128 GOURMET TRAVELLER
A
hotwindarrivesfromthesouthandwhistlessoftly
acrossthebalconyofMaisondesArganiers.It
inducesa kindoftrancethatgoesunnoticeduntil
brokenbythesoundofchickenspeckingnoisilyat
a pileofargannutsdryingontheflatroofofthe
houseacrossthestreet.Thesmallhardnutsofthe
thornyargantree,whichgrowswildonlyinthisaridsouthernpart
ofMorocco,yielda thickamberoilthat’sprizedinthekitchenfor
itsmuskytasteandinskincarelabsforitsantioxidants.
Theplainsbelowus,strangelytuftedwithevenregularity
bythevilla’snamesakeargangroves,turnaneverdeepercamel
colourastheday’sheatfades.Lightsbegintoflickerindistant
villages.Twohousemeninlongwhitedjellabasarrivewith
candleslitinsidebrasslanterns,a bucketrattlingwithiceand
a bottleofVolubiliagris,a rosémadenearMeknes,anda plate
oftoastedsemolina-breadcanapéstoppedwithsmokyvegetable
compote.“Votreapéritif,pourbienprofiterducoucherdusoleil,”
oneofthestaffexplains– drinksanda snacktoenjoywiththe
sunset.Theycontinuetolinethewalloftheescarpmentwith
morelanterns,whichturnthenightintoa partyjustforus.
Overdinnerona rainynightinParisa fewmonthsbefore,we’d
hatcheda plantoembarkonLaRouteduSud,a bespokejourney
toa constellationoffiveexquisitelyappointedhousesinMorocco’s
lesser-knownsouthernregions.I’vetravelledofteninMorocco,but
neverinthefarsouth,andfriendswho’ddonethejourneytalked
dreamilyaboutitssmallfootprintand“indigenousluxury”that,
ratherthandistancingtravellersfroma place,tethersthemclose.
We’darrivedat noonandgravitatedtothevilla’sbalconyafter
lunch.Rousedbythecluckingchickens,whenI glanceat my
watchI’mastonishedtofindwe’vebeensittinghereforseveral
hours.Nobooksinourlapsorphoneswithinreach.Instead,
we’relisteningtoMorocco,lulledbythedesertwind,savouring
itsfrankbarnyardscentsofearthandmanure– a primalpleasure
inanincreasinglysanitisedworld,wherethesensesareoften
wrong-footed by standardised ideas of olfactory prettiness.