We came to Africa to rejuvenate spirits, to recover a bit
from the slow pace of our renovation work in Sarlat. And a sunny clime for
Christmas and New Year’s Eve seemed a bright idea, as it was last year when we
found ourselves in Lisbon.
So far Tangier has not disappointed us, either in regard
to inspiration or to sunshine – although it is chilly when ocean winds blow
from the Atlantic, just a stone’s throw over a tree-clad hill rising up behind
our cottage. The house is named Lalla Yenou, ‘Princess of the Spring’, and one
understands why when you see its long garden snaking down the incline. Bananas,
other tropical fruits, poinsettia trees in full flower, bird-of-paradise,
ferns, and (of all things in December) huge patches of narcissus blooming and
scenting the air like mad.
When the sun goes down the million twinkling lights of
modern Tangier echo the black night sky, pockmarked with another million stars.
But in daylight before us spreads a majestic view of the storied city and bay
below, where Phoenician, Greek, and Roman galleys sailed, corsairs issued forth
to plunder and return with Christian slaves, and a dozen different 18th century
navies competed for power, glory, and lucre.
It is hard to imagine the crumbling old walls of the
Tangerine kasbah bristling with cannon and thundering in response, yet it was
so. Arab armies from the east, waves of Ottomans, Portuguese, Spanish, French,
British wrested control of the city, time and again - from each other and from
its poor native inhabitants, who finally kicked them all out and regained
complete control only in 1957.
One nice historical footnote for me is the unwarlike
story of amicable American-Moroccan relations that began in 1777 when the king
of Morocco became the first world ruler to recognize the independence of the
United States. The American Legation building in the old medina of Tangier was
gifted by his successor in 1824 and is the only National Historic site
overseas. It is a jewel worth visiting, quasi museum and quasi art gallery, and
still functioning as a consulate.
Tangier had a hip international literary and art scene
from the 1920s through the ‘beat generation’ and hippy days of the 50s and 60s.
Francesco is particularly smitten by that part of its story and we have been
frequenting places immortalized in the works of people like William Burroughs,
Paul Bowles, Tennessee Williams, Allen Ginsberg: the El Minzah hotel, Dean’s
Bar, Café de Paris, Café Central, and the streets leading up and down from
Barbara Hutton’s fabulous kasbah palace, where she hosted decadent parties
during her reign as queen of the city’s expat social circle.
We’ve also ventured out a few times by car, visiting Cap
Spartel and the Atlantic coast between Tangier and the beautiful little seaside
town of Asilah, some forty kilometers to the south. Yet to come is our planned
two-day foray to the ‘imperial city’ of Fez, deep in the heart of the
mountainous Rif country. It is sobering to realize that there are some five
thousand further miles of this vast continent stretching southward from this
very tip of northwest Africa.
Although touristy, full of
little boutiques, vendors hawking souvenirs, hustlers stalking their prey,
there is a touching naiveté and genuineness in the people we have encountered
thus far, whether in busy Tangier or outlying places. Moroccans seem always
smiling and welcoming, trying in various languages to signify goodwill and
grace. It is a nice way to begin this holiday season and a good place, we
think, to usher in a portentous New Year.
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