This article was published in the 31st issue of Sanlian Life Weekly in 2019. The original title "The Invisible Garden and Labyrinth: Between Rabat and Fez"
is in the Rabat garden hidden in the market, in the Fez’s In memory and longing, I saw Morocco.
Wen/Pushi Photography/Zhang Lei
Looking out from the window of a cafe on the roof, the old city of Fez
The garden deep in the old city
What is true? You paint the face of water, or the face of light.
What is beauty? A form in which you will find mysteries and sometimes gods.
-[Syria] Adonis
Morocco has many prestigious gardens. For example, Marrakech belongs to the Mayor Garden of French designer Yves Saint Laurent, and it is always visited by tourists. But the unforgettable garden that fascinates me deeply is an unknown garden hidden deep in the residential area of the old city of Rabat. The encounter with it was purely accidental, but it unexpectedly opened a dreamland entrance for my trip to Morocco.
I vaguely remember that when I took the intercity train from Casablanca to Rabat, I was still feeling dispirited by the situation of tourists. In a careless mind, I even forgot the bag with my passport and cash on the taxi to Udaya Castle. The driver yelled in Arabic behind me as I closed the door and honked his horn until I recovered and took back the lost item in the back seat. Thanks for the good luck, a gap suddenly opened in the haze in my heart, and a beam of warm light shined in the gap: Before leaving, everyone who had been to Morocco told me to be careful of the ubiquitous deceptions and traps. Unlike the simple and unsophisticated folk customs recorded by Moroccan explorers and travellers over the centuries, the stories of modern tourists I have heard are full of anxiety about being in an unfamiliar jungle.
The guard in front of the Rabat Palace
Surrounding the Udaya Castle is a residential area. I still clearly remember the first glass of orange juice I bought at the fruit stall in front of a row of grocery stores when I walked past that Andalusian arched carved door. It evokes in my heart the warmth that has been lost in past written records. The silent little boss opened his white plastic box with ice cubes, picked out 5 oranges from it, and cut them one by one into 10 with a knife, and then buckled the half-sphere orange on the button. On a mechanical juicer that is generally protruding, press it down hard. The orange juice was slowly squeezed out and poured into the cup until there was an empty sac with only dried fruit. He repeated this 10 times, handing me a glass of juice containing 5 oranges, and asking me for 10 dirhams, about 8 yuan. His honesty and integrity gave me a sense of security. The orange liquid slid into my body along my lips, teeth, throat, and esophagus. I thought of the fruit seller who had been in this alley for many years and had a peaceful life in this alley, and thought of the fruit grower who sent him boxes of oranges for many years. The consistent and steady harvest is just like the fruit trees in his orchard that mature every year, without increasing or decreasing, quietly and endlessly. My tight nerves relaxed.
Across the street, a mother cat who was giving birth was licking the blood from her newborn child. The fist-sized newborn was lying in a pool of blood, eyes closed, and there was an unfallen umbilical cord on her bare body. Before, it was also born in the corners of the streets and lanes of this ancient city. I walked up the cobblestone path, up the steps, down the steps, through the narrow streets and deep alleys, through the houses painted in bright blue and white, through the pink oleander, purple bougainvillea and Klein blue flower pots that dot the door , Passing through the sweet bagel smell that quietly escaped from a certain window, the smell of basil spice, the aroma of olive on the hot pizza, the smell of homemade rose perfume, and the smell of garbage lying on a certain street corner, enter this An ancient living quarter built in the 11th century: a man in slippers walked by holding a large plate of grilled silver fish with his outturned palm (it would be more delicious if sprinkled with a little lemon juice); a swimmer on the beach The little boy licked the colorful ice cream and was walking towards home; the grandson with a hooded grandmother babbled his teeth and washed his hands under the finger cactus in front of the door, opened the door with a copper handle behind him, and disappeared into the high-wall forbidden courtyard. ; A man who is lazily walking by carrying several plastic bags may have no shortage of hardships in life; the mother who picked up two children with schoolbags back home for lunch has her intellectual eyes behind the glasses and lenses; While holding a piece of freshly baked biscuits, they shake their hands while being scalded, but stillCan't help holding the pie's corners torn apart; anxiously waiting for a child to play with the same electric toy; a girl holding a doll and crying in the corner; a cat coveting a dyed chicken in the child's hand-sometimes on the ground The little chicken head is its execution site; the neighbourhood that arranges the front path and the blue and white lime wall into a gorgeous garden with flowing colors; the old man sitting in thought on a small bench on the corner of the street.
