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About 100 kilometers south of Barcelona on the Mediterranean coast sits Tarragona, a city of 135,000 people well known for its Roman ruins.  Tarragona, or “Tarraco”, was captured by the Romans in 217 or 218 B.C. and became an important strategic hub, given its location on the Mediterranean; the first Roman Emperor, Caesar Augustus (62 B.C. – 14 A.D.), lived here at one point.

Tarragona is the perfect cultural day trip from Barcelona, a one hour train ride, with the station in a very central location from which we could access the old city.  This is also an ideal scooter town.  Instead of, “Max, Ella, Maggie—guess what, we are going to walk around the historic city of Tarragona today,” it was, “Max, Ella, Maggie—let’s go scootering!”

MEM (with scooters)

Stepping off the train at the Tarragona station, which sits on valuable beachfront real estate, we walked about 10 minutes up the coast to the Roman Amphitheater, built in the second century A.D.; as a point of reference, the Colosseum in Rome was opened in 80 A.D.

From the amphitheater there is a nice walking loop, probably a couple of miles in length, which takes you by a select group of Tarragona’s famous monuments.  Here are MEM in front of the city’s 12th century gothic cathedral.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The walls surrounding the old city, “Murallas de Tarragona”, were built in the late 3rd century and early 2nd century B.C.  Part of the walls are still standing, and Maggie is doing her part to protect what is left.

Our walking loop left us at the end of Rambla Nova, also simply known as “La Rambla”, overlooking the sea.  The plan had been to finish our tour here, at what we heard was an excellent Italian restaurant on the south side of La Rambla.  Finding the restaurant, we quickly recognized that La Tagliatella is a chain with over 150 outlets.  Still, the pasta was tasty, and lunch may be the first thought that comes to mind (and likely the “best part of the day”) if we were to ask MEM about Tarragona.

Tags: amphitheater, Caesar Augustus, cathedral, La Tagliatella, Roman, scooter, Tarraco, Tarragona

This is the last in my four-part Moroccan Odyssey series, the quadra-blog that will never end, sorry.

The drive from the Atlas Mountains to Fes was long, but we can partially “blame” our slow and safe driver, Mohamed, never in the left lane and always well below the speed limit on roads that seem fine yet are not really deemed safe.  The distance was about 600 kilometers, the speed limit normally 100, and it took a good 10 hours to complete the journey.

Mohamed was joined by Driss, a well educated and very informative guide, who could answer any question we had, be it about Moroccan history, Berber rights, the Atlas Mountains, or his 51-day trek with a National Geographic reporter (article, which helps explain Berber history), who had fallen off his mule during the long expedition, yet somehow failed to mention this incident in his article, despite the fact that Driss had to hike him 4 hours to the nearest village with a 4-wheel drive ambulance then taking him to an even more distant hospital to treat his head injury.  While Driss was simply a white collar tour guide for us, he had been chosen by the NG reporter due to his mountain expertise and ability to converse in English, Arabic, French, and the three key Berber languages spoken in the area.  He would be with us for the remainder of the trip, from the Atlas Mountains to Fes, Rabat, and Casablanca, dropping us at the airport a day or two before his second baby was due, 300 kilometers away in Marrakech.

In Fes, we were quickly introduced to the labyrinth when we stepped out of the van, taking the necessary pedestrian route to follow a cart holding our bags, left then right then right, or was it left?  For some reason, Atlas and Sahara had messed up our riad reservation, so we were taken to Kassr Annoujoum,  a riad that was more like a palace (it actually was a palace at some point), with overly ornate rooms and antiques and art that we had to prevent the children from touching.  While beautiful to observe, this didn’t lead to comfort, given the cold temperature; fancy rooms don’t produce a good night’s sleep, particularly when they lack adequate heating.

Restaurant Dar Hatim was a gorgeous space and good food; I tasted more than bread and banana for the first time in two days, and then the show began with musicians, belly dancers, a magician, and a price the highest since our arrival in Morocco.  Our guides, who escorted us here, likely received a kickback on this one, but it still could be called a solid overall experience, and recommendation for future Fes family foodies.

