Leisure Time

Leisure Time
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Salon near Plaza del Toro

Leisure Time

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Club Generation

Landscape (2005)

This image comes from a group of images I exhibited at Galerie Mohamed Drissi in Tangier December 2007-January 2008 called "Invisible Hands." More images from the show are available on flickr under the set drawings/collages/photographs. http://www.flickr.com/photos/simoblog

Our christmas treat

Our christmas treat
Originally uploaded by simoblog

Invisible Hands Exhibition!

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life runs down

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life runs out

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The fate of all sheep on aid el kebir

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I love this chick

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grazing on the new lawn

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Grazing in the new public park

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fashion

fashion
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fashion

fashion
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flowers

flowers
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cat food

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Cats ate well during Ramadan. People ate vicariously through them?

fisherman

fisherman
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He showed us the way

tire treads

tire treads
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Looks harder after you look back--just another reason not to look back

the gods

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Clandestines

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(by Faycal Algandouzi)

european dead people card catalogue

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man with manequins

man with manequins
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Cafe scene Cafe Dahlia

Cafe scene Cafe Dahlia
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singing man

singing man
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the port

the port
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Saudi style (back)

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Saudi style

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Meriem’s sister went to Saudi Arabia because they were in need of talented hairdressers there, and Morocco, she admits shyly but proudly, is known for its beauticians. She brought back a Saudi get-up to wear to parties. Here it is fashionable to wear, she says. Everyone loves the sleeves, that are subtle but shiny with beads and delicate lace. Just then a Saudi soap opera became noticeable the way TV does in a silence, and she laughed and pointed and said, there even the men wear headscarves.

A nice hairdo, a Moroccan specialty

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Does anyone know what these pink, wild looking Tangier flowers are?

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The open door party

The door party
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The rose party

The rose party
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The new Casa Barata and Mohamed Hmidouche

The new Casa Barata and Mohamed Hmidouche
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Near Casa Barata

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Tanger --Tratados Codigos Leyes y Jurisprudencia

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The first volume of the International Zone "bible"--a book of laws and regulations.

Hot ballerinas on pointe to help you break your fast

Hot ballerinas on pointe to help you break your fast
Originally uploaded by simoblog

the rainbow enters

the rainbow enters
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woman sleeping

woman sleeping
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earnestness

earnestness
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Boulevard Mohamed V - titanic

Boulevard Mohamed V - titanic
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Boulevard Mohamed V - genie

Boulevard Mohamed V - genie
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Boulevard Mohamed V - brooklyn bridge

Boulevard Mohamed V - brooklyn bridge
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Boulevard Mohamed V - overpass and palm trees

Boulevard Mohamed V - overpass and palm trees
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Morocco Palace
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The best music. The most mediocre belly dancing.

Morocco Palace

Morocco Palace
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Grand Socco at Break Fast Time

Grand Socco at Break Fast Time
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cinematheque cafe during ramadan

cinematheque cafe during ramadan
Originally uploaded by simoblog

looks like the cinema is doing good business-everyone wants to sit at the new outdoor cafe right on the grand socco. Too bad they can't order anything. It's ramadan.

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dusty palms

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I like the apple symbol because it reminds me of teachers and knowledge. But the bright red apple also reminds me of snow white and that poisonous apple. In general I am a fan of the bold symbols like the lantern, key, and crescent moon. All this writing I can't read doesn't mean anything to me--and I can just imagine most of the population here saying the same thing--unfortunately.

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lantern and key

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islamicist party sign

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When people realized it was him in the slicked out, waxed up black convertible they started a stampede. But he was gone as quickly as he had come.

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Originally uploaded by simoblog

September 19 2007--the King rolls through the grand socco, presumably assessing the work of the Wali who recently joined us in Tangier from Marrakech.

This reminds us that it could have been worse. By all appearances this pile of shoes is the detritus of whole families that perished in the flame...

A pile of rubble where I used to do all my clothes shopping. The fellows on the mount are having a town meeting in which they decide to continue selling in order to put pressure on the authorities to help them reclaim the land and get more permanent shops. The fire meant 600 people lost their jobs and more than hundreds of others directly affected who depend on these wholesale dealers for a part of their merchandise.

This is where the clothing section of Casa Barata used to be. Tuesday night there was a fire at about 10:30 at night and the entire second-hand clothing souk burned down. Almost everyone is saying it was done on purpose by the people/person who owns the land (even the story of who owns the land differs from person to person.) My friend Mohamed, who is a merchant at the market, says he lost 10000DH worth of merchandise, the equivalent of $1,000.

For more photos of the cinematheque de tanger go to: www.cinemathequedetanger.com/photos.html

Letter from America--it's not so far away

"Tonight on television American Cinematography Actor Event was dedicated to George Clooney.
He was getting a Life Time Achievement Award and many Movie Stars were there.
One of them, Matt Damon, was shown in Tangier and was praising George standing in front of Cinema Rif selling movie tickets to the locals, talking to George from the screen and arguing with Moroccans at the same time.
It was so great for me to be at your place so unexpectedly all of a sudden hours after we talked.
I really take it as a very good sign, toward your future stay, making the best of Tangier's spiritual atmosphere."--Dada Schneider

Mohamed, the official cinematheque shoeshiner, gives the thumbs up but does not stop shining. December 13th, the cinematheque de tanger opened to the public with the movie Indigenes, a film about Moroccan mercenaries during WWII, and with the first DocMaroc documentary filmmaking workshop.

get your photos for visas here--but he's watching you so you better not leave for long...

The priest comes in from Spain every Sunday.

Arabic above the pulpit

The congregation today

fresh kill

The scissor in the stone

guardian of the gates--of paradise? He was very handsome...

like soldiers all lined up in a row

Welcome to the St. Andrew's Church and Graveyard. I had the pleasure of visiting with one of the documentary film students who are here for two weeks doing films all around Tangier. The ideas for the films came from us and the things we have been wanting to cover for a long time. Here are some stills of the site I took while I was there scouting for the students.

We're open!

Details details...

I'm sooo relieved they have cold showers, I'm so sick of hot ones and you can't find a cold one anywhere.


"Club al Madina de Musculation"


I should make some new tea. Or cast some kind of spell.


This is organic.


The stairs up to Fuentes Cafe in the Petit Socco are thin as paper from human drops of water lapping away.


Strange visitor


This was planted on the beach by some of the stowaway hopefuls. A friend explained it "They're just kids you know, they have to have fun too." But look at this thing, it's pointy, jagged, sinister and skeletal. It looks like some superstitious gesture, or a dedication to a friend departed.

The Cinema!

At Dusk

At Night

The Cafe

The Cafe Hallway and Bar

Library

Ramadan at 6pm

During Ramadan stores close from 5:30-8 and the streets empty out. Breaking the fast happens between 6 and 6:10 shifting everyday according to the lunar calendar. Between 5:15 and 6 are the absolute worst times to drive, risky business. People are not only the hungriest they'll be all day but they are rushing home towards a meal. Nothing will stop them. Here is the Grand Socco at 5:55.

New Pictures of the Grand Socco

Tangier is also undergoing serious change. They put a gaudy St. Petersburg style fountain in the middle of the main square. It's a bit much and people complain that the palm trees they put around it don't like it there and are dying. They also give no shade. I guess they put in one square and the king drove by one day and didn't like it, so they had to take it apart and start from scratch.


This view from the cinema shows the trucks that are here as part of the Bourne Again crew. Part of the many part Bourne series, a huge movie crew has taken over Tangier. More pictures above.

The fountain is nice from one side of the square. But since square is on a slope, you get a strange view from the downhill side. At least the cinema peaks out.

The fountain from the cinema's projection room.

Poetry

Also you can see a poem of mine here:
http://brooklynrail.org/2006-06/poetry/faith-is-a-marionette

I'm in St. Petersburg for the summer. If you like this blog, visit http://whitenightsblackhumor.blogspot.com- 22 hours of sunlight serves to illuminate the dark crevices of this foresaken city.

One of the winter roads of Kiarostami

Hotel Life. When all you can see from your hotel is the word hotel, you know you're a serpent eating your own tail. I'm a serpent eating my own tale. Five star hotel life is nice, Hunter S. Thompson style (RIP).

Hotel bar

Peacocks were pruning at the parties.

Preparing for the festival...laying down the sand.

Ooooo aaaaa films

The festival world--The world of the festival.

Marrakech red. This is the picture I was waiting for in Tangier for days. Waiters in Morocco serve like they're in olympic competition. Makes for an interesting alternative to the egg races of yore.

