Alf Taylor’s Morocco Blog

Four hundred copies of my book was the answer

NEW YORK CITY
PLAZA HOTEL

Someone once said, “Perspective, use it or lose it.” That being the case, what I was going through at the moment was a far cry from losing perspective. I’m in the lobby bathroom of New York’s elite hotel, in a toilet stall, struggling out of my jeans and Nikes and into a three piece suit. Sitting isn’t an option, any more than dropping one of the many articles of apparel I found myself juggling around. My plane had landed only hours ago and in a few minutes I would be shaking hands with His Majesty, King Hassan the second, of Morocco. The other end of tonight’s perspective lesson. I had been saving the God awful hard sole black shoes I was pushing my feet into without bending over for my funeral Pire, but tonight they were necessary for a still alive Alf. Other than by dressing accommodations, this was a repeat performance from a few days before in Washington, D.C. I had written A Treasure Hunter’s Guide To Morocco to honor His Majesty on the thirtieth anniversary of his ascension to the throne…and the king was pleased. (more…)

July
1993

I wasn’t properly dressed for a meeting with Minister Sinaucer, at least not compared to the line of men sitting in his office waiting room, wearing their Sunday best, for, what would probably be the only time they would ever meet with him. His time was too valuable. When I was summoned, I was in the mountains in the eastern portion of Morocco, looking for Beni Ouarain snow capes (another story). My jeans were worn and my tennis shoes were shabby.
I had worked with Moroccan Ministers before, on projects involving tourism and handicrafts, but Cultural Minister Allal Sinaucer flew above the others in the palace circle. He was known as “Mustasha” advisor to His Majesty King Hassan the Second. He knew of me from my work and my visits with King Hassan, in the states (yet, another story) and he knew I was a dedicated friend of his country. I had been given a “white card” from Minister of State, Moulay Ahmed Alaoui, who was also uncle to the king, for my work with their tourism, that  permitted me access to all of the museum private collections and places of worship, typically off limits to outsiders. The exception being the mosques, other than when Ambassador Ussery escorted me through the Grand Mosque, in Casablanca, for photographic purposes. The card also got me through road blocks and other official situations quickly, simply by certifying I’m a friend of the country, sometimes with a kiss on the card or a salute. The  white card gave me super power in Morocco, but once I hit JFK, I couldn’t get a discount on a cup of espresso, with it.

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Here’s a question: If you’re standing on a ten feet. by ten feet. concrete platform, five feet high, on dirt, how many charging wild boar would it take to make the platform tremble?  I was crouched so low behind Princess Lalla Amina, who had just scolded me for wearing a red shirt to a hunt, that I couldn’t count them,  but there were enough. Hundreds of them charged us at full speed, and few, if any, were coming straight on. (more…)