Ah Fes, what a city!  We met up with Abdul, a guide focused on Fes whom we could also call a 40+ year-old gregarious, single playboy.  A specific Fes guide is necessary, given this maze of a city.  Abdul first took us outside the walls, into a clay/pottery school, where we considered purchases until clear thinking helped us balance the risk (of breaking during travel) versus reward (owning a clay pot/vase that we don’t really need or want).

 

…then to this view from a palace above the medina, the oldest medina in the Arab world, from the 9th century.

 

And finally, we toured the medina itself.  Once inside, we explored narrow streets barely wide enough to walk through, and some with a meaningful grade.  We visited one of the oldest tanneries, right in the heart of the town, with leather coming from camel, goat, and cow.  From the top of the building selling not so cheap leather products solely to tourists like us, we were rewarded with an interesting view of the process…

 

…and from the other side of the building, we took in a scene that combines the old world (medina dating back to 9th century) with the obvious new (rooftop decor).

 

Earlier in the trip we rode camels in Essaouira, then saw the finished camel hides as jackets and purses, and now this…

 

A shot made for t.v…and at a cost to us of a few dirham, likely a setup (set-up???) for this guy to earn some cash.

 

Another ATM-supported experience was at the weaver/fabric/clothing store, yielding a strong under the table profit to our guide Abdul, who clearly was happy with our pouffe, blanket and scarf purchases.

 

 

In Fes, we also briefly visited what we were told is the oldest university in the world, University of Al-Karaouine, founded by a woman, Fatima al-Fihri, in 859.  Next stop, Rabat.

 

A 200 kilometer evening drive left us at Riad Kalaa; it was understaffed but the rooms were warm, important after the prior three nights.  A relaxing dinner at the hotel, and the next morning’s agenda included a walk through the beautiful blue Portuguese section of the medina, right next to the Atlantic.

 

 

 

We visited the mausoleum of the current King Mohamed VI’s father, Hasan II, and his highly regarded grandfather Mohamed V; the English spellings seem to add the extra “m” in Mohammed and “n” in Hassan.  This is outside the mausoleum…

 

More shopping, and don’t dis the medina of Rabat too quickly; some do, but we had a good experience in a wonderful wide alley of the medina, purchasing another blanket, posters and more magic boxes.  Still, in retrospect, we would have cut out Rabat from our trip, either shortening the 10-day journey or replacing Rabat with an extra day in Fes.

For lunch, we needed a break from tagines and couscous so we found La Mamma, an Italian restaurant near the parliament; watching pasta disappear quickly from the children’s plates was gratifying.

Our Final Destination:  100 kilometers later, and we were in busy Casablanca on New Year’s eve, with no dinner reservation, but residing in our first true western-style lodging, at Hotel Husa; ask MEM what their favorite hotel on the trip was, and this is your answer.  As for the meal, lucky for us, we found Al Mounia and had an excellent closing dinner.

But there was time left before our January 1 flight, so we walked around the Hassan II Mosque, the largest in Morocco, built in 1993, with a minaret height at 210 meters.  Puffy jackets are ready for a wash.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before departing, we stopped at the Morocco Mall for Rob to channel check a Gap store (did we really do that?).  And that’s about all.  Mohamed on the left, Driss on the right, not to mention our transport vehicle, before heading to the airport…

 

Tags: Casablanca, Dar Hatim, Fes, King Mohamed VI, Morocco, National Geographic, palace, Rabat, riad, Riad Kalaa

A four hour early morning drive from Essaouira left us at our trailhead at Aguerssioual village in the Azzaden Valley, where we briefly took in some tea and cookies before heading up the High Atlas Mountains.  With Mohamed at the wheel as usual, we had picked up our young guide, Jemal, outside of Marrakech.

For the nine of us, the full team included Jemal, 3 mules to haul clothing/sleeping bags, one human caretaker per mule, and 2 cooks and their 2 mules.

Our climb commenced, and after about an hour we caught up with the cooks, who had started earlier and who had prepared a gourmet salad, rice, and meatballs.  As is the norm, we began with tea, all of us relaxed on a blanket in the sky.

The hike continued up and up and then a descent.  After starting the day at 1,650 meters, here we are a few hours later at our highest point of the day, Tizi Oudid (2,200 meters), and then on our way down to where we would spend the night.

We covered 25+ kilometers over the two days, roughly split evenly.  The mules were there for our use as well; Maggie took a couple of rides but she and all of the kids were troopers and were on their feet with few exceptions.