In the garden in the old town of Rabat, there are many cats inhabited. Then, I walked through a long stone steps with colored wool carpets on both walls, passed a handicraft shop under the shade of a towering coconut tree, and came to one side. In front of the weather-beaten old earthy yellow brick wall. As I walked through the corridor between the two arched doors, I was unprepared for what was about to greet me, until I stepped across the threshold of the threshold and fell into a mysterious silence: the crape myrtle tree and Palm trees leaned forward on both sides of a cobblestone path to welcome visitors from their kingdom, and sent them into dense bushes. Then, guided by the cypress trees winding to the sky, they passed the red hibiscus burning like flames and entered the vines. gallery. At the end of the corridor, the zigzag wall on the tower guards the kingdom tightly, and the patron saint of the garden dwells in the black lookout hole, watching and listening quietly. The cross-shaped road in the garden divides it neatly into four sections, each of which is distinct in height and level. It is matched with tall trees such as palm trees, cypress trees, and olive trees, supporting a piece of sky above the head, and underneath is a short tree like date palm. The lower level of the arbor is a tropical shrub that is so rich that I can’t name it; dotted with dozens of flower and fruit trees such as canna, fragrant pear tree, orange tree, five-color plum, agapanthus, golden cup vine flower, morning glory, etc. Rich and gorgeous. I don't know what kind of place spirits are in this supposedly lively garden, calling the quiet angels; they hide in the treetops, under the bushes and under the pebbles. I had been roaring in my head before, roaring coming and going, crowded and arguing, and many voices that made me uneasy, suddenly closed their mouths in this garden, quietly obediently, as if they were seen by me The sight that arrived attracted and tame—I heard a deep silence in my heart.
The cat dozing off among the shadows of the big tree, raised his head and yawned, revealing a row of small, irregular fangs; cats that were playing in the shade under the vine or roaming around in the bush garden are like ghosts No one exists; the cat standing on the edge of the pool drinking with his tongue raised his head and looked at me, then turned his head back to his own world without interruption; read Arabic poetry on the stone steps under the minaret A girl, a lover who sits side by side like a sculpture under a vine frame for a long time, a man in the old city who has not returned to his senses for a long time in contemplation... What brings me such a quiet feeling, like walking into a dream, so Seeing that everything is so vivid, but it is shrouded in a hazy mist? Maybe it's the unpretentious and weather-beaten city wall, maybe it's the introversion formed by the closure on all sides, maybe it's the seclusion hidden deep in the downtown, maybe it's the wild vitality of tropical trees and they are not artificially modified The natural posture, perhaps the intricately hollowed windows in the garden, or the jagged wall stacks on the city walls and fortresses that house the medieval war beacon in its form. The sense of violence that has been sleeping for centuries guards the peaceful garden here. Maybe it's the dream-catching laziness of a nap cat, maybe it's the fine floral robe that Moroccan women cover.
is located in Marrakech, belonging to French designer Yves Saint Laurent’s Mayor garden
The cactus in the Mayor garden
But I think that the boundary between one world and another is light and color Feeling created: the bright blue and white lime walls of the old city block constitute a light theater, reflecting the sunlight more brightly, everywhere is the play and noisy of light as the protagonist; while the earth rammed city wall absorbs the sunlight, shades and decomposes With the sunlight, it calmed down here, with a general retreat. Even with the colorful flowers and fruits, the colors are soft and quiet. If there is a cheerful waltz of light outside the arch, here is its retelling. In many paintings and photos depicting Moroccan windows or arches, people always look from the dark inside or outside the door to the bright area outside the window or inside the arch—the same is true in the photos I took. However, if you have traveled through the old town of Rabat like me, and then broke into the secret garden of this residential area, you will know that we are actually walking from the bright place into the dark place, and then plunge into a dream..