Hey folks! Sorry I've been MIB (Missing in Blogland lately, I left Tangier for New York, only to be sent back to Morocco, but to Marrakech this time, for a program through Tribeca Film Institute and the Marrakech Film Festival. The blog I made for Marrakech is not exactly about the city, but about the program, and about the festival. You can see that blog at mtfe.blogspot.com. I also visited the Cinematheque de Tanger in Tangier and there has been loads of progress on the construction front. See pictures at http://cinemathequedetanger.com/chantierdec/ (not by me.) The opening date is set for May 29th, after the Cannes Film Festival.
(photo by youssef barrada)

Abbas Kiarostami during one of his master classes

Scorsese during the master class

from 57th street

the window comes in for bedtime

snow shovels in defile, ready for the ghost arm of winter

Paint, Paste, Paper Push

Where I take my lunch break, hudson and N. Moore.

speckles of light

now you don't

now you see it

Breakneck ridge vine tangle

Dragon Fruit from Chinatown

If you like my blog, I recommend you check out the Fall 2005 issue of Bidoun, a both hip and insightful magazine on Middle Eastern Culture and Arts. They really have their pulse on contemporary Middle Eastern politics and art. Also, in this issue you can see "A project by the artists Yto Barrada and Simona Schneider looks at the iconography of local economies, here in the form of the exchange of cigarettes in one Moroccan town (Tangier). " Unfortunetly this content is not online, but other articles are so you can get a feel for the magazine and those will hopefully inspire you to want to see more. Happy reading. http://www.bidoun.com/

Find out what this is, and whose feet these are in Bidoun.

Overheard in Chinatown, New York:
"I don't have a drinking problem, I drink and I get drunk."

Sunburst emphasizes weird activities

Brighton Beach--disposable towels after a swim.

Outside my window here in nyc

Dear all, I am leaving Tangier on Monday and arriving in New York Tuesday afternoon. This does not mean that the TangierTelegram can no longer exist, just that it will have a new home-base. I hope to see you all in a different kind of spice market: New York in the fall.

Huge ugly billboard They placed in the Grand Socco a week before the King came to Tangier. Within three days of complaining to high-ups, and with the King coming, the billboard was gone AND the dirty fenced in Grand Socco was transformed with flowers, new benches, and open lawns (see below.) That's what a monarchy can do.

The turn-out for the marching band, and the King eventually, we think. I didn't see him, but a friend of a friend saw him. Wait, did you see him? No, did you? No. Hmmm. From the roof of our apartment building.

The Cinema, all dressed up for the King's arrival.

The king's arrival makes everything nice. I saw him cruising through the grand socco in a convertible. Sidi moulay abalazis driving. Only caught the back of his head, but everyone chanted "Long live the King." By the time that chant started he had already sped off. Porsches move fast. (Notice missing billboard. The work of a little influence here on the Grand Socco.)

The King's doppleganger holds his place until he decides to make the scene.

A ten meter drop. Robert belly-flops, the kids chuckle until he swims around the corner. I jump, go in a little crooked, get a little slap flat between my collarbone and neck. When I come up--complete silence. That was nothing I thought, I'm ok. Somebody said "you know they're in awe because girls only jump from here once a year."

The gnawa at dar gnawa. http://www.dargnawa.org/

Back in Morocco. In the medina, a hammam says ladies to the left, gentlemen to the right.

Apartment climbers at the Kharms Festival in St. Petersburg. The law of the masses, everything starts with one and ends in a million-one is not a number, two is the first number (--in terms of homeland, if you have one, you don�t think about it. It is just obvious. One is inside and everything else is outside. If you don�t have one, you have a number-two, or even four. In kharms, numbers are like quality, not quantity. Cannot turn one number into another, there is no math.

My Trip Back to the Ostensible Homelands, Latvia (where I'd only been in stories) and Russia: A work in progress

0:00:15 --We received our first zapreshenia ("forbidden") 15 seconds after setting foot in the airport. There was a woman who looked like Paris Hilton holding a sign for Mr. Smith. She was quite impressive, as the man manning the check-in counter at the gate recognized too, and he took a picture of her, she posed. Charles wanted a picture too, he pulled out his camera and attempted a covert shot, but the same man of the counter saw and wagged his finger at him. First forbidden warning: accomplished.

0:01:00--As we turned the corner a few corridors down from our gate, a balcony looked over a throng of people, vaguely organized into three parts, or lines, five people wide and about 40 people long. I wagged my vestiginous tale bone in excitement, our first unbelievable line, and not more than 1 minute after leaving the plane. St. Petersburg was already more than I could have hoped for.

Independence Day Parade

Riga, Latvia, 2005

This is where mom got the idea "wearing flowers in your hair." A peace sign pin given to mom by boy on train passing through to Moscow was mom's most prized posession for a long time, then she gave it to a boy who liked her and she never saw it again. Fatalistic and pleased walking past the Daugavpils train station.

wait for me!

Hooters-little farming complexes owned by one family-Soviets tried to do away with them-they consisted of house, barn, for animals, barn for hay, tractors, garage, wells. The farms here have the biggest haystacks in any country I've been in because they pile the hay on wooden skeletons-that have a hole in the middle. Mom says people sleep, eat, and make love in them, and why not?

A survey asked all high school aged Latvians, "What is the most important thing to you?" The majority said "to be Latvian."

futurist folklore and buildings

Everyone thought Charles was Russian.

The young barge driver on the ferry boat being pelted by wind and the rain under slicker, a pointy dog face, like in Heart of a Dog, and pimply too, looked no happier or under less duress than a military boat admiral during WWI. And yet he was just on the Neva with a bunch of tourists. Some of the more narrow canals seemed to cause him stress and required intense concentration.

At the hermitage I am most interested in the state rooms #s 190-176 on the second floor and 381-339, 20th century with some byzantium (I think) inbetween. I get lost, however, in the Italian and Flemish sections, definitely worth seeing, before I find my way. In the end I see most of the museum I think. I saw the room where the bolsheviks assassinated the family and then held their own meeting: The small dining room. After they had done away with the last remaining royalty, they invited a congress of proletariat from all over the country to a meeting in the palace to celebrate the coup. To show their disgust for the monarchy's taste in art and luxury, they used all the ceramics and bathtubs in the palace as urinals and toilets. All the large groups were walking in one direction. A man in a corner with an easle was copying a flemish bouquet.
Most of all, I remember that in the white and rosy room the ivory �vase� doesn't hold water.

fitness theater

Razve eto-zhe mozhno?-Ticket lady on the train when I put my feet on the seats.

Shampoo costs $1. Beauty products and services are cheap. No wonder all the girls are beautiful. Cigarettes also cost $1.50. No wonder half of the men have grey skin. Russians are of two extremes, either fanatics about exercise and going to the gym, or total drunks.

Curious grandmas falling a la Kharms for his 100th birthday. A curious grandma leans out the window; no one could have planned it better.

KGB-Klubs Golden Bonus. I guess they believe it’s been long enough and is now far enough away to joke.

Sunday Swing St. Pete's

In church, like in Morocco, the ladies are covered with a headscarf. They wait in a long line to kiss the icon (in times of plagues it Catherine the great tried to outlaw kissing the icon, and people thought she was doing it to be evil and rub salt into a wound�sick and unable to pray to get better too!) They also put a square the size of a postcard with the same icon�s image up to the icon, as if to let the icon kiss herself. Sometimes they kneel.

Religion is alive and well here after communism. Some things about national identity never change. When I was here 6 years ago there was no line to see Lenin in Red Square.

So is asking money for honey.

The time I saw someone drown outside Yusupov Palace, I had just finished telling the story of Rasputin to some visitors. First they tried to poison him, but he had already been feeding himself poison little by little to build up an immunity. Then they shot him, but he still survived. Finally they took him outside and drowned him in the canal. I finished the account of the drawn out death of the Tsaritsa's bewitching hope and saviour, and we walked outside, into the never-dying sunlight of the St. Petersburg summer. It had been 5 years since I was there last. There, on the canal, I saw the police dragging the soaking body out of the water. I glued my mouth shut, you see, I though I had made the story come true. I walked ahead quickly. I don't think my visitors saw, and I never told them. I only tell you, now.

Oh yes, Jurmala, land of stories, land of my childhood---no that was Cape Cod. Land of dachas, land of policemen, popping out from around corners to give you fines for riding bicycles on pedestrian sidewalks.

crapiva, a reminder: you'd better behave.

click on this, see what your kid is up to.

In Latvia they would say Idyem v peryed k komunismy (Forward to Communism!) Meanwhile they held their thumb between their pointer and middle finger, and their hand clutched in a fist (to mean an adament no), a snickering, opposition of the idea. In Latvia they considered what they had socialism. Everywhere they were promising that after five years, or some foreseeable date, they could do away with money and they would have real communism.

the beach at jurmala on a weekday

dad's old summer house

Simonichka,
I'm trying to figure out the data you asked me, I'm not sure, but it could be that Grandpa Alexander started his voyage about 1928-1929, stayed for about two years. His Odyssey was very romantic. On the way the team of sailors went on a strike. Twice they left the ship. First time Alexander found
himself in India. At that time India was under England. The vice king of India was sir Victor Sassoun (Jewish). He got a liking to the tall skinny guy, Alexander, and even gave him a very precious gift, a white suit privately tailored, from the best fabric. Alexander was elated, feeling like a prince in the suit. He went out to the street, walked along the boulevard, when he came to an intersection an Indian boy came running around the corner and bumped into Alexander, leaving ten black fingerprints on his gorgeous white suit. I think, you already guessed, the suit was ruined, there was no such thing as cleaning at that time. Alexander could never recover from the shock. The favor of the vice - king saved Alexander from being jailed as a spy, the chief officer in the police strongly suspected him.
The second time Alexander arrived to Australia, Sidney. He found good friends in
Latvian community, stayed with them for about 2.5 years, then he decided to return
to Riga, to serve the obligatory two years in the regular army.
To be continued. Take care, hope you'll come home soon. Love, Grandma.

