The madness of Marrakech
...and what it has left me reflecting upon...
A few days away
Last Tuesday, Himself and I took off for a few days BY OURSELVES to Marrakech. It is somewhere we have always wanted to go, and it was a trip that we planned meticulously at a time where our daughters, Taz & Fiver, had no stressful commitments, no exams or gymnastics competitions looming, no trips, no particular reasons why we HAD to be at home for those three days… or so we thought. About 3 days before we left, Taz informed us that she had an Italian GCSE whilst we were away. We debated cancelling the whole thing, but actually she had done the work already - we had been speaking Italian at home for weeks. So, we put a revision plan in place, enlisted help from Fiver and my sister, made sure we FaceTimed daily, and off we went. Parenting 101.
We stayed in a beautiful riad tucked away down a side street, a place of almost unimaginable tranquility just yards from the bustle of the Medina, furnished in earthy oranges and terracotta with splashes of cobalt blue; delightful smells of jasmine scenting the air, and offerings of fresh fruit and Moroccan mint tea poured from on high never far away.
Our riad owner was Italian funnily enough, greeting us in English, before welcoming fellow guests in Spanish or French, before kindly teaching us how to say ‘hello’, ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ in Arabic. The greeting being:
‘es salaam alaykum’ which literally translates to ‘peace be upon you’ but is used as ‘hello’, and has the response ‘alaykum salaam’.
He then advised us to go out of the lane and turn LEFT, not right, otherwise we’d end up in a tannery and be hustled into a leather shop in the blink of an eye.
Turn left ahead
Upon leaving the riad we duly turned left, but then a kindly local told us we were going the wrong way, and that we must go to the Berber market, as they only come down from the mountains once a week, and as luck would have it, it was that very day. We said we were about to have lunch, but it appeared that the Berbers were only going to be there for one more hour, so we put our lunch on hold and followed. Before we knew it, we’d been taken round the tanneries and I was standing in a leather shop wearing a £400 bright blue leather jacket.
I managed to extricate myself from the jacket, and the situation, although I didn’t leave without buying a pouffe… learning that these guys are experts at sales and diversionary tactics, that we had been (almost literally) fleeced within five minutes, and that my husband can’t barter to save his life. I’ll let him off, he does have other skills although he was strictly not allowed to attempt to communicate when we visited the souks.
Having had our mini baptism of fire, we then became ‘flâneurs’ - a word I discovered just yesterday whilst penning this piece! As described by
in her brillant piece Writers Need to Walk the Earth, a ‘flâneur’ is:a “stroller” or “saunterer” of the streets. An urban explorer…
…not only a casual wanderer but also a passionate spectator of urban life.
What a word.
Yes, I am a flâneur [although I did not encounter the danger of being a lone female flâneur as she so familiarly describes in her essay, as my husband was by my side, but I imagine it could have been a different story if I had been wandering alone…see Man vs Bear].
An urban explorer
There are few places better to be a flâneur than Marrakech, with its stunning gardens, majestic mosques, sunsets and souks. Every sense on gloriously high alert as you navigate the madness of the Medina: avoiding the chained monkeys in dresses wearing nappies, the snake charmers and the peacock handlers; and embracing the almond pastes, the towers of spice, the fruity tagines and spicy ginger tea. Delighting in the interactions with the wonderful people - bartering with the Berbers (I was called a ‘Berber woman’ more than once with my haggling, as my husband looked on in bewilderment), then negotiating the barbers as Himself got more than he bargained for when popping in for a quick shave. I collected him thirty minutes later with his head and chin smooth as a billiard ball, and his eyes watering from a cleansing…er…’facial’ that certainly didn’t leave anything unattended to!!
Sometimes things happen ‘to’ you as you saunter, as I experienced when a beautiful lady covered from head to toe in black except for her luminescent eyes grabbed my hand and started to ‘henna’ on it before I even managed to protest. It was lovely to speak with her, and she was expecting her fourth baby (which obviously led me to pay her more) as she worked the dual ancient arts of henna and street sales. Someone leant down to my husband’s shoe at one point - we thought they were pointing out an untied shoelace perhaps - and suddenly the shoe had been removed and was being cleaned there and then, just for a few dirham…
On the corner of the alleyway where our riad lay, there was a shop that lay boarded up in the day, but unfurled each evening into a mini bazaar of spices, perfumes, oils and medicines. The young man who owned it was so charming, that on the last night we went in, and after the most random but hilarious experience, we left with a pouch of ‘Berber tea’ along with what appeared to be a bag of crystal meth and some hash, but was in fact a packet of eucalyptus crystals and nigella seed. Our pipes had well and truly been cleared - that eucalyptus works! I was slightly nervous going through airport security the following day with those dodgy looking plastic pouches I must admit.
