Outside Ait Ben Haddou, we had a private preview of another fledgling gallery space with local artist Aissa Joud, sporting a black fedora, ripped skinny jeans and a pink Calvin Klein hoodie. Smoked almonds and silver teapots were laid out for us in a cavernous space with arched ceilings, carved cedarwood doors and 1950s radios, and Arabic dance music bouncing off the gallery’s giant canvases. Pomegranate, walnut, willow and carob trees gave way to date palms and bald mountains as the dirt beneath our wheels got thirstier. Tagines, lids clamped down by plump mandarins, bubbled at roadside stalls. I caught a distant glimpse of sure-footed goats running full-pelt down a sheer escarpment like scuttling beetles. They forage in the mountains for acorns, but they come here at night,” he explained as we skirted the fortified hilltop gardens that supply the village with fruit and vegetables.
- You get benefits like loss