Dear Grandma,
That's a really interesting story. I didn't know grandpa went to India. I don't believe that they didn't have good enough cleaning methods, though. That's really the climax of the story?

pine trees die hard. Boston's got pines.

spread eagle, the adolescent years

green seagrass, yellow sun

grandma, exactly. I thought she was in the states?

big fish little fish, and hop on pop

dad's soviet version of the firebird.

Twelve out of 14 suitcases my parents brought to America were books. They got robbed in Rome, but no one took their books so it turned into 12 out of 13 suitcases. One of the books was Elvis' biography. The American army wanted to know about the Soviet army, which my father served in for years, so they said, "Tell us about the Soviet Army and you can have anything you want, just name it." Dad asked for a biography of Elvis. The last time they came to speak with him, they presented him with a cheap paperback.

Dad used to love the imagery of St. George slaying the dragon until he understood that he was the dragon.

On the train, mathematical persuasions and a sailor who is so drunk he might as well still be walking on the boat. Dad whips out a strange expression, "The best pears in the forest will go to the wolves."

Dad went to the aviation school, he also makes zen rock sculptures in our backyard. He refused to set foot in Russia again for confidential reasons.

the train to jurmala

blueberries, blackberries, chanterelles, red current, wild strawberries oh my.

Used to have a furnace stove clad with white tiles in the middle of a room. The tiles were held together by a brown clay that contained calcium. I imagine the color of the white tiles were the attracting force and the smell of the clay sealed the deal. Mom had a calcium deficiency and often in the summer she sat next to the cool stove and licked the clay.

picking pickles

picnic idyllic, what would you do without me in Latvia?

on horse, did I grow up here?

rainbow

Mom often journeyed across a snowy field to read the weather forecast for the local research station. Did her mother permit her without worrying? Mom must have snuck out or lied (but to read the weather?) Grandma is always talking about grey wolves, not letting the grey wolves in. What if you had been eaten by wolves? Wolves are an invention of one grandma, the city grandma. Wolves are a metaphor for strangers in the city. In Daugavpils, more of a small city surrounded by woods, wolves were not metaphors.

A journalist from the duma went around to see what they were doing in there. Apparently the parliament couldn't figure out what to think about so they all went for a walk around town to think of ideas. One brought back the idea whether to make it legal to sell matryeshki in the old city.

rebuilt synagogue

At our technological college they told us when we graduated we were going to to be in the control room of a rocketbase.

wear flowers all over

the rendez-vous clock, on time 30 years later

In the northwest corner of the park, the Pushkin statue was gone. Whenever I asked grandma a question she didn't want to answer, she would say "Go ask Pushkin."

after a day's work

eery playground

my family buys land in the homeland. Full circle.

yellow snails on a fence

Dad had made boats out of pine bark to float on the beach. He carved a shape of a boat directly into the tree and broke out as many layers as he could get. The pine bark looks like a topographical map. He had a discerning eye for pieces that would describe steep mountains. Then he bored a hole for a twig mast, and attached paper to the mast. He played with these boats in the long pools that lined the shore. The water gets caught in the middle of the beach after high tide, in a shallow depression of sand, and warms up quickly under the sun, forming a vast kiddy pool. Sitting in this pool, the ocean is manageable.

Mark Rothko is from my mother's hometown, Daugavpils, an industrial town now in a depression since the factories closed. I understand now, there's not much to see. Squint up your eyes though, and everything seems less bleak, more liquid.

Your dad wanted to go into business and I protested. When I married him I thought he was going to be an artist or an academic. I said, I didn�t marry you so that you could go into business, but he got his way, and he was right.

A detail of construction, 9th day

Vogue and Casa Barata

Yesterday as part of “work” for 212 Society, Maya and I went shopping briefly at casa barata with Vogue writer Mark ---. Maya and I were the guides. The team of five (+ photographer + assistant, section supervisor + assistant) is here for three days. The article is about model Jacquetta Wheeler, who is Treasurer of the 212 Society (http://www.212society.org/) of which I am also a board member. The article is to raise awareness for a grand fundraiser we will be hosting in November to help Darna (http://www.darnamaroc.org/) build a center for girls. They currently have a center for women and boys. The article, however, to fit into Vogue’s type of article, will be on Jacquetta, Darna, and Shopping. Of course, whatever works.

Shopping in Tangier is difficult, especially for clothes. Casa Barata is great though, for the adventurous shopper, and the relics of the past you can find there are amazing. Last time we came upon a pile of bathing suits from the 50s-70s. The hard, irrationally shaped plastic cups would have been unbearable though. There were even wool versions, entirely impractical for around here, but maybe they came from Iceland? All the clothes come from Spain to Tetouan, and are sold by the kilo, then brought to Tangier. I explained to Mark that since there are absolutely no mirrors at Casa Barata, and anyway, we are the only people who actually try things on over our clothes, we take digital pictures of each other in everything we try on to see if it looks good. Sometimes we take multiple pictures because we have faith in a garment, but the photograph is unflattering. Sometimes the photograph reveals a hidden character inside the dress, like for instance one where I become Aunt Sam(antha) recruiting woman, telling you to come to the factories, your country needs your help. Something very proletariat about it, though the fabric was half silk. A pre-pubescent shaped dress with a tiny strawberry print sends Maya back to the midwest, where she’ll always be at heart, but I said: it’s not necessary to wear it on the outside.

What were you thinking while you drew this?

A drawing made by Said, an artist in Tangier and secular muslim, from a photograph I took (as a secular jew) of a section of a stained-glass window in the Cloisters in New York City, New York. Said is a lively one and came back with a whole philosophy of symbols I had never heard. I personally though of puppetry when I saw this. I was involved in a puppetry show at the time and this exemplified a puppet when not animated by its creator or pupeteer. Puppet are always used as allegory (if not slapstick) I thought the relationship between religion, storytelling and allegory were worth exploring, to see what allegory people from different religions would cull from this image. Said was most interested in numbers and in the dove with a halo that is at once part of god's beard and as if pecking at Jesus' head.

Conceptual Project

Said's Rant
The right can't be beaten by the left (that easily)
the right has no power to make them sick or dead.
The left is closer to god than the extreme right
or even the regular right, even the extreme left.
There are more right than left, splitting them up
between themselves and their own intentions,
see three against two.
When you slit the lamb's throat you send the children away
because at that moment enters the devil.

The first life on earth was a bird, not a dove,
but a parrot. Because it can repeat words, then
seperated animal from the phenomenon (humans.)
Rain comes from the sky so life comes from the sky,
so birds come from the sky.

The artist had a farther reaching perspective
For the right-one's own religion
For the left, the devil for some, really closer to god
than any of you.

If I had the end of the world in my hands right here,
is holding a crumpled piece of brown bag,
the reverse big bang
held it out towards anyone, said "take it,"
and they did...
Private things pass at 1100 kilometers a second

Why do our looks look the look they look?
No one can explain, Darwin explained,
but an artist can draw a baby before it is born
Da Vinci did it.

Saying excuse me

If Moroccans bump into each other, sometimes they say sorry, but usually they take an extra second to pause in this sensuous interaction, put an extra hand on the other person’s arm where they connected, and stabilize themselves and the other person. I always did that too. It seems the only way you can make up for the sudden jolt is to heal it with your own body and touch.

July 12, 2005--Some journal notes

The cat exploded out of the dumpster. We all thought it was a piece of cardboard blown out by the wind, but when it hit the ground, it ran along the street and jumped into a window.

The man threw the grey bird up in the air, it hit its climax and plummeted like an old lady, wings fluttering frivolously like the frills on a dress. A little boy picked it up and handed it back to the old man. The man held it in his palm and petted its neck. The bird never slowed its jerking head. “Is it hurt?” I asked. The man nodded. The man decided it had rested enough and threw up again, to my surprise. This time, after what looked like a downwardslope, the bird caught a breeze and went over the rooftops. It must be difficult to catch a good breeze in the medina. The alleys are so narrow.

The secretariat general of the region lost the letter that yto made, after months of waiting for them to make it, she got their letterhead and made the letter herself. All they had to do was sign it. Finally, after four days of coming back for the letter, the man said, what happened to the letter, my office is so disorganized, what did you incompetents do with the letter. And Yto said, I gave the letter to you, not to anyone else. The problem was it had to go to the President for him to approve it. It went to him on Wednesday, but he couldn’t sign it after he approved it because it wasn’t his signature day; he has one day a week when he can sign things.

