From where I sit – July 4th, 2012
I think it was the kefta tagine. I hadn’t eaten anything else that day that could cause such a violent internal reaction. I religiously wash my paws before every meal … and I only ever drink Evian. So, it had to be the tagine. Three days later and I don’t care what caused it … I’m just glad Elvis has left the building!
Now, where were we? Ah yes, feeling a little better, I thought I might take my afternoon nana-nap on PC’s lap. He was having a nap of his own when I climbed up and snuggled in, only to hear a sickening crack. Was it his lower back again? Much worse! PC’s failing eyesight, coupled with his insatiable thirst for reading books with minuscule type, renders him totally and completely dependent on his reading glasses. I’d just severed that lifeline … I’d sat on his glasses and cracked them in half. Merde!
I galloped out of the house to find the only person who could help me … the local optometrist.
Jeff Chaouen is a delightful man. A quick glass of mint tea and the glasses were fixed in seconds … all was right with the world once more.
I asked Jeff about his very unusual, and English, name. Embarrassed … c’est juste! I’d misheard him and his name was actually Chef. Named after the town of his birth, Chefchaouen, he wore the traditional blue head scarf .
Now, I’d spent some time indoors over the last few days, and while Dar Rafti is an oasis of tranquility deep within the circus of the Fes Medina, it is a little … minimal … lacking in colour … beige … sand … camel … maybe even ‘nude’ in tone. I needed some colour … and fast! I needed to find the source of Jeff’s … sorry, Chef’s blue turban.
We hired a small van … air conditioned going down hill … however, not air-conditioned going up hill … and we trotted off to Chaouen. Sacre Bleu! The whole town was just that … bleu! Blue walls, blue doors, blue shops, blue cats, even blue people!
We met a lovely man standing at the gate to the old medina. I think he may have been a guide, as he offered to show us around town. I politely declined as I’ve learnt to wander aimlessly around these ancient places and make my own discoveries. He raised the middle finger of his left hand into the air to welcome us to his home and to bid us a safe and pleasant journey. His voice did seem a little angry but that must be the local dialect. Quel strange!
In closing, the photo of Chef (Jeff) bears a striking resemblance to a famous photographer from Los Angeles. Unintentional and purely coincidental.
Flying to my homeland tomorrow morning … ahhh, Paris!
Bixi el Fes