The lotus pond and oriental pavilion in the Mayor Garden
This garden reminds me of some Persian gardens I visited in Isfahan. They have a similar structure, but also have the same spirit of contemplation and transcendence. In fact, Morocco did not create its own garden art, but absorbed Islamic gardening ideas from Egypt, Persia and India in its long history. Islamic gardens are the unity of heaven and the earth, and are described in the "Quran" as "close to the clear spring", "long shade of trees", "convergence of rivers" and a heaven with rich fruits. I don't need to understand the religious symbolism of the plants, flowers, fruits, and springs in this garden. At this time, it is enough to appreciate its beauty—beauty is a connected experience that transcends religion.
However, Islamic gardens are not always peaceful and peaceful. Once, I experienced a thrilling assembly in the garden of the Tangier Castle Museum. When I walked into the garden inside that wall, hundreds of seagulls were taking off from the fortress and the city wall, screaming and hovering overhead, covering the entire sky. The vigorous collective shouts seemed to be preparing for an expedition.
The walls outside the Roman ruins of Rabat
The Roman ruins of Rabat
"The womb-like labyrinth"
Hidden in the tens of thousands of closed, almost identical doors, tens of thousands of completely different scenes . Just as there are so many invisible mazes, they are very different.
There is a city within the long yellowish yellow wall, like a blue dream that has been around for a thousand years. The oldest college in the world is in its hinterland. It was originally a city built for research and dissemination of knowledge. The city is divided into more than 180 areas, and more than 360 mosques are preserved. The stone roads are densely flowing like blood vessels, connecting the whole city together. These trails are so tortuous that you can't see the direction, and they always show their continued traces at the end of the alley. They can be squeezed to the point of a ray of sky, and the oppressive feeling during walking can only get a little adjustment in broad daylight without any gloom. Some roads are in disrepair for a long time, and the flying dry dust is hazy and erratic in the sun as if passing through from a long time ago. The city walls were mottled and peeled off, exposing the pitted clay particles under the paint. It has thousands of bifurcated paths and tens of thousands of identical doors that can't tell who belongs to it, but there is no window facing the street, and the inner activities of the people inside the wall are completely invisible. The story of Alibaba and the Forty Thieves must have happened in a city similar to it. If you don't secretly mark the number on the door, you can't find the right person. What kind of scene is hidden in the tens of thousands of closed, almost identical doors? I cannot give tens of thousands of specific answers, but I can say with certainty that there are tens of thousands of completely different answers.
The religious academy in the old city of Fez, built by Idris II, is the oldest academy in the world
cats living in the old city of Fez
this is the oldest city in Morocco, the most important medieval in the Islamic world The holy city, named Fez. There is another invisible Fez, like a maze. It makes a visitor who wants to find the highest rooftop of the shop in the shops surrounding the ancient leather manufacturing workshop to overlook the hornet's nest-like dyeing vat workshop. Although it is only separated by a wall from the workshop, it is almost like thousands of mountains and rivers apart. It will never reach. The city dwellers of Fez construct an invisible complex labyrinth: the first enthusiastic guide will take you to the most partial shop, and after getting on the roof, you must buy something to go; the second enthusiastic When someone has heard of your previous story, he promises that he will never let you down. He will take you to a shop closer to the highest rooftop. Similarly, when you return, you are in a psychological state of being owed something. Next, start selling goods; you clearly told the third father who took his daughter and was enthusiastic to show the way, that you have been fooled twice and don’t want to make any mistakes. He sympathizes with your experience and honestly takes you straight to the top On the rooftop, protect you from walking out of the shop without any burden of shopping until he proposes to take you around the city. You readily agreed, so follow him through the endless maze, and finally enter a relative’s rose perfume shop . After bypassing the mountains and rivers, you finally return to the labyrinth with nowhere to escape.
However, this is far from the full picture of Fez. There are still many invisible Fez, waiting for us to discover and see. You know that edgeThe old blind man walking around the corner can walk freely in this complicated maze without vision. What does Fez look like in his heart? Do you know that the owner of a small Islamic handicraft shop sitting in front of the shop watching the crowds, what shape of Fez in his heart? Have you ever seen the Fez people who sit on the steps and corners of the Kaluin Mosque and the Idris II Cemetery Mosque all the year round. They have experienced the joys, sorrows, joys, sorrows and joys, the fears and desires in their hearts? You can also know that the American who was drowned in the sea of Fez and dressed as an Arab gave up his home, job, and possessions in Tennessee, and resolutely came to settle here. What kind of deep feelings he has for this city in his heart?
