The Elephant Cloud

Hotel LaMamounia in the heart of Marrakesh was once royal grounds, now an elite compound where Churchill’s suite can only be viewed by select residents. We weaseled around automatic gates blocked by suited guards in dark sunglasses and earpieces.

“A visit?” Jay inquires in french.
“No visitors, reservations only.”
“A Cafe?” we questioned.
“A cafe?” dubiously, he ushered us through gates and onto the compound.

A Hollywood reprieve- where stars, diplomats, ambassadors of foreign affairs mingle. Strolling through the lush gardens with intricate fountains, birds, marble tiles and guards, guards everywhere.
Large brass doors mark the entrance- the first, second and third bellman adorned in elaborate Berber costumes allow us deeper into the hotel. Finally, the inner lobby and a red carpet burning under our dirty sandals.

“May I help you?” the hotel manager steps forward, an intervention perhaps.
“A Cafe…” we choke, Jay removes his tattered NH ball cap.

A dress code- no jeans, no caps, no sandals.
“Perhaps tomorrow would be better.”
“Perhaps,” we nod and bid adieu.

The most noticeable difference in the souk this morning were the piles of severed goat heads, billies on one side, nannies on the other. In separate piles feet were bound together for…ah, soup? Muddy, bubbly red puddles in the street which even the dogs let alone. The meat will go toward a great feast at the mosques on Monday at the Eid ul Fitr, possibly the biggest Muslim holiday of the year.

When one month ends and another begins is not scientific, it’s observation (or lack thereof) of a new moon. I’m told there are people “on it” in Fes and it is now only a matter of days until Ramadan is over. The new month, Shawwal, begins either Sunday or Monday, fingers are crossed all over Arabia for Sunday, but, alas, it is Monday. One more cranky afternoon.

Admist all the disruption and chaos of Ramadan, it does save you money. Though, ironically, a lot of muslims put on weight this month, so rich and indulgent are the post sundown meals.