Senhaji, director of the cinema for 35 years, does not know the safe number by heart. He asks Maya to find the little slip of paper in the desk drawer that was emptied yesterday. “I am the only one who knows the code” he says, but even he does not know it. And what if we don’t find it? I say, totally bewildered at the prospect. That’s OK, he says, there’s nothing in there anyway.

The Cafe Comparison

This is the painting I was talking about that reminds me of the photograph in the posting of Monday May 30--it is a strange coincidence.

The cinema stands proud to be undergoing minor surgery. Note the metallic demarkation signifying DEMOLITION AND CONSTRUCTION. It's VERY exciting to see the project moving so physically. Plus I've always had a thing for construction. It makes me feel good. And you?

The cinema blocked off

The construction workers are sleeping the in the cinema for the duration of the work (approximately three months)

There is already blood on the floor. The first day one of the workers slashed their arm almost clean through on one of the large metal sheets the city provides to block off the construction from the street (from the first picture)

The alley where the cafe will be is broken, the bathrooms are gone.

The team from left to right :Yto Barrada, Mr. Iraqi from Casablanca, and Jaouad Khattabi, one of the two architects (the other being Jean-Marc Lalo.)

The stage is a wasteland

The chairs are in order

Simona and Le Figaro Magazine

My picture appeared in the Figaro Magazine (a weekly in France) last week. The article was about the Gran Cafe de Paris and its super collection of regulars made up of some of the greatest writers and artists of the 20th century. Apparently I am a good example of just that type of clientele. See the article at http://www.lefigaro.fr/magazine/20050701.MAG0003.html. You can also see the picture on this blog at http://photos1.blogger.com/img/104/3518/1024/simona_%28Franck%29.jpg

In the caption in the Figaro “Un mythe a ses songes et ses vigiles,” (A myth has its dreams and guardians) a myth refers to the Gran Cafe and the songes and vigiles (dreams and guardians) implies that I am either a dream or a guardian or both. I am not however, a myth. This reassures me. I thought I might be the myth that had dreams and guardians--a tragic figure, or just one who explains some mundane phenomenon, but who is immediately replaced by science (especially in this modern world, who needs myths?) The article itself was very negative on this note though, and the reporter (with whom I was none too impressed) wasn’t digging the scene, actually he was damn well aggressive about it (as much as his sloppy, dumbstruck, jadedness would let him be) about his assignment, and even chaining to this interactive monument to some of the literary giants. He took the attitude that the Cafe is only what it claims to be because it claims it, not because it is. He had missed the point, however. The cafe is what it is because of what happens inside of it, and the people who choose it and revel in its tranquility and timelessness. I am not a guardian of the myth except that I am there to enjoy the cafe for what it is, its brown leather seats, envy green table cloths, professional waiters in crisp red jackets, and engaged crowd of well-to-do loafers, those who seem to be doing nothing, but in fact do all their business out of the cafe. Thankfully the photographer was great and got a great feel for the place, as evidenced by his spotting me.

St. Pete's

Just catching up here before heading to the Stray Dog and then home to the gostinitza (hotel) which used to be an old dorm for the the technological college of the railroad (iron road.) I went to a reading tonight of Kharms in translation. Eugene read mostly (was very good, dramatic) and then he let Matvei step in. He was good too, but i had a coughing fit in the middle and had to leave. Then I went to a place much like the Bowery called Platform run by a guy named Chicken-little, or anyway a derivative of Chicken, so that was funny. The people i went there with left for Moscow on the overnight train, inviting me to some New Zealander poetry reading there, but I had to turn them down (for better or worse. One of these guys, Sasha, admitted to translating some of it into Russian without understanding it at all.) Now I'm on my own again having been too impatient for the rest of the crew to arrive, and maybe they never would have. They were having dinnerand dinner is a slow affair here, but as I already ate at the Grand Hotel Europe with my family (mostly Charles's doing) a Russian Hamburger, salmon lox between two blini--a blini burger, I was all set. On my way here I saw many interesting things, a mass of humanity lying in the middle of a side street proclaiming freedom--two men:one in a sailor's hat, one in a bashlik with a soviet star, watching them amused. And then I saw a girl, distressed, crossing the street with one of her very skimpy (rather lingerie like) tanktop straps broken, holding it up, then giving up on holding it up. Then I ran into a 19 year old girl in indigo smoking cigarettes and looking intensely and staring at the water in front of the church of spilled blood so I spoke with her for awhile. Another friend had adamently mentioned that he believe the Russian people were intrinsically communist and I asked her about that and she had been staying in one of those Soviet Style apartments, with one communal kitchen per floor, and she seemed to think that was a pain, but they used it anyway of course.

Sarcasm, Irony, I know not these words. I am on 100 grams of vodka (funny how they measure it this way here) and headed home. Each Vodka encounter is served up as a chemistry expirement in a beaker and test tubes. It is fun, but each outcome seems to give a conclusive conclusion.

xo to all you out there. Sorry for the delay in writing I'll be back on a regular schedule early July when I'm back in Tangier. Wish me luck in the motherland. The mushrooms won't be out yet, but there will be smoked fish to eat and nostalgic buildings to picture.

Please excuse my temporary absence from this online journal. Here is a musical interlude from Tarifa, Spain: Parasurfers on an electrical wire. I am leaving for Marrakesh, then Latvia and St. Petersburg for three weeks. I will try to update along the way.

The old Portuguese wall of the Casbah built in the 15th century, with cats.

P'tit Socco

One of the crazies in the P'tit Socco wore a checkered blanket around the city for an entire weekend. Dragging the blanket like a cape behind him, picking up litter in the folds of it along the way, made quite an imposing figure. He just kept walking, and I just kept running into him.

1/2 Mountain along the coast of Morocco, seen from the middle of the strait.

I think I'm seriously damaged and demented from three days of Moroccan wedding. I don't know how I got into this... MAYA... but I will never be the same again. Of course it was something I could never see otherwise, and for that I thank you. I made it through with the same morbid fascination I would have at a Ms. America Pageant, but I would never choose to attend one of those either. Please feel my gaping-mouthed fascination and pain with me below.

Second and Third day of Moroccan Wedding

The bride�s party lasts three days and only girls and the bride�s family are allowed to attend. Most of the celebration involves the guests sitting, somberly as if at a wake, in the bride�s house while the bride is hidden from light in fear that she might be tainted before her groom comes to take her hand. The first two days do involve singing and chanting, but at least at the first party, there were only three girls who ever danced (four if you count me And I did dance my ass off.) See June 3 for first day. Boy have I had enough of weddings to las me my whole life. Here are Maya and I in borrowed Kaftans.

Because the party was all women, some women did take off their headscarves, but many did not since the bride�s brothers and father were also buzzing about. Taking off their headscarves was a major step for some, and for others, dancing belly-shaking style, tying their headscarf around their hips the better to move in their hips, feel them and control them into a sinuous, sexy dance, was absolutely necessary.

The more relatives and friends came, the more the room filled up and resembled a harem. Especially with some girls constantly dancing in the narrow aisle. It seems the other women clapped and nodded approvingly and smiled encouragingly when a girl was very good. It was a kind of school of sexiness. I came to wonder if it is normal for a girl to dance alone for a man once they are married, for she certainly can�t dance for just anyone.

Waiting ladies

The third and final day of the wedding we saw the bride even less. She was locked in a room with a make-up artist and a few ladies-in-waiting. She then proceeded to change four times. Only a few ladies prayed when the Muezzin called from his minaret down the road.

From her nightgown to a modest white dress for the second, symbolic henna ceremony during which she was veiled with three different scarves.

Another woman walked around with a white scarf throwing it over the heads of all the single girls and pulling it over to assure their own future marriages.

The second dress was astounding. And the whole second entrance was insane. She came out in a dress that looked like it must have been as thick as a fur coat with at least 80 strands of pearls around her neck.

Her expression was stone, and her posture was that of a mummy. She was lead unseeing to the tacky gold throne on which she sat while everyone came up in front of her, without greeting her, and got their pictures taken with her.

I had a flashback to my trip to the wax museum, but it was too hot in there for her to be wax. After her family had their pictures taken with her she started trembling and crying. Then she was lead out and disappeared for the rest of the evening until around 11 pm.

At 11 she exited a completely different person, as if she had been possessed before, in this pink monstrosity. She showed off for a while, getting praise in the form of a hand motion from the other women, like when one flicks water off their hands.
After this outfit it was just a waiting game for the groom. The husband comes whenever he likes, starting from midnight until 5 am at times. There are also no vows as far as I could tell. Only this pandemonium of praise.
The whole preparation involves making the woman brand new. A day at the hammam gets rid of any skin that is not its shiniest and brand newest.

It is also to show how special the woman is and to transmit the joy and happiness of her friends, as a girl explained to me.

I didn�t understand how exactly that was done, though, while she was in a room completely cut off from the party except for the music coming under the door.