The hand-made leather tanning factory in the old city of Fez is famous for its honeycomb-like dye vat and the smell of various spices.
I was fortunate to have a glimpse of other aspects of Fez, some of which are on my Fez tour guide. He was called Idris and was born and raised in the ancient city of Fez until later moved to live in the new city with his parents. He said that he likes the speed of cars on the new city highway, while the old city measures time on foot; but he likes to keep coming back here, it always makes him nostalgic and makes him feel warm. I can feel that he is happy and proud to start this job. In many of the travels in Fez that I have read, such as the famous diary of Anayas Ning and Edith Wharton’s "A Journey to Morocco", these people who came here as women from the upper-class society were all influenced by local generals. Or the invitation and shelter of friends, this built an invisible and isolated golden bell for their journey; and the Arab servants who appeared beside them never spoke, they were decorations in the background and absolutely silent existence. I want to hear them speak, I want to see the Fez in their hearts, better than the Fez kaleidoscope seen through the prism of these distinguished tourists, and better than the light and shadow of the city's appearance left in the photo. When I told Idris of this wish, the young Fez smiled and agreed politely.
and Idris walk together, how different Fez has become! All the sly souls were suddenly hidden without a trace, and countless pairs of invisible hands that wanted to cheat money out of the pockets of strange tourists also retracted silently. In broad daylight, wherever he took me, the neighbors, relatives and friends in the past called him warmly, shook hands with him, and hugged him; everyone in the city nodded to me naturally and amicably as if they had known me for a long time. . "Idris is a great young man." The Arabs who passed by said in their secret whispers without looking back. What a wonderful experience! However, as soon as he left the island he sheltered, the dangerous animals lurking in the dark part of the Fez Labyrinth immediately revealed their true faces, and their prey gathered from all directions, spreading a huge net. For a while, the photographer who was with me was taking pictures at a place 10 meters away from us, soliciting business, taking him to take pictures, and people who wanted to show him the way immediately all came out from nowhere, buzzing like swarms of flies. , Follow him. He hurriedly speeded up his pace and rushed to within two or three meters of Idris, and these ghosts immediately disappeared. I stayed steadily in the aura of Idris the Fez, and felt that Fez was full of magical powers.
A nursery in the old city of Fez
followed Idris, and I saw the neighborhood where he once lived. It was a small irregular square with a pool of simple blue-patterned tiles. From a certain angle, the square is like a multi-point perspective triptych: by the short tunnel on the left that leads to the depths, a man with sandals and slippers is dumping the used water in the basin on the dry road. Above; two Arab women in bright skirts and hoods are walking leisurely by the pool in the center of the square; a donkey with two buckets of water stopped in front of a grocery store, and the owner may enter the store to buy cigarettes, donkey The alley on which I was standing meandered for a short while and disappeared from sight-and I knew it in my mind, it just turned a sharp bend behind the screen, extending infinitely in the invisible place .
is where I am standing. Behind it is a four-story brick-and-earth tower. There are only three or four floors with a few windows that are out of sight. Idris told me that the richest family in this neighborhood lived here. They immigrated to Germany a few years ago, and the building is now empty. Germany was also the place where Idris dreamed of studying abroad when he was young. When he was in high school, he became obsessed with astronomy and aspired to become a man like Urul BergGreat astronomers, just like the brightest people in the 12th to 14th centuries when Islamic civilization led the world. However, the dream of youth faded inadvertently after all. Later, Idris moved to the new city with his parents, studied history and foreign languages, and became a tour guide in the old city. But I noticed that the impulse of youth was still buried deep in his consciousness and became the source of his passion when he introduced the ancient Karouin University. He told me that the first word in the Quran means "knowledge." He recited this word to me more than once in Arabic, so that I could feel like him, the mysterious charm contained in the phonology of this word and the essence of everything in the world. More than once, he stood under the piles of cedar wood carvings in the college, or stood in front of the carved Arabic calligraphy of the Quran, or stroking the intricate handicraft tiles to repeat, transform, cycle, and interlock each other. The geometric patterns of Islam, speaking of the glory of the civilization to which he belongs. "Idris II established this academy here, attracting all scholars from the Islamic world to Fez to study scriptures, as well as astronomy, arithmetic, architecture, geography, and medicine." Whenever he said this sentence When speaking, he would amplify the volume in a speech-like tone, so that the bustling crowd around him became his audience.
