SKETCHES OF MARRAKECH: A BILLET-DOUX FROM THE PLANETARY PORTRAIT BUSKER

MOHAMMED AND SELF ON THE SQUARE

I met Mohammed BEFORE I went to the mountain.  He was busking in Marrakech Square, singing Western pop songs, and I was walking the square with Travers and Sila (my son and his girlfriend).

From a gathering crowd of a hundred or so people, he pointed directly to us, gesturing to join him in song.  Much obligingly, I jumped into his buskspot, grabbed his guitar, and sang a set of four original songs.

I’m just back from Marrakech – in this particular blog entry, a picture is certainly worth a thousand words.  I went to Marrakech to hike in the Atlas Mountain Range with Travers and Sila.  They live in Amsterdam; I live in Canada.  While in Marrakech I did some guitar busking and some pencil portraits.  The main marchers in my CHAUCERIAN PARADE this week are those whose portraits I drew.  And I just had to include a macedoine of the cultural and commercial street action in the Marrakech markets.

MOHAMMED

 

SILA AND THE MONKEY THAT BIT HER

A CHARMED COBRA

SILA, TRAV, AND SELF HIKING IN THE ATLAS RANGE

 

SILA AND TRAV ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOUNTAIN

OLIVES FOR EVERY MEAL

ORANGES FOR EVERY MEAL

TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN

Regular readers of this blog know the theme of HOCKEY is oftentimes my companion.  Ever embracing PHENOMONOLOGY, what are the odds that my friend and former legendary NHL’er, DREW CALLANDER, currently scouting for my hometown Regina Pats of the Western Hockey League (WHL), would be on my same flight from Calgary to Frankfurt.  Drew was en route to the International Ice Hockey Federation (IIHF) U18 World Championship in Slovakia.  Drew and I had lunch together in the Calgary Airport and then visited at length on our trans-Atlantic flight.  We parted ways on arrival to Frankfurt.  

DREW TEXTED THIS PICTURE FROM VIENNA

ANOTHER VIENNA PICTURE FROM DREW

MY ONLY TRAVEL BAG

From my panjandrum point of view and very much in contrast to my flight over to Europe, I’ll end this essay with the Brit seated next to me on my return flight from London to Calgary.  He and his two buddies noisily boarded together, and they provided non-stop nonsense and rubbish the whole way to Canada.

Have you ever sat beside guy for nine hours on a plane whose idea of joking with his buddies was directly addressing them as retard?  Have you ever sat beside a guy for nine hours on a plane who drank over a dozen alcoholic beverages, and ate every bit of food the airline provided and continuously burped and coughed into his hand while doing so?  Have you ever sat beside a guy for nine hours on a plane whose idea of joking with his buddies was placing his empty booze bottles on their chests while they slept and then laughing hysterically when they awoke and were somewhat startled by the presence of the bottles, the bottle dropping from their chest and rolling down the aisle?  Have you ever sat beside a guy for nine hours on a plane who played games or watched adult cartoons on his IPad? Have you ever sat beside the quintessential asshole for nine hours on a plane? 

Well I have.  All part of my bildungsroman, I know, and I must admit that I survived to write about it.  And the skinny when I introspect my busking adventure in Marrakech:  

IN MARRAKECH, 
MY PENCIL IS MIGHTIER THAN MY GUITAR!

FINIS.