Ancient Attendants

She waves like Ms. America while she laughs and cries from joy, and glitter is thrown at her. Then she gets lowered back down to earth. The husband is instructed to come kneel inside the silver cage thing to take pictures.

She doesn�t pay attention to the husband, she is so happy and so in touch with her friends (fans.)

This is your moment girlfriend.

The husband arrives

The girl's party climaxes when the husband arrives. That could be anywhere between midnight and 5 am. After 5 am I guess he'll never show. Waiting in suspense is completely normal, the boy's party could be too fun and rowdy. I, like all the other women, would not be allowed access. In the olden days, and still today in more rural areas, the bride would be delivered to the husband's house on a mule with a box around her--as if she were a present. In fact they do this so that she cannot be sullied by the looks of strange men on her way. The end of the ceremony the bride and groom dance, if they wish. Everyone chants �Hoowa, Hiyya, Hoowa, Hiyya� which means, �Him, Her, Him Her.� The bride slinks away for one last �evening wear� change.

Then the two ride off into the night and supposedly, no one is allowed to know where they have gone.

The end of our night. Being at that wedding was like being on drugs. The wedding didn't follow time, time followed the wedding. No one drank, and by the end it was time for a little quality time at Pub.

First day of the wedding: Henna

Salima is getting married. The henna party is like a bachelorette party, only women allowed. But the bride must sit perfectly still in her throne for the entire thing. Henna is applied to both hands and feet. The emotions going through her face during the 5 hours we stayed there were amazing. I concluded, this ceremony is to test and teach patience "tsbar" that will be sorely needed once you are married. She did a pretty good job of keeping a straight face. But forgot to smile for pictures. Her friends sing a song and dance for her. There is a chant everyone repeats, and the chant ends with an undulating screen controlled by sticking your tongue out of your mouth and flapping it back and forth wildly. Henna is supposed to bring happiness, ward off the evil eye, and smells like fertile ground, so I bet that's part of it.

The henna ceremony begins

The bride is not allowed to do a single bit of housework until the henna tattoo has completely faded, that is why the bride leaves the henna on and keeps wetting it overnight. If you do it right, and barely shower, the henna could stay on for over a month.

The cow, with eyelashes still attached. The very same morning Salima's brother Mounir slit its throat, slowly bleeding it until all the life was out of it, saying the muslim prayer for kosher. Interesting fact, Muslims can eat Jewish Kosher, but Jews don't eat Muslim Kosher. "It doesn't go both ways," says Sonia, an original Tangerine Jew. Also, you cannot say that you killed the cow. You must say that you slit its throat.

Henna smells like a mixture between green tea and wet earth. As it dries it leaves an orange trace on your hand. This design was applied with a syringe, but it was squirted out and applied on top of the skin.

The crusty white stuff you see is a sugar, water and onion concoction that makes the oils in the henna come back out when it dries. It continues the dying for another hour.

The next day I find it strange to lick my fingers after eating. It's like I'm eating rust. It's fun to type on the computer. My hands feel delicate...

Like a doily

Refreshments and the bride's mother. We tried to make her dance, but she was too upset and stressed by the wedding.

By this time the bride was tired. This is the last hand. Each limb took 20 minutes to half an hour.

The wedding party. This narrow aisle was where we danced, four at a time.

Sana, the life of the party. She was always ready to dance when I was. Headbanging has precedent in sufi ritual. See article in Bidoun: http://www.bidoun.com/contents03.html# (Under "Hair" click "Heavy Metal: Carnage and Commotion in the Oilfields of Kirkuk.")

It was windy in that tiny room at the back of the house...

perfect circles

Take me with you! I missed the boat by two minutes. But I got on the next one. I have nothing to complain about. Read on.

Ah, the calm waters of the Strait of Gibraltar. Just like a lake. Until...

Strange doors don't really seem to be dividing any space. That's the way it is along the Mexican-Texan Border. That's the way it is between Morocco and Spain. Symbolic doors and borders that are, by all realistic appearances, wide open. And what are these created borders. An exercise in glass-blowing? With a lot of security of course. Don't get me wrong.

.Kids at the port, dreaming of Spain

At school, yep, just as I remember it

The Road to Death, a play on life

A Play “Les Chemins de la Mort” (The road to death) performed by the group: La Groupe du Defil et d’Union (The Group of Disbanding and of Union) has been playing here for a few months. The group is made up of boys from the At-Risk Youth program at the DARNA Boy's Center, a type of orphanage and school. This is a summary and commentary.

As an introductory note, one has to know that everyone in Tangier wants to go to Spain. The director the play said that he tried to convince the kids to write a play on a different subject, but they refused. It's all they want to talk about. They say there is a better life there. More opportunities. People come from all over Africa to this port city thinking that once they've made it here, crossing the Strait of Gibraltar will be easy. If you say you are from Tangier in other places in Africa, people get a dreamy look in their eyes and tell you you are lucky. It is the most used entry point to Europe from Africa and it is only 12.9 km across at it's narrowest point. The artificial border (that is, strict visa requirements) was only put in place in 1991, when Spain finally cracked down on all the illegal immigrants, coming on vacation and staying indefinitely. The borders have become extremely strict lately. Military guard the port, and survey the ocean for Pateras (little fishing boats that take people across at their own risk) and take bribes to let a lucky few pass.

It is everyone's dream to go to the Spain they see on their satellite TVs, that they hear about from brothers, or cousins, or friends who have made it.

The opening scene is a classroom.
First line: “The Devil always comes late”
"The devil" comes in and blames his lateness on love.
He conjugates shoes as a verb. No one can concentrate in class. They have other things on their minds.

A boy comes in from the back of theater, walks down the aisle selling kleenex,
“Dirham, Dirham, Dirham”

He launches into a monologue, strutting across the stage.
“I have sold cigarettes, tic-tacs, cakes, pois chiches (chick peas)”

He huddles down and makes his elbows stick out at unnatural angles, “I have pretended I am crippled, and I have even sold drugs, yes drugs. But there are problems with the police for that and I decided it’s better to sell Kleenex. Everynight I have to give money to my father’s wife, she is an extortionist like all the others in the city, the police etc.”

A friend comes home from making it to Spain. He brags that he has a cellphone. He is dressed in brighter/cleaner clothes, says he has a 4x4 in Spain. Later, when the first boy leaves, he admits to the audience that he has no papers, no freedom, he is working in agriculture, sold carrots, it came to nothing. He wants to come back to Morocco, finds no peace in Spain. He says the fish could eat you on the way over.

Figures :
Many women rent babies for the day to sit with and beg for money. It costs about 50 dirhams to rent a baby for a day, more or less depending on how much profit you make.
Money made by selling loosie cigarettes: 20 dirhams a day
Bread costs 3-4 dirhams
A drink at the cafe you work out of: 5 dirhams.

The kids have to be good actors to be out there everyday. This theater piece is closer to life than to fantasy. It is in fact like an anti-magic show, where the magician shows you how he does all his tricks, which is often even more interesting than seeing the tricks, especially when you know that there is no magic, that there is something human behind all the oddities and extravert quality of the city. The play was closer to life than life itself. Wife to husband “you are old, go to the mosque, go to the cemetery, don’t sit in cafes and smoke kif.”

Thoughts come and go so quickly, watching a play, one thinks one has answers, and the next second, it’s a whole new world out there.

Enough with seriousness though, the man who does nothing but smoke kif falls off his chair when we’re not watching.

In the end the mother drives her son to go to Spain through abuse. He says he is leaving. Then his brother says he will follow him. His mother laments that she will be alone.

LATER at the port, the policeman stops them and asks them what they’re doing. “We’re looking for fish” (see fish auction photos below.)

(A note: There are stories; unbelievable stories. About mothers who come to get their sons from the port where they hang out for 5-7 months just waiting for an opportunity when a cop turns his back. The mother's were raped to death. No certain details.

With my own eyes: I see people jump the wall of the port everyday. They live there. There were the oranges on the beach that someone told me were provisions for the kids hanging out inside. Traces of the hopeful stowaways are everywhere. But on the ferry back from Spain last weekend, at 11 pm at night, we had docked in Tangier and I looked down and saw two shining eyes under the dock. They must have swam there. They made signs for cigarettes. The two kids, all shoulders and head, and no bodies, stared up at us from their crouching position under the piles of the port, facing the bleak white wall of the belly of the ship. It is non-porous, one hundred sealed windows freckle its uninviting, oft-painted face. They were as big as one of those windows. They motion downwards: throw anything, especially cigarettes. Throw something, a banana, to keep us afloat until we figure out how we’re going to make the next step, the most impossible step, and get on the boat. I ask myself how do they do it? They don’t even know how they do it. No one makes it back to tell. And each time it is luck, not method. But once they’re in they hide under the wheels of a large truck. And then run.

Oh the aches, the pains, the suffering to which we all are witness, but this baby is the suffering of somebody else, and my livelihood.

At the port: If they catch us, they'll make us pay and send us away.