After walking through Mattat village, we arrived at our destination, Tizi Oussem village (1,760 meters).  Toby and Max after the long walk…

Tizi Oussem can be characterized as a “Berber village”.  The Berbers have been in Morocco for at least 5,000 years, much longer than the Arabs, who didn’t show up until the 7th century.  Most of the approximately 35 million Moroccans have both Arab and Berber ancestors, particularly in the cities.  In the Atlas Mountains, we are told that more pure Berbers remain, and apparently they are not always kind to the Arabs who, in a sense, forced them into the mountains.  A guide who joined us later on our trip, Driss, a mountain man himself, once accompanied a National Geographic writer on a 50+ day trek across the Atlas Mountains; the published story helps explain the Arab/Berber conflict, including details on the Year 2000 Berber Manifesto, which called for more Berber rights and demands recognition of their place in history.

As for our own experience, we stayed at a “gite” in Tizi Oussem village called Chez Hajj.  Apparently each village in the Atlas Mountains has a gite.  A website calls gites, “part government funded part locally owned guesthouses and are simple traditional buildings with a number of private rooms and shared facilities.”  The rooms were very simple to say the least.  But, who cares, right?  Hmmm.

The aforereferenced website says that gite “bathroom facilities are usually bearable but not exactly welcoming.”  Our gite had a couple of bathrooms for all to share, and “bearable” is as pleasant as I can make them sound, each with a sink and one or two 3×3 closets with a hole in the ground and a faucet and bucket for pouring/flushing.  If requested by any curious reader, I can certainly offer more detail.

Actually, here is that detail…During the night, when the altitude and perhaps some sort of food-related ailment caught up to me, I began making trips to the bathroom.  Leaving our bedroom, I put on my shoes in the hallway (traditionally no shoes on carpets), and walked the relatively short distance to hell.  No less than a half dozen times did I stagger to the house of hurt; you can use your imagination—yes both methods of weight loss.  When I woke up (really, when I “arose”, given the nominal amount of sleep my body experienced), I questioned whether I could accomplish the hike up and out of the mountains.

Ella and Maggie in front of our “hotel”, ready for the early start on Day 2…

The second day views were spectacular, including this sight of a shepherd and his goats down the steep hill below our trail.

A beautiful layer of fog came charging toward us through the valley.

About 30 minutes into our walk, I did what no self respecting man/adult/parent would ever would like to admit; I climbed onto a mule.  These transport animals were there for our bags and for tired young children, not for adults…but I needed mercy.  Before the trip, we had told MEM about the mule availability, saying that they are really only for when you are exhausted; funny, I guess.  At first, my ride didn’t last too long.  I stayed on for 30 minutes then off for 30 minutes.  There are no photographs of me on the mule.  Not that I deserve any FDR analogy, but the press respected both of us and never highlighted our illnesses.

The group ventured off on a side trip to the Tamsoulte waterfalls (2,700m), while Maggie and I rested with some of the mules and a herd of goats at Tizi Mzik (2,489m).  I forced a piece of the tasteless Moroccan bread down my throat into a completely vacant stomach.

We were retrieved and continued, my feet still moving, head down, maybe with too much self pity.  Then a long uphill, and I mounted and just couldn’t remove myself from the mule, except for certain reasons I would rather not mention.

 

Finally, we hit the peak, and I was able to stumble down a few kilometers on foot (cry me a river, right?). While our crew feasted on a gourmet picnic lunch, I never even saw it and slept peacefully a few feet away.

Post-lunch (nap), we made our way to the Imlil Valley (1,800 meters), arriving at last at Dar Assarou (lodging), after more than 25 kilometers and 6,000 feet of elevation gain over two days, be it on or off the mule.  As soon as we checked in, I enjoyed a shower in our very own bathroom, and went down for the count, apparently missing “the best tagine yet.”

Now that I have focused on my own torture, I should at least remind all of the magnificence of the High Atlas Mountains, the sounds of the prayer calls from the mosques in each village, the friendly Berbers, our good luck with splendid weather, and the strong work by all of the children!

