Are you in between? That’s your affair–not mine.
The first snow fell and autumn color had not finished–in between fall and winter.
And my friend CJ has always been in between–in between cultures. See for yourself: Tangier Gardens at https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
…off the beaten track.
Sometimes it is necessary.
I know a guy, CJ, who almost died looking for that refreshing breath.
Tangier Gardens is his story: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
CJ studied fine arts for his first two years at college. In music, literature and painting he found an enigmatic similarity. Many composers, authors and painters were inspired by nature, either the outdoors or human nature. That was clear.
It was, however, the dichotomy of the critics that confused him.
The critics’ perplexing dichotomy pitted human social nature vs the natural world, nature without humans. He wondered why the dichotomy? Were not humans part of the nature in which we all lived? Even though humans were at the top of the food chain we were still part of the chain. How can behavior, intelligence or spirit separate humans from the nature all around us?
And why have so many sought to make that ‘false’ distinction?
CJ’s own battles with this dichotomy got serious when, after deciding to major in landscape architecture, he went to North Africa, for his term abroad design study.
There he met a couple esoteric horticulturists, one Russian and the other British. They had built and were guardians of an arcane garden, the Oval Garden, behind their Hibiscus House. There they tried to educate CJ–solve his enigmatic fine arts, landscape and garden concerns.
Listen to Christopher Janus’ own words: “In New Mexico the picturesque landscape captured me… but I felt there was something more… I couldn’t put my finger on it.
“At university, I dug into the fine arts and landscape architecture. I read JB Jackson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, Henry David Thoreau, FL Olmsted, Ian McHarg and others, seeking the deeper content of the landscape. Some people today write that sense of place and landscape are similar—they are… nebulous, ambiguous, enigmatic, impenetrable… need I say more?
“A strange thing happened. The more I researched, the harder I looked, the foggier became my results. Then I did my term abroad design study in northwest Africa, Morocco.”
And then what happened?
Take a walk in Tangier Gardens and find out. Arcane adventures on the way.
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What do YOU see here?
Healthy vegetation? Plentiful water? Rich soils? Successful human endeavor? Life? Inspiration?
It’s all there.
In Curious Tales, CJ wrote:
“I was at sea–absolutely nothing was certain.
“Back home, at university, in my original Design Study Statement, I wrote that I would evaluate the use of water features in the Moroccan medina urban public realm, with a view toward deriving a metric of understanding their physical and cultural components.
“I must be frank. I almost failed this self-directed Moroccan design study.
“My time in Tangier took me to some deep places—some I had seen before. Others? Most peculiar…I didn’t know where I was. And others still where I was glad to be.”
But that is CJ’s tale; this prequel is my story.
A weak breeze and a few late wisteria flowers prepared me to be charmed by the view of the Strait of Gibraltar the way I like it–a safe distance, a comfortable distance away from that strangely aggressive magic, that throbbing aura of Joseph Conrad’s Africa. The more I thought about it, the more I could feel that hot African breath prickling the back of my neck.
I had been strolling lazily, inspecting the Gibraltar hotel where I was staying. I walked through the Barbary Bar out onto the shaded Wisteria Terrace. Nobody was sitting out there. Off season. Siesta time of day. Perfect quiet for me, perfect for daydreaming–my way of searching for the orange gardens of the Hesperides.
Curious Tales The Prequel is free to read on Kindle Vella at this link (https://bit.ly/3Hv6p2p)
And the story behind Curious Tales is Tangier Gardens and it is available on Amazon at this link (https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv)
Curious Tales Ebook will launch 15April at a huge discount: Sign up here for details (https://bit.ly/3q5lcaq)
Please share this with your like-minded friends especially if they are:
-A nature lover or a landscape aficionado;
-Curious about all things green—the environment, plants, gardening, horticulture; or
-Intrigued about the northwest Africa multi-cultural, mystical history of people and plants.
You think you’ve got struggles?
Frozen, but still alive? You figure it out and tell me.
And how did CJ’s Tales til Christmas end? Read on.
