Four days in Tangier. Four days visiting my mum, who has been living in the Kasbah for twenty years now, which, if you ask me, is the most audacious life decision I've ever witnessed for a single middle aged woman.
She does beautiful Airbnbs, and her rooftop terrace is the kind of view that makes you question every choice you've ever made about where to live. The entire white city spreads below, tumbling all the way down to the sea and the port, a living canvas forever shifting with the light.
And the light. Wow, the light.
You understand immediately why Matisse packed his bags and came here to paint, or why Delacroix filled notebook after notebook with Moroccan sketches. Tangier doesn't just have good light, it performs it. The city is a white jewel edged with touches of colour here and there: ultramarine blue, emerald green, warm yellows, deep purples. Tangerine trees dot the streets (yes, those tangerines, named after this very city).
The air smells of fresh mint and wild herbs brought down from the mountains by the Jeblia women, who sell their bundles in the streets wearing their signature straw hats, each crowned with little black pompons. It is, in short, completely painterly.
I Photographed Every Single One
And then there are the doors. Beautiful arched doors straight out of a fairy tale, each one making you want to knock and find out what lies behind them. Secret gardens? A mesmerising tiled courtyard? Something marvellous, surely. Have I mentioned I have a slight obsession with doors? I may have photographed every single one I crossed in Tangier. I'll spare you most of them and share just five:).
She Knows Everyone
The medina is a labyrinth in the most wonderful sense, narrow streets folding into each other, handmade carpets spilling out of doorways, jewellery from across Africa glinting in the shade, spice merchants with their pyramids of colour. My mum navigates all of it like she owns the place. She knows everyone: which Jeblia has the best vegetables this week, which stall grinds the freshest spices for her vegetable tajine, which merchant will chat for twenty minutes and then offer us mint tea and a neighbour's discount. I just follow her around like a very happy, slightly overwhelmed tourist.
The Happy Roar
Tangier truly comes alive at sunset and doesn't stop until well past midnight. Kids play in the streets until one in the morning. You hear laughter, conversations spilling from windows, motorbikes threading through the narrow alleys. It buzzes and sings, the city hums with this joyful, unself-conscious energy. Living at the heart of it, you feel all of it through the walls. You fall asleep to that happy roar.
The Hour Tangier Forgets Itself
And then, my favourite part.
Still running on Australian time, I wake up early. I climb up to Mum's terrace while the city is still sleeping. Bathed in that clear, early morning light, I watch the sea shimmer in the distance, seagulls circling above my head, and I listen to Tangier's other sound: birdsong, gulls, a faraway rooster, and the steady rhythm of the street sweeper's broom. Pure, quiet, bliss moment. I recorded those morning sounds to listen to whenever the longing hits me back in Australia.
But the Real Museum Was a Town
I managed to visit two museums, the Museum of Contemporary Art and Villa Harris, both with interesting temporary exhibitions. But honestly, the place that stayed with me longest wasn't a museum at all. It was the town of Asilah.
An hour's drive down the coast, Asilah is dressed entirely in Yves Klein blue and white, tucked inside ancient ramparts. Its streets are an open-air gallery, murals and street art around every corner, small art galleries nestled into doorways like secrets. The weather was soft and breezy, the kind of day that makes you walk slowly on purpose. We did a full loop in under two hours, eating homemade honey and orange blossom nougat bought straight off the street.
And then, in a tiny fabric shop, I spotted them: indigo dye cloths, all the way from Mali. I left with two hanging pieces for my studio. Obviously.
Next Time, I'm Bringing My Brushes
Tangier is inspiring, luminous, alive, and bursting with artistic energy. You feel it everywhere. Next time, I'm bringing my brushes. I want to try and catch that light for myself.