Tags: Azzaden Valley, Dar Assarou, Essaouira, High Atlas Mountains, Marrakech, mule, TIzi Oussem village

Essaouira is 175 kilometers, all solid highway, from Marrakech but about a 3 hour drive with a law abiding and overly conservative driver, not a bad thing with our two families travelling together in a large van.

Close to our destination, we stopped at a women’s argan collective, one of many in this region of Morocco, and one where our driver and guide were likely paid by the establishment for the visit.  Here we observed the process of turning argan fruit into soaps, creams, butter, and oils, including moisturizing oil/cream, increasingly popular globally we are told, and salad and other cooking oil.  The argan tree is apparently unique to Morocco (southwest Morocco specifically), endangered, and under UNESCO protection.  To create the future product, after the fruit is picked from the tree, it is peeled to reveal a nut, and inside are the kernels, which are rich in argan oil.  We spent a few minutes watching and participating in the process of cracking the nuts and pressing the kernels to create the oil.  Then, after a few purchases of actually impressive smelling/tasting products, we made our way to Essaouira.

On the Atlantic, we quickly took in a fish lunch at Bab Sbaa, far from a recommendation we will offer, not bad, not great, but once again a likely guide/payoff post, yet included in our package.

A local guide arranged by Atlas & Sahara then met us at the restaurant and walked us through the colorful fishing port.

 

“Modern” Essaouira was built in the 18th century, including the ramparts, which sit just above the ocean and the medina.  In this photo, on the ramparts, I asked for “silliness”…really.

Are you over the ubiquitous puffy jackets?

Essaouira’s medina is certainly smaller than that of Marrakech, yet with many wider and less chaotic streets and arguably more beauty, given the striking blue color on a lot of the buildings.  The souks carry much of the same merchandise, but Essaouira is known for its wood products, made from the endangered thuya tree.  I don’t have a good understanding of whether the thuya wood used by the local craftsmen is from plantation-grown trees and thus accepted sources, or if the practice of using thuya is frowned upon completely.

 

 

Given the seaside locale, there is a greater focus on fish here than in other medinas throughout Morocco.

 

The Franks purchased a Moroccan futbol jersey for Max (#7, Berrada), and to keep it fair (story of my life), the girls were rewarded with silver necklaces from a jewerly cooperative called Mogador Dag Souiri; Mogador was actually the Portuguese name for this town, maintained by the French but renamed Essaouira after independence in 1956.  Maggie’s pendant is the “Z” in the Berber alphabet; more on the Berbers during the Atlas Mountain blog.  Ella’s pendant (Evelyn next to larger version by the beach) is Essaouira’s symbol, which reads in Arabic, “Barakat Mohammed”, meaning in English, “blessing of Mohammed, prophet of Islam.”

 

We returned to our hotel, the lovely, but as Evelyn said, “kind of bare bones,” Riad Zahra, about a 10 minute walk from the medina, yet nicely situated 2 blocks from the beach.  Still, any issues with accomodations were offset by the staff, with the hotel run by a couple and their approximately college-age son, whom they raised in neutral Andorra.  I say this as the husband is Spanish (Barcelona) and the wife is French.  Not surprisingly perhaps, after years in Andorra, the family speaks Spanish, French, Catalan, English, and now a decent amount of Arabic.  I continue to feel guilty for my limited language skills, and this type of circumstance never helps; I know, get over it Will…but keep practicing your Spanish.  The couple purchased the hotel for a lifestyle change and they were wonderful hosts, in particular providing us with solid meal recommendations.  Of course, their first suggestion was the hotel’s restaurant, and we obliged, thankfully, as this is worth a taste, in our view.

If you make it all the way to Morocco, you have to take a camel ride, right?  The desert is a long drive so another option is the beach, and there are plenty of outfitters ready to profit from tourists.  Atlas and Sahara, our trip planner, must have had a deal with a camel chief 25 kilometers south of Essaouira in Sidi Kaouki.  Here we are…

And for full disclosure, the ocean setting was beautiful, but if you observe where we started the ride next to the parking lot…  Note the turbines in the background; Essaouira is known for its wind.

The owner of the camel business and our crew…

 

I mentioned the dining advice from our hotel owners.  Play time in the sand was required after the 30 minute camel excursion (that’s all you need), and we were told “Beach & Friends” was a good spot for lunch, less than a 5 minute walk from our riad.  The swordfish kabobs were outstanding as was the pizza, with the beachfront setting allowing for the kids to wander the sand as we finished the meal.  Nowhere near the top of the Trip Advisor list, but trust me on this one, excellent fare.