Citizens resting outside the old city walls of Fez
The Babbrajrod Gate in Fez, one of which is covered with cobalt blue tiles, also known as the "Blue Gate"
His regret that he failed to become an astronomer is only in flashes In the meantime, he disappeared suddenly, replaced by his affectionate memories of the neighborhood here. He recalled that this square was washed and cleaned by neighbors in turn, and it was always clean and bright. He recalled that several elderly people who had always refused to move out of the old city with their children and would rather live here were left by their neighbors. Well taken care of. His tone was full of pride, and his eyes shone with the light of past friendship. His mother still kept the old house here, and it became a place where she had to come back every month and every week like a pilgrimage to visit neighbors, old friends and relatives. His mother told him that only in the old house here can she find peace.
Fez, this labyrinth of traps that must be watched for for outsiders like me, has a completely different symbolic meaning for Idris. He told me a childhood story. When he was a child, he used to take advantage of the gap between his mother and the neighbors to slip away, determined to explore the entire world of Fez outside of his home and the block. He ran happily, and finally found himself lost. It was dark at sunset, and his mother searched the entire block without seeing him, so she mobilized all the neighbors. These neighbors notified their relatives and friends of the loss of Idris and told them to pass on the news. Finally, everyone in the entire Old City of Fez mobilized to find him. Soon, Idris returned to his mother. Idris told me that during the time he found himself far away from his mother and lost alone, "I didn’t feel scared at all. I knew that eventually someone would find me and send me home. I don’t know why. I always feel safe in the old city, even today. As long as I'm here, I'm like being in my mother's womb." When
was walking with Idris, I started to see a different Fez: a neighborhood where the bakery chef wanted to add an egg to the doughnut, and he went to another neighborhood selling eggs to buy an egg and hand it to the bakery Master; a Hong Kong person who came to attend the wedding of a Moroccan friend specially sent the slightly fat cheongsam she brought to the tailor's shop for modification, and the host readily accepted it. In the evening episode, the butcher's chef took the last remaining fish with The offal was left to the poor neighbor, wrapped in a plastic bag and handed it to him quietly. I began to see the Fez that Anayas Ning saw 80 years ago, and it has not changed; it wears a veil, it is complete, infinite, intricate, rich and impermanent. "I walk with the Arabs, sing and pray for the tolerant gods, and curl up with them in the silence. The quiet streets are the streets I hope. Forget the controversies and lies behind the earth wall, listen to the percussion of the copperware, and watch The dyer soaked the silk in the orange dye bucket. I was lost in Fez, and I regained my passion for the mysterious and unknown, and for the many unknown things. "
I still remember the joy Idris took me through. The funeral shop, the carved sedan chair carrying the groom and the cedar wood coffin carrying the dead are all in the same shop. The old man greeted me and showed me the sawdust he used to make a coffin, and let me sniff its fragrance, as if death is never a taboo.Things. Idris said that he always imagined that the coffin was a luxury car that would accompany him through the last journey of his life and would send him to the afterlife. "Do you really believe in the afterlife?" I asked. "I believe." Idris said, "For me, this life is an experiment, and ultimately to the next life. It is the imagination of the next life that produces the morality that restrains this life."
Annas Ningzen He wrote: “What we see is not what things are as they are, but we see ourselves in things.” I don’t fully agree with her view, but perhaps, the perilous Fez labyrinth reflects us. The faces of these outsiders hurriedly passing by. Who has tried to see the Fez in the hearts of the ordinary Fez people who let the blood of this thousand-year-old city still flow and the vitality is still strong? Only when I traversed the Fez Labyrinth peacefully with Idris, I realized that Fez is not alone, it is a whole closely connected with each other, and "I" is in full bloom with it. Mirror each other-Fez is the universe.
