I met Josep Maynou during Maria Pratts and Ulldeter’s Atalaia book-launch event. He told me that he spent long periods of time on a Moroccan village where he manufactured carpets. Every carpet illustrates one of the many stories he tells in his speaking or performance shows, each more insane than the next one. And that goes for the stories and the carpets.
After a couple of weeks, he asked me to go and visit him there. I didn’t think about it twice, I felt like getting away from the city and he wanted me to document the work he did in Tazrout.
Still without knowing exactly where I was going, I landed at Fez, where I met up with my friend Carles, and we spent two days visiting the city. Then he flied to Barcelona and I bought a train ticket to Marrakesh.
Finally, in Marrakesh I met Josep again, for the second time in my life, and we spent a nice time with friends of his at an apartment outside the medina. The following day, after lunch, we took towards Azilal. On the road, time goes by and the landscape changes. After four or five hours, our trip finishes on a road with only a gas station and a bar with a pool table. Night time comes while we wait for the car that will take us to Tazrout.
I wake up at Tazrout. A bird knocks on my window. During the day, Josep introduces me to the women that make the carpets and to all the kids in the village; they decide to call me Mustarapha.
Seeing all the photographs I took during the trip, I realise that the ones devoted to the carpet manufacturing process are but a small part in comparison with the ones of all the places and people that made Josep decide to stay in Morocco, and not anywhere else.