Remembrance of Things Past

Photo credit @Erin Deborah Waks

By Erin Deborah Waks

The charm, the nostalgia of a place, is hidden within its scent. Sure, places and scenes I’ve seen in my life stir up a wealth of emotions, but there’s something about being able to feel the connection, the emotion, with your eyes closed. A real Proust madeleine moment.

I had a childhood which was profoundly marked by change. In absence of a physical location which I can call home, I am often in the pursuit of intangible reminders of places which feel as such. I’ve found it in airports and stations, the chaos of Paris’ Gare du Nord and the buzz of Johannesburg’s OR Tambo Airport. It’s present in my grandparents’ homes. Sometimes, I can sense it in a place that has little to no relevance, bar a singular plant or a solitary corner.

Even still, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a place like this. I don’t really believe in magic, I’m not as spiritual as I wish I were. But this place I’m sitting in while writing this is truly something else. 

When I left the house this morning to explore the Andalusian Gardens, nestled inside the imposing Kasbah in the heart of Rabat, I was expecting a pretty walk and a couple of flowers. How wrong I was. From the second I noticed the windows looking onto the gardens, I knew this place was different. Not just another tourist attraction. There’s something magic in the perfectly aligned rows of plants, the column archways, the picturesque fountains.

There’s a peace, a serenity, that is quite unparalleled. It’s certainly not silent, what with the hum of visitors and locals wandering around and birds chirping musically. But it’s got a stillness to it. A calm.

Most of all, it’s about the smell. I’m catapulted back into my childhood, the scent of the flowers just strong enough to be encapsulating but subtle enough to avoid being overwhelming. 

Rarely does a place, upon first sight, make you feel like still, this content. But even rarer is it that a scent, upon first smell, has the same effect.