cyclists on the road into Demnate.
The minibus driver dropped me off at the foot of a small hill that led up into the winding and relatively crowded suq within the madina. There, the owner of an épicerie insisted I share bread and olive oil so I would say people in Demnate welcome visitors. How could I refuse?
Snack finished, I went in search of more oil. There was a vendor selling both white and black chunks of salt. Some shop owners in the city told me most of the honey is not for sale until the next day or Tuesday. However, I happened across a merchant selling small containers from a low wooden seat set in front of a narrow staircase. The honey makes a delicious breakfast when added to Rabat madina wheat bread or Akkari rye fresh from woodfire bakeries, or bhagarir from the ladies in the stalls near Bab al-Bouiba. It is also good with tart Moroccan soft cheese sold from small baskets near the El-Mekki Mosque or in Akkari with delicious sweet butter, in addition to fresh roasted cashews, ground cinnamon, and raw almonds from the Souss region found along Suika in the madina of Rabat.
On my way down the hill in Demnate, I saw a tall man in a very tiny stall from which he sold smin, preserved butter, and olive oil with a floral flavor. He used a funnel to disperse the oil into my empty bottle. Its dark green color said all I needed to know. Yum!
Demnate is a small town. Though it is prominent in the Jewish history of Morocco, the Mellah today does not appear to be very old, except for the remains of a rampart. Other rampart remains are hard to find, just a wall and portal up the main road from the mellah. Continuing along the main road, one encounters an ecological museum or cultural center complete with a garden and what looked like some tomato crops. It is closed on Sundays. In general, Demnate was quiet in contrast to its Jewish and Muslim moussem holidays in July and September.
As I was standing on the pavement outside the museum wondering how to get to Imi-n-Ifri, which a woman recommended I see, a group of ladies in a minivan screeched to a halt in front of me. One of them threw open the sliding door and another ordered me in to show me something I had never seen before. For a second time in Demnate I thought how could I resist? They made room near the front. To my right was a Berber lady with her distinctive facial tattoos that told her life story in geometric motifs. Fewer younger ladies have the tattoos today. The reason usually said is that it is not Islamic.
The bus wound its way up a lush, wooded mountainside with the sliding side door ajar. Air rushed through the opening that gave us a clear view of the valley below. White and tan settlements clung to the valley walls. Olive trees grew on the other side of the road. We traveled for about ten minutes. Imi-n-Ifri is located about six kilometers from Demnate and thirty-five from Ait Blal, and not far from some hotels, such as the chic Kasbah Illy.
The ladies dropped me off at Imi-n-Ifri, which means Grotto’s Mouth in Berber. From the top of the road marked by a scenic overlook, cafes, and shops is a switchback path next to a brook and fig trees. The path leads to a river, bathing pools, and, though it was mostly dry in August, the remains of a cascade. You can hike up and through the waterfall and pools through what looks like an enormous cave with stalactite stakes and birds swirling above. There are actually two paths leading down to the grotto from the bridge and crossroads, one on either side of the main road. Down the stream, towards Demnate are thermal springs that locals say are good for the skin.
After photographing the gorge, I walked down the hill and found Afroux vegan and vegetarian restaurant and coffee café. It also had tajines prepared “sans plomb.” The owner, Hassan, took my order and I saw the pools and grotto while he prepared the meal.
Hassan is passionate about not consuming meat the raising which he says is bad for the environment and country he loves. As far as I am aware, his café is one of only a few self-advertised vegetarian and vegan restaurants in Morocco, the others being Earth Café and Café Clock in Marrakesh and Fez, and La Triskalla in Essaouira. A database of others is at
www.HappyCow.net . In many Moroccan restaurants vegetarians can also order beans, such as lubia (kidney) and eaadis (lentil). In the evenings, one can also find chickpea or fava bean carts on the streets of many cities. Vendors will sell you a paper cone of beans from large, steaming aluminum containers. There is usually one on the quai of Rabat not far from the Oudayas.
When I returned to Afroux, Hassan showed me to one of the small rustic terraces overhanging with fragrant vines. The meal began with tea and raw almonds. The then brought the tagine with fresh bread, and, if you order it, coffee. The tajine was spiced with wild rosemary and garlic. Since I am not vegan, it had a hardboiled blidi or wild hen egg. Dessert was sliced melon, grapes, and coffee spiced with cinnamon and herbs and plants Hassan grows on the property. During our conversation, he pulled some pods from a tree. I believe they are called santar and are added to tajines and coffee. Another spice he uses in his meals I was able to buy on my way out of town, a clovey and tart “tabza” mix, if I read the shop owner’s writing correctly. It goes well with chicken, too.
My meal at Afroux was enjoyed on a low wooden table set with a view of the grotto, its visitors, and the gorilla and man’s heads Hassan pointed out in the mountainside. As I relaxed in the vine covered terrace, too comfortable to make my way to the Ouzoud Cascades, I seriously contemplated Hassan’s offer to lead a walking tour along the river back to Demnate. However, on the more practical way back to Marrakesh, I decided the offer gave me a reason to return, perhaps on a tour that ends at Jebel Toubkal.
Author’s Biography:
Dr. Apelian organizes distance education courses in art and architectural history from Morocco where she lives and researches as an associate of the Centre Jacques-Berque in Rabat. She is currently writing a manuscript on the histories of electricity, automobiles, and development in the old city of Fez during the French colonial period (1912-1956). Themes of additional projects in process and publication include modern and contemporary arts, architecture, urban planning, and the visual cultures of Morocco.
I had a chance to visit architectural masterpieces in Istanbul: the Blue Mosque, Haigia Sophia, and Topkapi Palace. I was disappointed that I didn’t see anything the mimicked the feeling or style of Moroccan zillij. I realized how unique Moroccan mosaics are; they can’t be mistaken or replaced by mosaics of other cultures or styles. Most cultures create tile patterns by painting tessellating patterns on square tiles. The individual pieces of zillij used in Moroccan geometric designs are unique. The result is a mash-up of Phoenician and Roman mosaics, which were forms of representational art, and the abstract geometric patterns of Islam. Yet, they contain none of the arabesque forms of middle-eastern ornamentation and none of the representational depictions used in Roman mosaics.