Christmas, Not Yet
On the twelfth day of Ramadan, Maalem Hamid and I arrived at the shop about 8AM. Maalem Hamid finished the outstanding work. I watched him do the final touches. I helped where I could; but I was tired and mostly watched. He did a lot of detailed tooling; his assistant did leather stamping.
When they finished the first book, the maalem proudly offered it to me for examination. I took it. I hefted it. I felt it. I inspected it. I paged through it. Yes, it was beautiful–content aside, it was every bit as delectable a product as I could have ever hoped for.
About two in the afternoon, when he had finished the details, he wrapped the five books in thick brown paper himself. Then he ceremoniously presented to me the final five books. I placed the balance of what was due for his services in his hand. Then we shook hands. He was proud. I was proud.
And honestly, it had been such a pleasure to watch the exceptional craftsman handle his tools, and produce such a refined result in appearance, in touch, and in technical strength. I thanked him.
He walked with me to the Place El Hedim where I took a Petit Taxi. He and I both waved until he was out of sight.
Almost sunset when I arrived in the Ville Nouvelle. Lights on in Tom’s place. Knocked and showed them one of the final copies. My time in Morocco was up. Over the past six months, Tom and Marcela had given me shelter every time I needed it. I owed them.
Arranged to have dinner together at a 5-star Ville Nouvelle hotel restaurant the next night.
I spent the day packing. I took Marcela and Tom for dinner at the Hotel Transatlantique with a full-blown late-night Ramadan Iftar buffet special, filled with more options than I could list. It didn’t make much difference to me because all through the Iftar dinner I was dreaming not just to be home for Christmas, but of a White Christmas.
***
Christmas Now
The morning of the fourteenth day of Ramadan–couldn’t believe it–my personal last day of Ramadan–my last day in Morocco!
Tom drove me to Casablanca airport. We left early in the morning when it was still dark. Three hours on the road–a Moroccan autoroute. Raining and gray, low clouds all the way. The earth was sucking in all the moisture. Plants looked happy. The ride, though, was a slog.
I was emotionally depleted. My last Moroccan memories like the first–sensually extravagant. We had parked and I was walking. Just at the pedestrian entry to the airport terminal–my sense of smell was assaulted by–clusters of Eriobotrya japonica trees in flower–excessively sweet to the place where fragrance meets odor. Goodbye Morocco.
Finally, I was off the ground. Casa-Brussels-NYC-home. I was outta there! Phew! Never thought it would happen. Relief.
But then there was also sadness. Ma’salama. I’ll never be the same. But then I mentally blinked–twice–reset.
Wonder what Santa will bring?
Back home. I paused in transit in New York, had to go through passport control and customs. Outside, it was snowing. Thanked my lucky stars to be standing there where at least I hoped I could live happy in the land of the free. The country where we can sleep in peace at night when we lay down our heads.
Last flight…after gathering my luggage, I looked around and thought, I am starting again. LittleWing was the first I saw, then Kate and Sam–they all met me.
Kate joked, “Look who got a Med sun tan.”
Sam observed and, with a smile on his face, gruffly asked, “Did you order this winter wonderland snowstorm?”
But Sachy was the first to wrap her arms around me–eyes all aglow–a huge smile on her face as she ran up to greet me. Hugged me hard and in my ear she whispered, “Home for Christmas!”
I stepped back, looked deeply into her eyes. It was her, Sachy, in real life, in front of me. Could this be? I held Sachy by her shoulders and said, “Lovely weather for a sleigh ride!”
I put my arms around her again, pulled her ever so close and, in the tightest of hugs, I whispered in her ear, “This is not a dream–my heart is warm–I couldn’t have done it without you!”
***
CJ made it home; but Morocco, unbeknownst to him, lingered.
***
If you wonder what actually happened during CJ’s six months in Tangier, pick up the eBook, Tangier Gardens–out of the classroom into the real world–via plant portals, here: https://amzn.to/3HLrtyv
He wrote,
“I had no idea how much sub-Saharan West Africa influenced Morocco. I was in over my head in Tangier. This tale is sad. I needed help.”
Read about it in his Tales til Christmas: https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BNZDYKKC
Or read his own story, Tangier Gardens: Out of the classroom into real life, via plant portals.
Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!
