On A Different Brand Of Beauty

“We see a lot of beauty. Some becomes ordinary. Mountains and canyons and prairies...sunsets over [the Sahara desert]...” – The Avett Brothers, Letter to A Pretty Girl (with sincere apologies to Mr. Crawford, as well as the Chesapeake Bay).

The past week has been a busy one. I’ve scampering all over the Moroccan countryside.

In the middle of the week we had a mini-retreat for the Fulbrighters in Morocco to touch base with MACECE and see how things have gone one month into the language grant. We went to the Cedar Forest in Azrou, a couple hours’ drive from Fez, and it was a much appreciated break from the smoggy city. The forest struck me as a lovely place for a picnic, and it’s always nice to have a monkey sighting.

And then this weekend I went down to the Sahara with a group from ALIF. This was my third trip to the desert – the first was in October 2007 with the ALIF students of the time, and the second was in February 2008 with 2 dear friends from high school. This trip, like my very first one, was gorgeous and surreal. I have photos that look like cartoons. Blue skies and orange dunes. Berber men in blue JELABAS. Drumming and dancing. Tea and TAGINES. Sunset. Stars. Sunrise. Camels.

The February 2008 trip, on the other hand, was windy and rainy and somewhat miserable weather-wise. We were overcharged and somehow brought the entire Moroccan village with us. For the whole 9 hour car ride into Merzouga, we crammed 4 of us into the backseat of a GRAND TAXI while 2 others (plus the driver) occupied the front. We tried to introduce the wonder of the Avett Brothers to our Moroccan friends but they could listen to us sing Paranoia in Bb Major for precisely 30 seconds before shouting “MAMA AFRICA!” and drowning us out with their banging and chanting.

But really, we had very little to complain about. The lunar eclipse (or two) that we saw will forever be burned into my memory. Despite the unbelievable (and often frustrating) circumstances of the trip, it’s one of the most beautiful experiences of my life. How often do you take a weekend trip to the desert with two of your oldest friends? If that’s not beauty, I don’t know what is.

This weekend I paid close attention to the landscapes on the way back from the Sahara. Incredible. I must have blinked during the transitions, because somehow we went from an expansive desert of nothingness to breathtaking gorges and canyons. Then suddenly we were in the Middle Atlas, braving mountain passes during which I clutched the handle on the door until my knuckles were white. We passed sheep grazing in the pastures. Then we were in the forest. Then we passed the French colonial haven of Ifrane (nicknamed the “Switzerland of Morocco”). And after what seemed like forever, we arrived back in Fez.

Suddenly I was back in my city of trash heaps, donkey poop, and stray cats that look like death. Of construction that seems to systematically eradicate any patch of green left in the city. Of air so thick I should probably chew it before inhaling. It made me seriously question why I chose to live in such a city, and why I love it as much as I do.

Nothing about it is naturally, or even physically beautiful. It’s certainly an aesthetically stimulating city, but its most beautiful aspects have been “corrupted” by tourism and innovation. Every time I take a photo from a roof in the medina I secretly wish that I had the patience to photoshop out all of the hundreds of satellite dishes.

But then I realized that’s where Fez’s beauty lies. (At least it’s what gives my entire project its salience.) It’s the tension that fascinates me: satellite dishes next to MINERATS, donkeys pulling carts full of Coca-Cola, old men in jelabas talking on cell phones while riding motorcycles. This is Fez.

Much like my February trip to the Sahara, its value lies in more than comfort or convenience or cleanliness. It’s in the past and the present. It in my experiences and relationships, and in what I currently can only describe as the insanity of everyday life. It’s in the city’s identity crisis. It’s in the city’s resilience.

The beauty of Fez is not the same as the “natural” beauty of the landscapes of the Middle Atlas. But maybe it’s even more natural. It’s anthropological...cultural...historical...and modern.

This is my city.