Max and I enjoyed a jog on the boardwalk, up to the ramparts and medina, and then we topped off our stay in Essaouira with a consensus—thumbs up traditional Moroccan dinner, once again, thanks to our Riad hosts, at Laayoune, specializing in tajines and couscous.

Stay tuned for Morocco Part 3; it gets interesting.

Tags: argan, Beach & Friends, camel, Essaouira, Laayoune, RIad Zahra, UNESCO

This will go on for a few posts so please bear with me.  And bear with the endless photos of kids (and adults at times) in puffy jackets; but, you can’t beat the warmth and weight.  The Morocco blogs may not be so entertaining, but I really need a record of our North African excursion, which took place December 22, 2013 – January 1, 2014.  This first post will focus on Marrakech, and we’ll move on from there.

———-

A one hour and 40 minute direct flight from Barcelona to Casablanca was followed by a 3 hour road trip to Marrakech in a van steered by Mohamed, our driver from Atlas and Sahara Tours.  Winding through the Marrakech medina (the old quarter), we soon arrived at our hotel, or near our hotel, as cars cannot fit through the narrow street leading to the front door; here we met our San Francisco next door neighbors, Rob, Lena, Toby, and Miles Frank, an exciting reunion, given our recent life away in Europe.

Let’s kick this off with a hotel or riad recommendation; from the Arabian term for garden, a “riad”, the typical spelling, is a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden or courtyard.  Riyad Al Moussika is first rate, with clean, comfortable, and ornate rooms (check out the sunken tub in the bathroom, not to mention the picturesque courtyard), a fantastic restaurant, and a 10 minute walk to Place Jamaa El Fna, the large square and marketplace in the medina; we are told that our riad was a residence of the former Pasha of Marrakech, Thami El Glaoui, essentially the person put in charge of Marrakech by the French, remaining in this position from 1912 to 1956 while accumulating enormous wealth, apparently taking a cut from just about everyone in town.

 

At Pepenero, our riad’s wonderful restaurant, we immediately tasted our first tagines, the customary slow cooked Moroccan stew consisting of meat, poultry or fish and vegetables or fruit.  Pepenero specializes in Moroccan and Italian food, and when also considering our later buono Italian dinner, I would have to say that a reservation here is a must for future tourists.

After a 10 minute walk through slender, crowded alleys, avoiding mopeds which seem to have the right of way, we entered the Place Jamaa El Fna, a massive marketplace and entertainment ground, with snake charmers, herb sellers, food venders, musicians and various other performance artists.  They all want our money and we probably gave too much to wear the snakes and purchase the spices, although we love and may someday actually use the couscous seasoning and Vicks-like nose clearing vapor crystals.

 

Fishing in Jamaa El Fna; impossible to catch the bottles, but still entertainment.

 

MEM with Toby and Miles Frank

 

Here is our spice man, his business passed down by his grandfather and father, certainly happy after our first Moroccan purchases, perhaps made before we had a better understanding of our negotiating power.

 

On day 2, Mustapha, our guide for the day, showed us an unmemorable public garden and then Jardin Majorelle, a well maintained garden/tourist attraction, opened to the public in 1947 by its owner/creator Jacques Majorelle, and eventually taken over and restored by Yves Saint Laurent.  YSL’s ashes are in the garden; I can’t believe I really care, and the garden really is not particularly interesting in my opinion.

 

We toured the Saadian Tombs (on the left), beautifully and colorfully decorated, and dating back to the 16th century, although not discovered until 1917.  Then the Bahia Palace (on the right), a late 19th century building in the medina, which was maybe worth 30 minutes of time; it seemed not too different from a larger version of our riad, with its courtyard, marble floors, and highly detailed architecture, including this ceiling.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Back in Jamaa El Fna, we haggled for some “magic boxes” from this guy who made them (or displays some blades and sawdust to create the image), rectangular mahogany containers/puzzles where the sides need to be shifted in a certain way so a key falls out and the box can be opened…and broken when you drop it in your hotel room 2 hours after purchasing.  Still, obtaining a 40% discount off of the asking price was enough to make us feel good and the merchant feel even better.

