Rummaging through some old files the other day (Parisian winters are notorious for inspiring such mindless domesticity), I happened upon a crumpled sketch by my good friend David Schoffman.
My hardened heart was momentarily stilled at this magical aide-mémoire. It quickly brought me back to that distant quarter of my misspent, dissipated youth.
It was 1980 and David and I were retracing Delacroix's 1832 sojourn through North Africa (or something equally noble and ridiculous). We were staying at the now derelict Hotel-De-Saint Longinus whose long lost luster had something to do with Jimi Hendrix and was always a favorite among drug addled exiles. It was winter in Essaouira and the Atlantic coast was beautiful.
A quick search on the internet - keywords: Morocco, noir, sheesha, Gnawas - yielded the spectral snapshot below:
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| Quartier El Fath, Essaouira, Morocco |
As far as the inscription on Schoffman's drawing - semel in ano licet insanire* - it was, after all New Years so I suppose it speaks for itself.
*Once a year you're allowed to go crazy
*Once a year you're allowed to go crazy
