The Soul of Morocco...

PPhotography by Carl Joyce
All rights reserved.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=297klwcKKmI

There is a land whose yesteryears, so deep and blurred, are engulfed by the scorching sands of the desert; yet revealed by the silver-haired storytellers. Even the haze of the silent African sun draws images and scenes on the horizon and plays tricks on the modern mind, as if telling tales. Tales for tribes that would collide on this land for centuries, stories about traders and merchants from the ends of the world, legends about wealthy fathers and their daughters, so magnetic, so delightful that only the ethereal jingle of the silver bracelets cast a spell...


The soul of Morocco is wide, colourful, rich in aromas and sharp in flavours. Its oriental essence could be seen ...

...heard... 

 ...sensed...

...and even tasted.

For centuries, Arabic, Berber and European currents would carve in their clash, the braided architectural identity of the Kingdom,

 its ethnical patterns,...

...and ways of earning the livelihood... 

... nearby water...

...in the middle of a rocky desert...

...on a hectic market street...

...or by a busy road...

Chaos 

and Symmetry   lurk from everywhere

... even from the heated roofs. 

And immersed in their thoughts  

and daily tasks 

people forget about the magic of the fairytales: 

so latent, so quiet, yet alive. 

Like the one that tells about the Princess and the Frog;

or The Flying Rug;

  

The Cat and The Crow; 

or the wooden dolls, the Pinocchios, of a different Geppetto in a different time, but may be with the same purpose...

or simply knights from tales with tales on their own;

or souls, little Hansels and Gretels who still live in a tale;

and even those who wait for their beauty sleeping;

The soul of Morocco is captivating 

like the narrowed, patterned streets of the medina; 

it is as hot as the sun; 

unpredictable, like the lonely gifts of the high tight;

mystique like the desert; 

and Free. 

Like the flight of the birds.