Where to go?


I went first in 90 or 91.
I was told to by La Directrice of the gallery hosting my exhibition.
‘You’ve got to go and have a look’ she said, and La Directrice liked bars.
‘I’m not coming I don’t like’ she’d concluded shortly.
She didn’t tell me why I should and when I went, I was none the wiser. Then, there were other bars in Tangier, wilder, rougher, funkier, classier, some Moroccan and La Directrice and I liked those better, drinking with dangerous people drinking. I didn’t understand the fading echos of Tangier’s edge of law haven heyday time; wild, exotic, cheap, corrupting, corruptible, accessible and easy to escape to and from. I saw the old guard around town, a trifle distressed I’d thought, elegant in their outmoded suits. I saw a few that evening at Dean’s Bar and more at my opening.
I’d imagined never to come back to Tangier. The world is huge, there are places else I haven’t been and I’d liked it here so why overlay the good memories by returning?
It wasn’t Dean’s Bar that brought me and it isn’t painting, but paintings I have painted of this city beckon anew with the self-same allure. It is the accident of a vacant available apartment, poor planning and so to Tangier, winter 2010, humid, cold and ready with rain.
The Medina smells of wet wool the night I go to Dean’s Bar again. (more…)

Fish Market, Tanger MoroccoIntroducing Tangier¹s Fish Market: ­ the most pungent, noisy, slippery
location in the city… ­ a wonderful place. Sitting on the edge of the Petit
Socco, next to the Mosque, this is a market like no other and I love it.
Marble slabs overflowing with an array of freshly caught fish; sellers
hollering; guts and roe floating on the wet floor and framed photos of King
Mohammed VI on every wall. What more could you ask for. I also have to admit
part of the experience is actually getting there. The front entrance is one
side and my Mum¹s favourite fishmonger is the other, so naturally she
insists we take the back route via the butcher stalls. Makes sense, except
in this case the butcher stalls are actually narrow dimly lit corridors full
of hanging carcasses, oozing offal, a host of unidentified animal parts and,
most treacherous of all, rows of swinging tripe. It requires ducking and
diving and trying very hard not to get walloped by some poor animal¹s
stomach. But it is always worth it.

Guest Post, used by permission from Lara of lovesbylara.wordpress.com

 

Swordfish at the Market in Tanger Morocco