Today was the reason that I came to Marrakech – to do a cooking class – and it was all that I could have wished for. The hotel is renowned in Morocco for running both the first and the best cooking school and the set up, host, baba (the woman chef) and the other class members all added up to make it a thoroughly enjoyable experience. Our group comprised Canadians, Americans, Germans, Italians and me. The others were all in couples (as is pretty much every tourist in Morocco apparently so I am treated with a degree of sympathetic curiosity ) and were either early 20s or retired – clearly I am again the exception.
The class began with a lesson on spices and culture and all of the angst I felt over the last couple of days faded away as our lovely host talked about the city from her perspective. We were taught how that make that wonderfully restorative mint tea (it fixes everything) and visited another local bakery. Our classroom reminded me of Masterchef, but with smaller benches and noone shouting “5 minutes to go!”.We each had our own part of the bench with hotplates, a sink, cutting board, great knives and ingredients. In front of each of us was a screen onto which the baba’s every move was telecast and you were reminded of this if your attention drifted. We cooked an aromatic chicken with preserved lemon, a deliciously rich eggplant and tomato cooked salad and a tomato and roast capsicum cold salad. I was surprised at how much we were actually taught technique wise in a short space of time and I am buying myself new knives.
After about three hours we retired to the rooftop and were served with the lunches that each of us had prepared. They also gave us a small tagine as a gift (which I hope to carry safely until I get to Eideann). That was when the conversations really opened up between the participants. I sat next to the Canadian couple, two women in their late 50s/early 60s whose journeys showed how pathetic my recent squeamishness really was. They have been touring Morocco for about two weeks and have stayed in some “really dodgy places”, trekked into the desert on camels in a sandstorm for an overnight stay, dived into souks and squared unabashed, walked half an hour off road to have dinner with the elderly mother of one of their guides (“he liked us”) and were heading out in the afternoon for a harram in a public bath – none of this namby pamby visit the hotel salon for them. I kept quiet about my own experiences.
My soft centred happiness with the world continued in the afternoon when I was driven across town to a separate area where the hotel has a larger pool and gardens, including where they grow their own herbs and vegetables. It was 35 degrees so I settled at a table in shade, got checked out by the resident cat and caught up on news and writing. I understand now what I had read about Morocco where you should not be deceived by what is outside a building. The facades are often crumbling, the streets are chaotic, the thick outer walls of the buildings are quite imposing and there is very little green to be seen, but when you go through a gate or a door you step into another world. Fountains are really important here and sit at the centre of buildings or complexes; the walls keep out noise and heat so you can hear birds and it’s cool; and everything takes time. I realise that I am seeing things from a very privileged position, but you notice this wherever you walk around the city.
I spent the evening repacking and then curled up on the bed to watch a truly classic movie. Amongst all of the television stations that are either non-English (naturally) or very serious news shows (CNN), I found Iron Man II in English with Arabic subtitles. A great end to the day.