When my sister graduated from N.Y.U's Stern School of Business in 1995, my father commissioned a painting from our friend Boris Zherdin of my sister in business attire, a skirt-suit, in a drab cafe surrounded by men in boring ties. She was even reading a newspaper with O.J. Simpson on the cover. The point was that she was the only woman in a man's world, brave and a pioneer, a financial Columbus in the land of the Natives. Well, one year after my graduation, French Photographer Franck Prignet has unknowingly made an analogy to the original commissioned work. Here I am in the warm, oak and cherrywood "Gran Cafe de Paris" (Gran is correct Spanish, it is not a letter that has fallen off the sign from neglect, an embodiment of the tower of babble inside its doors as well.) The warmth of the varying colors of brown, of skins and walls, and green mint tea and table cloth. Le Figaro Magazine will feature an article on the Gran Cafe de Paris and it's history. I don't know if my picture will make the cut. But I do get the picture, because I am a regular, along with Charlie, whose business card says "Often found at the Cafe de Paris" and who gets his mail there, and Jean-Baptiste (John the Baptist) an unruly, striped-shirt wearing gay fellow.

A Berber man sitting on the sidewalk outside the Cafe

Interrupted

The wife of Le Figaro reporter. There was no way she could have kept up all that bright whiteness for more than the four days they stayed. You are welcome back any time.

The Moroccan Woody Allen (second to the left.) He is saying, "Eternal nothingness is fine if you happen to be dressed for it." He is often heard complaining about the toilets here, veritable holes in the floor with a bucket system of flushing, "Not only is there no God, but try getting a plumber on weekends."

Jean-baptiste

More about the Jajouka later. Here is one of the oldest and wisest of them all. He has been living in the mountains, playing his own tunes since the beginning of time, and was the first to discover the metal whistle. Native to the "low" peaks of Alaska his name is Alex A, and he is a force to be reckoned with. Do not attempt to make idle conversation, he will play Foggy Dew in your inner ear. Do not let him lock you in a stare, as I have let my camera do here, your heart will jump like a frog, and your hair will stick out in fanning crown like an electric shock wave of syncopation.

To explain a little more about the Jajouka, seriously, the music is at least 500 years old. Many songs have a story behind them--no words, but a context that is inseparable from the tune once you know it. That is why the music is known as Folklore Jajouka. The songs are often played at weddings. One song is played loudly between the bride's house and the grooms to let the groom know when the bride is getting ready and at what stage she is. Another song accompany's the groom from his house when he comes to pay his respects to the family. Another accompanies the bride on horseback. When she arrives, the tune noticeably lightens and becomes celebratory. Yet, the ceremony is not finished. A sad song helps the bride cry (obligatory) for the loss of her family and childhood home, and vow that she will return and never forget her time there.

The town well

Entering Jajouka ville after an hour long walk up an orange dirt path, was like moseying into a town in the old Wild West. Except for the cellphone towers.

electric music interlude

Fishing: a beautiful, tiny "Jula." I have to say that this as the perfect fish-stick fish.

The fishing boats were still out though

The sand is hopping like hot potatos, forming little craters, an ant-size dune scenario.

On Tuesday the Sharki hit. A vile East wind spreading sand particles and unease amongst the inhabitants of Tangier. This wind is strong enough to carry a Norton Anthology off the table. Everyone gets into a sour mood because of the heated desert brought on its wings. Instead of succumbing to its legend, we went swimming. The Atlantic was acting bizarre, even it was effected. The waves were going out to sea instead of coming in, as if even they were fleeing the Sharki.

A mural at the Cinema Roxy, one of the oldest and still remaining cinemas in Tangier.

Bollywood in a lavish theater. It doesn't deserve it. The cinema is amazingly ornate features an impressive waste of space making it extraordinarily luxurious for a movie theater. It was recently restored and all the gold leaf around the screen and on the ceiling was painted over with gold paint. Good one. This theater should really be used for theater pieces and concerts. Watching a movie on the screen is frustrating as the light from the film bounces off and hits all the gold everywhere. The theater is as bright as dusk and no one has any privacy.

The Roxy, just restored

the eighties disco inferno

werewolves must come out of the walls at this joint. There is something very eighties about Tangier, the color combinations, the crazy neon patterned men's shirts, the hand-stitched Nike swishes. I did not stick around to see what the crowd was like.

Madonna pre-Kabbalah

Michael Jackson still feels at home

Caterpillars love Sarah and her dress, which was designed especially for her.

May 20//Question from Suz, Who is Sarah?

Who is Sarah, sarah is a wisp of a girl. In fact she's a wisp because she has so much energy she often sublimates herself.

May 19//On a hillside

In this climate, when it gets abnormally cold in the winter, skinny trees, their wood freezes and the resin gets pushed out onto the bark. In the spring all their resin oozes out onto the bark and is most susceptible to the sun. The bark burns and turns black black.

May 18//Trucks for trees

Two women talking under the shade of a truck
ks ks kskssssss, aimed at cats of sorts
coming of windows, such well lit rectangles
and no interruption with sloping forms
that’s not real shade, that sidewalks still hot.

Strange Crime Scene=From the big treehouse to the little treehouse

Oh I forgot to take me boots off before going in the house. Papillon is going to kill me. Maya to the rescue.

If you won't go in, I'll go in. I'll show you!

Yto and Papillon "Fly like a butterfly, sting like a beeeeee"

May 17//Bushisms

On the occasion of Algerian liberation the leaders of the independence movement(they were young, 25) there were a number of, what we call "bushisms" uttered.

"The economy was at zero, we're going to multiply it by ten!"

"We were at the edge of a pit and we're taking a step forward!"

I am wary that these are Moroccan jokes and legends about their oh so close neighbor with oil to the east. But I was reassured that the source is reliable, and was actually present at these roaring revolutionary speeches.

May 17//Translation in the air

12:30pm
Muezzin: I attest that mohamed is the prophet of god, God is the biggest (Akhbar), God is the greatest (Akhbar). I attest the God is the greatest. Greet the prayer, greet the accomplishment (of God). God is the greatest. The Muezzin sings this in three different cadences on Fridays. Fayez had to listen to know what he was saying. The story of the Muezzin, the man who sings from the minarets over loud speakers, was started with Bilal, an Abyssinian slave. The legend is that he had a beautiful voice and Mohamed asked him to wake him up in the morning by singing.

May 16//Anniversary of the bombing in casablanca

This date has become a national holiday of sorts. The city and the french and spanish cultural institutes in Tangier set up about 50 desks in the park outside my house and children came and drew pictures. A nice way to deal with ten misled youth trying to (and some also succeeding in) detonating themselves.

May 14//One super goal

We were looking at this strange contraption erected on the beach. It was a fun guessing game for awhile, but then the question really got to us. Finally Cackles said it was a soccer goal. Of course, it looked just like one. But when we looked around there was not another one in sight. We could see for a long way on one side, and on the other was a cliff, limiting our field of soccer. Maybe they didn’t have enough material and instead of splitting up their resources, they took everything they had--VHS tape for a rope marking the upper boundary, wooden rods, styrofoam, plastic sheets for flags, and a former orange crate) and just made one amazing goal.
Then I realized how utopian just that thought was. I was embarassed that this story would enter my head, that I am idealist, naive, a dreamer. But then I noted that the story hadn't entered, all the empirical signs led to the story. Amazing how real stories can be metaphors the second after you tell them.

Then I started continuing the goal in iterations. I can't just lie still on the beach. There's so much to do.

Tangier in bloom in bougainvillea (I think)

From Sarah's window

Papyrus

This is Umberto, doing a pinochio. He is the author a rather engaging book out called "The Age of Flowers."

May 14//Umberto's garden

Umberto's garden and the trip to Rahuna

Rosemary and roses. Rosemary bushes are a good wind blockade

The two day old donkey we almost bought. There was room in the back of the 4x4, but the lady wasn't selling.

The road to Rahuna

pastoral

The road before you turn off for Rahuna. The road to Rahuna is wide enough for one small car. It is dirt, and spilled with large rocks. Umberto built the road; before there as no road at all. The one thing to remember is, you can never visit Umberto, eat and run.

Fashion cactus

Ornitogallo arabico

Wild Garlic and lavendar

ODE TO FISHING

May 12//Octopussing

Coquette catches her octopus

Octopus

A mighty big snag

Skipping Jacks

the jetee

Pulling Spain Closer

Spain

Pole-vaulting

May 11//The Sermon

Psalm lxxiii. 18. "Surely thou didst set them in slippery places; thou castedst them down into destruction."

III. They are already under a sentence of condemnation to hell. They don't only justly deserve to be cast down thither; but the sentence of the law of God, that eternal and immutable rule of righteousness that God has fixed between him and mankind, is gone out against them, and stands against them; so that they are bound over already to hell.
John 3:18, He that believeth not is condemned already. So that every unconverted man properly belongs to hell; that is his place; from thence he is. John 8:23, Ye are from beneath. And thither he is bound; 'tis the place that justice, and God's Word, and the sentence of his unchangeable law assigns to him. They are now the objects of that very same anger and wrath of God that is expressed in the torments of hell: and the reason why they don't go down to hell at each moment, is not because God, in whose power they are, is not then very angry with them; as angry as he is with many of those miserable creatures that he is now tormenting in hell, and do there feel and bear the fierceness of his wrath. Yea, God is a great deal more angry with great numbers that are now on earth, yea, doubtless with many that are now in this
congregation, that it may be are at ease and quiet, than he is with many of those that are
now in the flames of hell.