There was so much to see and experience, way more than can be done in three days, with an absolute highlight being an excursion into the Atlas Mountains to drink mint tea in someone’s home before dipping our hot and weary toes in the waterfalls and sipping freshly squeezed orange juice. As we headed home, not one sense had been untouched. Tastes, smells, touch, colours and the sounds - the call to prayer making my skin tingle 5 times a day, and the blend of French and Arabic whispering its way through the market stalls as people conversed in a concoction of languages with total understanding.
Upon leaving, I knew that I had only scratched the surface. There was so much more to see and absorb of the culture, the countryside, the people, the religions; and as I left reflecting on all of these things, one of the things that struck me most, was the diversity of language.
The power of words
I love languages. Whilst actions may often speak louder than words, and there are many ways to communicate beyond language (my second book centres on this!!), the power and beauty of words is something to behold. The instant connection in speaking to someone in their tongue in their country. Something I strive to do, wherever I am in the world, even if it is just ‘hello’, ‘please’, thank you’. I have always wanted to be bilingual. My undergrad degree began as a joint honours in Maths & French - my two favourite languages at the time.
[As an aside - I absolutely believe that Maths is the most universal language of all - and the intricacy of the relationship between the languages of maths and music is something I very much look forward to discussing with
in due course…but I digress!]Sadly, due to my lack of any formal basis in grammar, during my University years I ended up having to drop the French, and continue solely with the language of numbers. Whilst I don’t ‘regret’ this decision, as I really didn’t have many options at the time, this is something I have wanted to amend ever since, and I still do. Having toyed with apps like ‘Duolingo’ and attended sporadic local French language classes, I decisively booked onto an immersive language course in the French Alps in 2020, but Covid put paid to that. Now I’m in my fifties, the gospel according to Google tells me it’s ‘too late’ for me to become fluent in another language - is that true? In a world where things are more accessible than ever, and I can listen to podcasts and programmes in any language in the world, is my brain too old to create those neural pathways?
The mother tongue
As we journeyed through the streets of Marrakech, listening predominantly to Arabic and French, English was also widely spoken. Whilst I am ‘lucky’ that my mother tongue is English - particularly as a former air traffic controller as it is the global language of aviation - I also know that it gives me the luxury of being lazy in my strive to learn other languages because I don’t need to. However, I don’t want to rely on the universality of English. I want to immerse myself in another language to the extent that I can think and dream in it, or perhaps that one day I can speak to a local in France, Spain or Italy (or elsewhere) without them answering me in English.
Having quite a solid basis in French already, I do love that I can walk around Italy and Spain and read a menu, understand where the church/school/swimming pool is…, find the loos and easily say a handful of basic greetings, but what I cannot do is converse, and with this barrier, I feel some loss in the human experience.
The origin of words
In Marrakech, the delightful smiles that I received at just saying ‘salaam alaykum’ in Arabic were so heartening, and brought an instant connection and warmth to our interactions. I love that this greeting means ‘peace be upon you’, and am reminded of the joy of the origin of words. Of how ‘ça va’ in French means ‘how are you’, but literally ‘how do you go’, with the response ‘ça va bien’ - ‘I go well’. ‘Au revoir’ meaning ‘goodbye’ and literally ‘until we re-see’.
As I have been helping Taz with her Italian GCSE these last few months, I have fallen in love with that language. Not one I have spoken a word of before, yet it makes such sense. I love that the word for ‘why’ and ‘because’ are the same (perché). I love that there are phrases for which there is no direct translation as they relate to the cultural experience from which a language is borne, and cannot be represented fully in another tongue.
who writes her beautiful Substack in both English and Italian comments:
There is an Italian proverb that says, “It is better to be alone than to be in bad company” (or similar, it's weird to find a translation to proverbs that actually makes sense in another language 😂 but you get the idea!).
‘Meglio soli che male accompagnati’
For all the proverbs that can be translated, there are so many that can’t - I ponder how many beautiful meanings are floating around the world that we cannot understand or know because we do not speak the language.
I have books on my shelves that speak of the origin of words. From my favourite writers such as
: in her gorgeous book ‘Wabi Sabi’, she explores the ‘concept’ of ‘wabi sabi’ as a way of life and an aesthetic sense of being, yet likens translating it to ‘defining the indefinable’ as it connects to nature, impermanence and the beauty of imperfection. Then there is Nancy Campbell’s mesmerising book ‘Fifty Words for Snow’ which takes us through worldwide descriptions of snow which speak to the unique areas in which that type of snow falls, be that ‘hagelslag’ - chocolate hail in the Netherlands, the ‘snow knife’ of a polar language for which there is no written form, or the ‘hau kea’ white snow of Hawaii. And one of my favourites to dip in and out of: ‘Happiness Found in Translation’ by Dr Tim Lomas.
Here we find the Bengali ‘abhisar’ - going toward, the Swedish ‘vidunder’ - a vision of the sublime and the Croation ‘fjaka’ - the sweetness of doing nothing, amongst so many more.
