MANILA, Philippines - It was freezing in Paris: the cold, I could feel inside my body, terrifying my bones and freezing my brain.
Morocco, I had heard, was a weekend destination out of Paris. Most of all, the Fondation Pierre Bergé Yves Saint Laurent and the Jardin Majorelle were holding an exhibit entitled “Yves Saint Laurent et le Maroc.”
I knew nothing about Marrakesh except that it had been labeled “exotic.” Once outside, there was glorious, blazing heat. It was shorts and tank top weather — although one would feel more comfortable dressing conservatively in this territory. The ride to the hotel showed orange buildings; the city was under developed and I passed several sari sari-store-like façades, just around the corner from big-name hotels.
I decided to spend the next morning in the Place Jemaa-El Fna, which I had read about online. The Place was something like Divisoria. It was in disarray, but had that sort of disorganized order of open-air markets. I looked around and realized that I was not going to conquer the souks, let alone the city. The adventure was first in critiquing with my eyes and not in eating the snails on a large cart surrounded by makeshift tables. I was not averse to anything; on the contrary, it was all wonderfully familiar, as if I had been transported to Quiapo. But when I am in a new place for the first time, the feeling comes: some people jump in right away, I put my toe in first to test the temperature.
I was surrounded by things I had never seen: dancing small monkeys wearing ruffled necklaces, a man sitting with a table full of teeth — extremely bizarre, sans gums — that he held up with pliers, with full sets of postiso resting beside; and snakes being charmed out of repose.
If there was a place to find treasure, La Porte d’Or was it. A large wooden door from hundreds of years past rested like a secret entrance to another world. In my mind, this could have been the entrance to the wardrobe in The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, traveling into One Thousand and One Nights. There were jars that were stately and very very old — different from the brighter-colored jars that were sold in the other stores — and intricately-carved tabletops that I wanted to run my hands on.
Further inside the souks were skins, the leather of a cow tanned and hanging from ceilings; and woven bags, like the Intrecciato of Bottega Veneta but unfinished, natural and raw-looking. There were large pieces of luggage in aqua and red, their dye somewhat uneven, so that you could see where the lighter shade blended into the darker tone. By a central location in the maze were dyes in pots. Powders and rocks in bright blues and pinks, and odd nuts and rocks and crystals, were a visual feast. I felt that I had grown up not seeing much at all. There was something from the earth in these things, something ancient and almost mystical.
A few steps down was a store which sold pots and pots of herbs, tea, medicine, and huile d’argan, similar to our coconut oil that claims to revitalize skin and hair. Nearby was the Marrakesh Museum, which is meant to show artifacts from Moroccan Jewish, Berber and Arab cultures. Gorgeous fabrics apparently came from Fez.
The “Yves Saint Laurent et le Maroc” exhibit remained. In what looked like the suburbs, the Jardin Majorelle was a faded fuchsia-rose shade, not quite the faded orange-rust used in the other parts of the city, but close enough. I was told that there is a city regulation to use the same color for all the buildings; the city is known as Al Hamra or “Red City.”
The grounds evolved from the home of painter Jacques Majorelle, who moved to Marrakesh in 1919. It was reminiscent of large backyards in homes in Manila with palm trees, bamboo, potted plants and a pond. The building housing the exhibit was a bright cobalt blue.
In the small space under a domed, twinkling ceiling, an edited collection of Yves Saint Laurent’s works inspired by his adventures in Morocco greeted viewers.
There were four rooms. The first displayed a red cape with bougainvillea embroidery and a coral and jade chiffon dress from 1969. The second room, labeled “Moroccan Inspiration,” included capes, hoods and djellabas, traditional hooded robes worn by Berber men and resemble ancient Roman hooded cloaks. Red, ivory, black, brown and plum ensembles with gold braiding and trim showed the depth of inspiration that Saint Laurent acquired from Moroccan costume. The third room, “African Dreams,” displayed Bambara dresses of raffia and beads, all made in 1967.
The fourth room was inspired by the colors of Marrakesh. “I became more sensitive to light and colors, and when I noticed especially the light on colors. . . At every street corner, in Marrakesh, you see groups of incredible intensity and relief, men and women in caftans of pink, blue, green, purple. These groups look like drawings or paintings, Delacroix sketches, but it is amazing to realize that they are in fact only an improvisation of life,” said Saint Laurent in Le Monde newspaper in 1983. In this room were a gold and copper lace lamé dress circa 1990, a yellow, red and pink crepe dress circa 1991, and other bright, sequined cloaks and dresses from the same era, which aimed to show that the designer was inspired by the city for several decades, way after he had bought his house, Dar El Hanch (House of the Serpent), with Pierre Bergé, in 1966. According to the book Yves Saint Laurent, published in 2010, “In Marrakesh, Saint Laurent had discovered the beauties of North Africa that the westernized city of his youth, Oran, had concealed from him.”
The next day it was back to frozen ground in Paris, but I knew: I could drop by The Fondation Pierre Bergé Yves Saint Laurent to do more research, but not without first walking by the Jardin de Tuileries on my left and the Place Vendôme on my right, damn the cold.