So that it is not because God is unmindful of their wickedness, and don't resent it, that he don't let loose his hand and cut them off. God is not altogether such an one as themselves, though they may imagine him to be so. The wrath of God burns against them, their damnation don't slumber, the pit is prepared, the fire is made ready, the furnace is now hot, ready to receive them, the flames do now rage and glow. The glittering sword is whet, and held over them, and the pit hath opened her mouth under them.
--Jonathan Edwards, Sinners at the Hands of an Angry God

The scream

Auctioning the daily catch (11pm)

"Al-bumen"-125

Tuna

De-scaling

Bought small merlin and anchovies, getting them cleaned. This man was pleased by all the flash of my camera. He said, I feel like I'm in LA.

THE BOUHARROU IV, commercial fishing is a dangerous occupation, I-III are sitting at the bottom of the strait.

Les Vagues right next to the port, open 24/7

ODE TO FISHING

May 11//THE CINEMA RIF 3 (THE FILM SCRIPT)

MOHAMMED: POSTERS

I STARTED WORKING IN THE CINEMA AT THE AGE OF 14. IT WAS 1964.

I USED TO GO TO THE CINEMA INSTEAD OF GOING TO SCHOOL SO IT WAS PERFECT. I WAS LAZY AT SCHOOL AND I WAS GETTING BAD GRADES. THE FIRST THING I DID WHEN I GOT KICKED OUT WAS WALK OVER TO THE CINEMA AMERICAIN NEAR THE PETIT SOCCO. IT DOESN’T EXIST ANYMORE.

THEY TOLD ME THERE WAS AN OPENING AS AN APPRENTICE PROJECTIONIST AT THE MAURITANIA. ALL THE FOREIGN PROJECTIONISTS WERE LEAVING AT AROUND THAT TIME.

IN 1966 I BECAME A FULL-FLEDGED OPERATOR. WHEN I came to the Cinema Rif in 1979, THE PROJECTIONISTS WERE ON STRIKE.

(PAUSE)


I learned French in school, but I learned it even better while working at the cinema. All the projectionists, ushers and cashiers were Spanish. AT THE RIF we showed Arab, Egyptian and Lebanese films.

BUT The director was French. And most of the films were in French.

(PAUSE)

In 1964 I earned 4,000 Francs, 40 dirhams per week. Everything was less expensive. You could eat breakfast and dinner at home for 5 dirhams. A kilo of fish was 1 dirham, a kilo of tomatos or potatos was 20 centimes.

(PAUSE)

I MET MY WIFE AT THE CINEMA. SHE WAS THE CASHIER. AFTER I MARRIED MY WIFE I TOLD HER SHE SHOULDN’T WORK. SHE DOESN’T GO TO THE CINEMA ANYMORE, BUT SHE AND MY DAUGHTER WATCH OLD FILMS AT HOME. MY DAUGHTER LOVES THE OLD FILMS AND KNOWS ALL THE OLD ACTRESSES.

MY NAME IS MOHAMMED. I AM THE HEAD PROJECTIONIST.

SINHADJI_INTRO

MY NAME IS SINHAJDI.

I AM 65 AND I'VE BEEN AT THIS JOB SINCE 1965. AN OLD FRIEND OF MINE SAYS I HAVE CINEMA UNDER MY SKIN. IM THE DIRECTOR. I RUN THE THEATER.

(PAUSE)

IM FROM TANGIER. WHEN I WAS 26 YEARS OLD I WORKED IN A STATIONARY STORE. BUT I WAS BORED, I WANTED TO CHANGE PROFESSIONS.

A MAN I KNEW CAME SAID ARE YOU INTERESTED IN CINEMA. AND I SAY I CAN ALWAYS TRY. IT WAS MY FIRST CONTACT WITH CINEMA.
I'VE BEEN HERE FOR 40 YEARS.

SINHADJI_HISTORY

WHEN I STARTED THERE WERE 14 CINEMAS IN TANGIER, 14 THEATERS, EVERY OWNER HAD TWO OR THREE CINEMAS.

THERE WAS THE PARIS, THE CAPITOL, THE AMERICAN -- SAME OWNER.

THERE WAS THE LUX, THE GOYA, THE ALCAZAR -- SAME OWNER.

THE RIF AND THE VOX -- SAME OWNER.

EVERY THEATER WAS SPECIALIZED THEN.
MAURITANIA, LUX, GOYA PAIRS, THEY SHOWED AMERICAN FILMS OR EUROPEAN – FRENCH, ITALIAN, SPANISH.


SINHADJI_PRESENT

IN THE PAST, MAYBE 10 YEARS AGO, PEOPLE LOVED THE CINEMA.

Before there were a lot of women, 15, 20 years ago, none of them wore scarves or veils. They came with girlfriends or husbands, also boyfriends.

NOW There are new distractions. I think PEOPLE stopped coming because of the television.

They come out to get fresh air and do Paseo, look at people on the streets and see their friends. Not to come to cinema. . People watch on big screen tvs in cafes. .

BUT Here they find comfort, peace, if we can call it that. In a cafe there is a chaos and bRoUhaha.


CINEMA AT NIGHT SEQUENCE

SINHADJI_FORBIDDEN

It is forbidden to smoke in the cinema, in theory. but they are sneaky about it. They put it out or say it is the person next to them. So we stopped telling them.

People don't smoke Kif in the cinema, ok, maybe a couple times they have. But no, there is no kif in the cinema.

IT IS FORBIDDDEN TO KISS IN THE CINEMA. ITS SHAMEFUL TO KISS IN PUBLIC. If you kissed in the grand socco people would start yelling. It would be "la pagaille," a mess. Kissing on screen and kissing in public is different.

BUT THE USHER SOMETIMES CATCHES PEOPLE MAKING LOVE IN THE CINEMA. ONCE SHE WENT TO TELL THEM IT WASN’T ALLOWED AND THE MAN SAID, BUT SHES MY WIFE. SHE JUST TOLD THEM THIS NOT AN IDEAL PLACE FOR THAT.

(PAUSE)

ONE DAY A DJBELLA, A MOUNTAIN FARMER, BROUGHT HIS WIFE TO THE MOVIES. SHE HAD NEVER BEEN TO THE CITY BEFORE. WHEN TH E LIGHTS WENT OUT SHE STARTED SCREAMING AND RAN OUT OF THE CINEMA.
(PAUSE)

OUR REPUTATION? WELL WITHOUT HIDING ANYTHING, I THINK it’s a BAD ONE. BECAUSE OF THE BOLLYWOOD FILMS, THE VIOLENCE. VIOLENT FILMS ATTRACT VIOLENT PEOPLE. IF YOU SHOW VIOLENCE, PEOPLE WHO LIKE VIOLENCE WILL COME.


THE MORNING AFTER: A SLEEPY CINEMA WAKES UP


MOHAMED_FAVORITES

I remember Papillon with Steve McQueen. He had just broken out of prison and he jumped off a mountain, into the ocean.

I remember Clint Eastwood, Hang 'em High.
Fantomasse with Louis de Finesse.
I played The Godfather with Marlon BRANDO, State of Siege; there were revolutionary films, Costa Gavras in 1966: Z, a political film.

(PAUSE)

If you ask other people working here now if they know the great movies, they don't know it. They wouldn't know Peau d'Ane, WITH CATHERINE DENEUVE. They don't know the scene in that film when the old woman coughs up a toad.

(PAUSE)

Are bollywood films any good? There are some that are good. But they don't remain in my head like the other ones. They just don't stick.


SINHADJI_FAVORITES

THERE'S "CAT ON HOT TIN ROOF" WITH ELIZABETH TAYLOR AND RICHARD BURTON. THE TOWERING INFERNO, WITH,THE GUY FROM THE MAGNIFICENT SEVEN WHATS HIS NAME?

WHAT WAS THE NAME OF THE GUY WITH THE HAT. WITH A HAT. HE WAS ALWAYS THE BAD GUY. NO NOT YUL BRYNNER, THE SPAGHETTI GUY.

(PAUSE)

MY FIRST LOVE IN THE MOVIES WAS AN EGYPTIAN ACTRESS.
SOUAD HOUSNI.
SHE WAS A WONDERFUL ACTRESS AN INCREDIBLE WOMEN.
AND SHE DIED. SHE DIED VERY YOUNG, 50, 55.


SINHADJI_PROJECTION

TECHNICALLY THE PROJECTORS, I DON'T KNOW MUCH ABOUT IT.
ALL I KNOW IS THAT THESE PROJECTORS HAVE BEEN HERE MORE THAN 40 YEARS. SINCE 1961.

