The Tangier left behind by the Protectorate

This is a journey to a place that no longer exists; a decadent Tangier that reaches you only through association. Driven on by your imagination and a keen sense of nostalgia, as you climb the theatre steps you can imagine the gowns of the ladies attending theatrical performances during the years of the Protectorate. At the time, the world was falling apart—the Second World War followed on from the Spanish Civil War—and international Tangier, protected by a political agreement, was giving refuge to those fleeing a world bent on self-destruction. While it was home to many Spanish and North American people, it was the French who really reigned, and it was their way of life that permeated the city. The Grand Café de Paris and Café de France are a living legacy of what Tangier used to be. This is why Morocco and Paris share the habit of setting up their chairs facing outwards, as if afraid of missing life.

They were years of long nights and ephemeral dreams. An atmosphere now almost imperceptible to those who go there today in search of legends from the past: Paul Bowles—arrived in 1949 and was never able to leave—Tennessee Williams, Truman Capote, Francis Bacon, Allen Ginsberg, the list goes on. The poor rich girl, Barbara Hutton, was a popular face during that famous era. Today, those visiting Café Baba can see her portrait hanging on the wall. The then-wife of Cary Grant lived in a palace in the Kasbah, known by all as Sidi Hosni. The echo of those parties still resonates, anchored in old photographs, like the ones you can see at the Lorin Foundation, in the former synagogue.

Rather than being able to see them with you own eyes, you simply get a sense of these remenants when you dust off modern-day Tangier. A trip to Des Colonnes, the colonial bookshop, is just one way of reliving that past. It smells like wood, and makes you feel as if time has halted. Another way of doing it is by taking tea at Café Hafa, even if the place has llost some of its charm since the days when the Rolling Stones would sit on its steps smoking hashish. Nowadays, it is more like a beach bar, where sea views dissolve into the new road. Nearby, the Phoenician tombs are testimony to the contrasts found in Tangier. Luis Delgado, scholar of traditional rhythms from all over the world, describes it through its music: “Tangier has been rushing towards a decadence that is now stretching lazily.” Here is a Tangier that, little by little, is ceasing to exist.