Travel with us to Morocco on a fun trip. Together we will be weaving culture with horticulture. That arcane weave is the magic connection of humans with nature.
CJ is an American, born in the Midwest, raised in New Mexico—a hard worker who found his muse in the landscape.
At university, he grew to embrace music, literature and all the fine arts with humanitarian, environmental and spiritual sensibilities.
Studying landscape architecture, CJ was into pedestrian towns and warm sandy beaches. For his last class, a term abroad design study, he was in Tangier, a town with sandy beaches on the Med and a historical pedestrian district, the medina. But CJ got more than he bargained for… and it wasn’t a good time.
And the subject of CJ’s 43 tales? …his daily life, the high points, the low points–nothing was normal–it was all curious.
On an early summer day in Gibraltar I was relaxing on a hotel terrace, shaded by wisteria, looking towards Africa, Morocco, Tangier. At a table near me, I met a grizzly old American landscape architect named Herb Striet. He talked about the geography at the Strait of Gibraltar.
Why was Striet in Gibraltar?
Striet was in Gibraltar because his old-time Lebanese friend ran the bank where Striet kept his off-shore accounts. “It’s convenient,” Striet said, “I can easily go back to my Tangier if I want.” Then the conversation got weird. I couldn’t understand. He twisted. I got twisted; but I listened.
“Heh, heh,” he said, “…if… if I want.” I didn’t really get the picture. He continued. I summarize.
All the while he had been working and living in the Arabian Peninsula, Striet said he had missed the freedom of Morocco, North Africa, the Maghreb. He had missed the accessibility of the Moroccan people. He had missed the intimate human nature of their medina public realm. He had missed life in Morocco, very real, just 100% Moroccans 100% of the time–Morocco, where daily life was not flash like the oil-countries of the Arabian Peninsula. He told me his daily public realm life in the oil-rich Middle East was awkwardly filled with contracted, sad-faced expatriate service people.
At the end, I finally understood, almost, that Striet had a love/hate thing with Morocco. So nice… but…
And all this is mellowed-out by C418’s cut “Door” on his Alpha album.
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
There are four distinct Berber communities in Morocco.
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 was in Gibraltar, sitting with a man who knew his way around the Tingis region.
“But the maquis, the maquis, what about the maquis?” I asked.
“The maquis? The maquis is all that’s left. The remnants, the refuse of a great botanical richness that used to be. Old growth has been stripped. The maquis? Nothing but a few odiferous weeds. Suitable for the Interzone.”
“The what?”
“The Interzone, just as Burroughs’ wrote. But it’s real. Look at any satellite image. The Interzone is a land nobody owns–separated by the Sahara from Africa and separated by the Mediterranean from Europe. You don’t think so? One continent with towns like Timbucktu, Gran Bassam and Little Popo–another continent with towns like Rome, London and Paris. You tell me what happens where those two continents meet…the Interzone.”
“Wasn’t that some kind of 1950s fiction?”
“Didn’t you understand? It’s a real place, not a literary fantasy, but a geographic reality! Listen, in the Interzone rootlets from Africa and Europe attack and they attach. They try to suck energy from you. African rootlets suck European energy. European rootlets suck African energy. Anyone who lives there long enough becomes a crippled schizoid.”
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
4.1–The Oval Garden experiences inspired me to address the things that were at the very heart of landscape architecture. In this tale, I talk about the sun and sunlight.
4.2–After my Oval Garden visits, I went over and over my portal experiences, trying to understand logically what happened. I, in this short tale, share my own conclusions.
4.3–I used my own forest experience to construct a short tale in which I talked about forests in the landscape, their life beyond the senses and salubrious exchanges.
4.4–I described what I was missing in Tangier. But I did have a rooftop garden terrace with a view over the Strait of Gibraltar.
Who is CJ and why is he writing these tales?
In June 2000, Christopher Janus, a senior studying landscape architecture at a mid-west America university, finds himself in Tangier on a term abroad design study. The strange culture, the North African landscape and Mediterranean gardens are not what he expected. CJ, as his friends called him, could not wait to be home for Christmas.
To complete his term abroad design study, CJ documented his strange culture, landscape and garden experiences in Morocco in a series of 43 short stories that are being released on Amazon Kindle Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve. The first 3 are FREE! You can find them here: Tales til Christmas Vella link ASIN: B0BNZDYKKC
Majoun, jajouka, gnawa…CJ wasn’t sure where to turn. He just wanted to finish his term-abroad design study. But all around him…culture, landscape, gardens; they were all different. They were all strange. He thought he knew what he was getting into…but did he? He did know one thing for certain—he wanted to be home for Christmas. Read his short stories.
Those short stories are, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve: find them here=http://bit.ly/3B9rJXE
ENJOY!!
***
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
The strange culture, the North African landscape and Mediterranean gardens are not what he expected.
In June 2000, Christopher Janus, an American landscape architecture student at a mid-western university, finds himself in Tangier on a term-abroad design study.
CJ, as his friends called him, could not wait to be home for Christmas.
To complete his Moroccan term-abroad design study, CJ writes about his strange culture, landscape and garden experiences in a series of 40 short stories.
Those short stories are now, for the first time, being released on Vella everyday between now and Christmas Eve.
