Only in those stories in which, by the grace of geniuses who live in marvelous lamps, deserts are transformed into flowering oasis, the overflowing imagination of human beings could imagine the intoxicating scent of wild roses.
However, this place is real and everyone who travels to Morocco know that smell, the one that in the shops of the perfumers in the Bazaar, between sips of mint tea and transcendent and inconsequential conversations about the divine and the human, the mastery of the seller offers to our amateur noses with the help of a stick, which captures the essence of the glassed-in boats of their dusty shelves.
It is the scent of the Rose Valley, in the middle of the path of the Kasba, in the village of Kelaat M’Gouna, where you can find the more aromatic hollow of Morocco. On a surface of about 30 km of extension the wild roses are cultivated, cared for, collected, pampered, dried, and worked by the loving hands of the women.
The feverish tales said that the wild Morocco roses came from Mecca, inside the pouches and bags carried by pilgrims returning from the Holy Land. The seeds, at their own pace, got scattered and dispersed by random wind, eventually taking root in the fertile lands close to the Atlas.
Today they constitute the pure basis of a good bunch of essential oils and heady perfumes. Ask at the Bazaar and smells.
Creative Commons or Public Domain Image: Flickr/Alex E. Proimos