And we haven’t even touched on those that have become adopted in English despite no direct translation such as hygge and it’s lesser known cousin Swedish fika.
The origin of me
My own parents are Irish, and I will never forget the time at the dinner table, when I was in my late twenties, and an aunt and uncle were visiting. My uncle said something to my dad in a language I had never heard…and my dad answered. There, as a fully fledged adult, I witnessed my parents speaking Irish Gaelic for the first time. I nearly fell off my chair. I imagine Irish will be pretty far down the list of languages for me to learn as it is so alien and difficult to me, despite it being the one of my heritage, but again, I love the greetings and their way of ‘hello’:
Dia dhuit’ – literally ‘God be with you’, or even ‘Dia is Mhuire dhuit’ (God and Mary be with you). ‘Thank you’ is ‘go raibh maith agat’, meaning ‘may you have good with you’. Although in Irish there is actually no ‘h’ (nor j, q, v, x, k or z) but my keyboard does not have the capability to represent these words as they are authentically written with different accents and letter shapes - my mum draws the words on our kitchen whiteboard for me. How can I know so little of something that is so fundamental to my being?
So whilst I resist the temptation to immediately dive into a Masters degree in linguistics and etymology - although I would LOVE to explore this more than anything - I will train my ADD brain to take things one step at a time. (Maybe that’s one for when I’m back from Antarctica). I currently speak English, Maths and Aviation, and so for now I am going to attempt pick up French where I left off. I have signed up to Babbel and will find some language podcasts (any recommendations?), as well as venturing into Italian alongside my daughter as it feels much more intuitive than I ever expected it would be.
Whilst there is an argument that this need to understand other languages is becoming less relevant with the growth of Google translate, Google lens and other AI, my views are strongly antithetic to this. In a world that feels more divided than it ever has in my lifetime, I want to connect, empathise with and respect fellow humans in the best way I can, and surely a significant part of this is trying to understand other languages as a portal into other ways of being?
Perhaps one day I will be able to order something in a cafe abroad in the local tongue and be truly understood, or walk through the souks of Marrakech without having to default to English, or even greet my own relatives in the language they grew up with. A flâneur who can do more than observe.
For now, wish me bonne chance x
I’d love to know what your views on language and languages are - and if you have any resource recommendations I’d be very grateful for any tips!
Do you speak any languages other than your mother tongue? Which ones?
Do you have any particular words and phrases to share that do not have a direct translation into English (or other languages) but which capture something specific to a people, place or culture?
Do you think it is possible to learn languages after the age of 50?
How important is it that we strive to communicate in this way instead of leaning on tools that will do it for us?
What is your favourite language to speak, hear or listen to?
What are your favourite words in your language and what do they mean?
Does anyone fancy speaking/learning French with me or know of language communities here on Substack?
Also - I would love to do some collaborative pieces on this topic, so if anyone has a story to share, or an interesting perspective on language and would like to be a guest on
please do get in touch! Message me here or on my email emma@emmasimpsonauthor.comThanks so much, I’d love to hear from you. As always,
Love & lemons 💕🍋
Em xx
You are never too old to learn a language. People say otherwise because of a misinterpretation of research of child development.
Children are born capable of hearing every phoneme known to humanity, but as they grow, they learn to ignore the ones they aren't exposed to. That's why English speakers have trouble hearing the tones in Mandarin, and why Spanish speakers have trouble with /th/ and the short /i/ sound. It does not, however, mean that an adult can't retrain themselves to hear these sounds.
I became fluent in Spanish when I was 18. The /d/ sound is different in the two languages—Spanish speakers jut their tongue forward to make the sound. I couldn't hear it at all at first, but now, it's an indicator I use to hear how advanced someone is in one language or the other. So yes, we can reopen those neural pathways.
Tl;dr The lost neural pathways can be reopened, so never give up on learning languages. You are never too old.
What a mix of a read. I’d love to go to Marrakesh but my husband doesn’t want to go (a bad experience in Melilla) and I don’t think I’m brave enough to go alone… No, I’m brave enough but I don’t think I’d enjoy it.
I speak Spanish as a second language and it helps understand Italian and Portuguese a little 🤏
I can’t think of anything clever, just silly stuff in Spanish, well Spanish/Andaluz haha 🤣
🥛 Soy la leche - translates as I’m the milk but means I’m the best.
🥒 Me importa un pepino - translates as I care a cucumber but means I don’t care or I don’t give a damn.
💚 Ni fu ni fa - this I like for the sound (pronounced as you read it), it just means so so!
I totally think a 50 can learn a language, is a little slower, it can be. It’s good you have a language from when you were younger as it helps the brain has made some connections before. Learning a language is excellent for the brain and can keep off dementia by years! I’m an English teacher and used to teach a group called the golden oldies, it’s a government scheme here in Spain for retired people to learn a language.
Very pro language learning, and despite the rumours, I don’t think AI will ever replace the importance of learning a language.