 

After dragging the kids around all day, we picked a dinner setting specifically for them, Chez Ali, which was a meal and then a horse show with ample gun firing for excitement.  While not a recommendation for adults, this was a good call for the family experience.  The food was average and the musicians and dancers continuously surrounding our tables were overwhelming in a bit of a loud and obnoxious way, but the children enjoyed the show.

Yes, we really want the kids to experience Marrakech and Morocco, so what did we do the next morning?  The four of us adults went out for a couple of hours in the souks with our shopping guide, Abdelhaq (“Abdel”), who with his wife has a business of offering private tours/experiences to visitors (Morocco Private Experience), and left the young ones at the hotel.  Don’t get me wrong, they were ecstatic to have the extra time for cards and video games.  And we were all smiles, but with diminished dirhams, after acquiring a new tablecloth/napkins and two beautiful bright orange leather pouffes.  Will the ostentatious pouffes work in our house?  We’ll find out in about 6 months.  I am guessing that our shopping guide, Abdel, may have profited the most on this day, both from our fee and the under the table cuts he likely collected from the merchants.

This is one of the Tazi brothers (Rob Frank on the right), who run L’Ourika, known for clothing, but also a provider of likely overpriced but very attractive tablecloths; I hope our dinner guests will agree.

 

…and the creator of our pouffes, outside of his shop.  Our two are similar to the orange one on the left.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sometimes you need to pay to take a photo in the souks but this man, with his colorful offerings, was nice enough to allow it gratis.

 

Having retrieved the youth, we were then escorted by Abdel to cooking school.  He had said he could do anything for us, and we asked for him to find a cooking class for our two families.  After following Abdel’s car, our van driver came to a stop in a residential area of Marrakech well outside the medina, and Abdel opened the van door and said “welcome to my home.”  Expecting an actual cooking school, we were surprised to walk into his house of course, but enjoyed learning from his own family’s cook/nanny as she prepared lamb and chicken in the Moroccan tradition along with what were truly my preferences: eggplant, and zucchini salads and ratatouille.  We dined with Abdel and his wife, Khadija, and were actually more involved with setting and clearing the table than creating the meal; it was a cooking lecture rather than a participatory experience, which was fine as the kids played cards in their yard.

 

 

Post-meal, Abdel escorted us to his friend Larbi Cherkaoui’s art studio, where we saw interesting painting/calligraphy on sheepskin, but held back from making any purchases; beautiful work but not cheap.  He then left us at the famous Mamounia Hotel, Churchill’s home away from home in Marrakech.  This had been our first choice for accommodations after high ratings from my parents and cousin, but high prices were also the case during this holiday period.  So, we enjoyed a Christmas Eve drink there instead and briefly walked the fabulous grounds.

Back at our own resting place, Riyad Al Moussika, we were spent, and decided to be lazy and eat at the riad.  But it wasn’t so easy.  While we knew of the quality of Pepenero from our initial lunch, we hadn’t quite understood the restaurant’s popularity.  Glancing at Trip Advisor and seeing the ranking at 3 of 496 Marrakech dining options, we quickly realized why we were told there was absolutely no room for us.  Still, we asked if they could serve us in the small living room adjoining one of our bedrooms, and they agreed to the offer, while having to haul our meals up a stairway.  With live Moroccan music flowing in from the courtyard below (drums, strings, a little singing), we enjoyed a cozy Christmas Eve dinner of very tasty pasta, needed after a few days of pure couscous and tagines, good Moroccan wine (despite an obviously small wine audience in this country), and chocolate molten cake, dark and delicious, the chocolate flood released upon fork insertion.  We ended the night with a game of Avalon, a fun recurring theme on this trip as the Franks are avid game players, and a view of the belly dancing performance from our perch above the restaurant.  A perfect Christmas Eve.

 

 

Tags: Atlas and Sahara, Bahia Palace, Chez Ali, couscous, Jardin Majorelle, L'Ourika, Larbi Cherkaoui, Marrakech, medina, Morocco, Morocco Private Experience, pasha, Pepenero, Place Jamaa El Fna, Riyad Al Moussika, snake, tagine, Thami EL Glaoui, Yves Saint Laurent