WE TAKE OF THEM. THEYRE WELL MAINTAINED, MORE OR LESS.

WE STILL BUY CARBON RODS. THE ELECTRICITY GOES THROUGH THE RODS AND IT JUMPS AND MAKES THE LIGHT.

AND THEY WORK. THEY MORE OR LESS WORK. SOMETIMES THEY FADE IN THE MIDDLE OF MOVIES, SOMETIMES THEY BURN THE FILM.

THEY COME FROM ENGLAND NOW. THERE'S A GUY HERE WHO IMPORTS THEM. WE USED TO BRING IT FROM FRANCE. I FORGOT THE FAMOUS FRENCH BRAND.


MOHAMMED_PROJECTOR

we have two 1952 Microtechnica machines. THEYRE Italian. At the Mauritania I worked with the Wisterix, an English projector. no one in tangier has digital projectors. i’ll go to marakesh to learn.

(PAUSE)



YOU HAVE TO BE INTELLIGENT TO BE A PROJECTIONIST WITH THESE OLD MACHINES. SOMETIMES THE REELS COME IN THE WRONG BOXES. REEL 2 COMES IN BOX 4 AND REEL 4 IN BOX 2. YOU HAVE TO LOOK AT THE FILM, THE COLORS OF THE OUTFITS THE ACTORS ARE WEARING, IN THE FIRST REEL THE ACTOR IS WEARING YELLOW, THEN THEY CHANGE TO BLACK. THE WOMAN HAS A HAT, THEN SHE TAKES OFF THE HAT.

IF A CHARACTER DIES IN THE FILM, AND THE REELS ARE OUT OF ORDER, THE DEAD WILL COME BACK TO LIFE..

BUT THERE ARE EXCEPTIONS, FLASHBACKS, DREAMS. YOU HAVE TO BE CAREFUL. THAT’S WHAT DIFFERENTIATES A GREAT PROJECTIONIST AND A GOOD ONE.


(PAUSE)


THE CUTS IN BOLLYWOOD FILMS ARE MORE CHAOTIC THAN THE ONES IN THE CLASSIC EUROPEAN FILMS. SOMETIMES IN ONE DANCE SEQUENCE THE CHARACTERS ARE WEARING THREE DIFFERENT OUTFITS AGAINST THREE DIFFERENT BACKDROPS.

(PAUSE)


ONE TIME WE WERE SHOWING CESAR WITH RICHARD BURTON AND ELIZABETH TAYLOR. CESAR EATS AN APPLE AND IT GETS STUCK IN HIS THROAT. DURING ONE SCREENING SOMEONE NOTICED THEY DIDN’T SEE CESAR EATING THE APPLE, A WOMAN NEXT TO HIM SAID, THE PROJECTIONIST ATE THE APPLE. IF HE ATE THE REEL, HE ALSO AT THE APPLE WITH IT.






SENHADJI_TOUR

WE HAD SORT OF A POLITICAL PROBLEM BETWEEN ALGERAI AND MOROCCO.
AND EGYPT TOOK SIDES WITH ALGERIA. SO WE COULDN'T PLAY EGYTPIAN FILMS

I DON'T REMEMBER WHAT THE WAR WAS ABOUT.

BUT IT WAS THE END OF EGYPTIAN CINEMA FOR US. ITS LOGICAL. THEY MADE WAR AGAINST US. WHY WOULD WE SHOW THEIR FILMS.

SO WE STARTED PLAYING INDIAN FILMS, BOLLYWOOD AND THAT'S HOW THE NIEGHBORHOOD WAS TOO, THERE WERE A LOT OF INDIANS HERE.
A LOT FROM THE INDIAN COMMUNITY AND THEY ALL CAME TO SEE THE FILMS. A LOT OF THEM LEFT IN THE MID-70S WITH MOROCCANIZATION.

THEN I REMEMBER IT WAS AUGUST OR MAYBE OCTOBER AND THEN OUR RELATIONSHIP WITH ALGERIA WAS BETTER AGAIN AND WE GOT OUR EGYPTIAN FILMS BACK.

THE GRAND SOCCO IS NOT THE CHIC NEIGHBORHOOD, LIKE THE GRAND BOULEVARDS, WE'RE MORE POPULAR, MORE DEMOCRATIC. SO WE MADE A POPULAR CINEMA. WE HAD GOOD PEOPLE WE HAD WOMEN WITH THEIR HUSBANDS, FAMILIES.

BUT THE FRENCH FILMS WERE HERE TOO, ALAIN DELON. BELMONDO. AT THAT TIME WE USED TO LIKE THESE FILMS. WE LIKED GOING TO SEE ALL SORTS OF FILMS. WE LIKED GOING TO MOVES AND WE LIKED ALL SORTS OF FILM. WE DIDN'T CARE. WE JUST LIKED GOING TO THE MOVIES.


MOHAMED_END

there were no scoundrels, there were no loafers, just clean well-dressed people. When they came near the theater doors they saw all the perfumed ladies and gentlemen and left, they were afraid to come in. There were families at the cinema, whole families came to see the great films, multiple times.

(PAUSE)

I HEARD SOMEONE SAY WE WERE GOING TO START SHOWING THE CLASSICS AGAIN, AND GOOD NEW FILMS. IS IT TRUE? PEOPLE WOULD COMETHERE ARE MANY GOOD FAMILIES AROUND THE GRAND SOCCO MY WIFE AND DAUGHTER WOULD COME, OF COURSE. AND WITH THE NEW PROJECTORS THEY’LL BE ABLE TO HEAR THE MOVIE FROM THE PROJECTION BOOTH BECAUSE WE WON’T HAVE THE TRATATATAT OF THESE PROJECTORS.

(PAUSE)

FILM IS INTELLIGENT. IF IN A FILM THERE IS A BLACK ELEPHANT AND A WHITE ELEPHANT FIGHTING, AND THE WHITE ELEPHANT HITS THE BLACK INE, WE WILL UNDERSTAND SOMETHING FROM THAT, EVEN IF WE DON’T ADMIT IT TO OURSELVES. THE CINEMA IS A GREAT OCCUPATION.

If anyone knows anyone who knows anyone in the advertising department at Coca-Cola. Please pass this along, copyrighted. I need some cash flow.

May 9//Dar Ghinawa 2

The ghinawa spirit chart. Each color represents a spirit. They are organized by the order that they appear in a long piece of music. Different rhythms and arrangements of music are ruled by different spirits. During a Leila, a night of Trance, people come if they are sick, or relatives bring relatives to get healed of all sorts of problems. The people dance, and at some point they faint, or pass into an unconscious state. When they fall the ghinawa place a colored garment next to them. When they wake up they see what spirit held them when they fell and they understand what to do. More to come. The spaces here are normally filled with names, and a chart represents a Leila.

Abdul Jabar is making himself a Jambe. This is before he skins the fur off.

May 10//Ramadan spring

"You didn't have to let your other wives know when you marry another one." But my Professor is going through the proceedings of a divorce right now in court. He lookes so exhausted from the process.
* In Islam, to marry a second wife, you have to satisfy many conditions. oneof these conditions is to be just and fair and treat the two wives in thesame way in all levels. If one cannot satisfy this major condition, heshould not marry another woman. " if you are afraid that you will not bejust and fair, marry just one" ( a translation of a Verse from the Quran).Besides, the possibility to marry a second wife was allowed to avoiddivorce. Instead of divorcing the first wife (which has social drawbacks)one is allowed to keep his first wife and marry a second time. Anyway, Idon't think that anyone in Morocco would marry more than one wife nowadaysexcept in some rural areas. (Thanks Abdelfettah Firdous)

My arabic teacher Professor Soucis starts telling me about the man who lost two sons in a bus towards the end of one day during Ramadan, the Professor specified . During Ramadan people get aggravated from not eating, they start fights, or they are lightheaded and make crucial mistakes. But no one will admit that they are acting this way because they are hungry. That would defeat the piousness of observing the holiday. The bus flipped over and only he was able to swim out. Many perished, he dove back for many, but before he could find his sons the police came and pulled him out. Later he found a naturally carbonated spring near where he lost his sons, and just got the permission to bottle it from the government. That's a good business.

Professor Soucis’ picture at 21 years old dressed to the nine in a Madrid uniform, one foot on a ball, his smile the most sparklingly pure happiness imaginable. He has wavy hair down to his shoulders, he bends to me and takes off his beige fedora, one greased stripe of hair makes the journey from one ear to the other. Now he always looks a bit like he’s staving inertia off with a lance/sword, on the verge of letting the world swallow him up, but he keeps running as it turns.. I brought my ball, and when we go outside I pass it to him gently. He kicks it up in the air and bounces it off his foot 10 times before he loses it, all with the exact same smile as in the picture.

May 5//Spain

Going to Spain for the weekend so I left you all with a lot to look at (April 20-May 3) Have a good one.

May 3//Cinema 2

Brasserie la Bourse : Saucisses, Brochettes et Couscous