What I wore in Ouarzazate...
(For Johnathan Arnold, ErikTLA and Josie Marode)
(For Johnathan Arnold, ErikTLA and Josie Marode)
When traveling, I always
try to remember the Girl Scout motto “Be prepared.” (Of course I was a Girl
Scout, couldn’t you tell?) But what does one wear when one is completely
stranded in northern Africa at the base of the Atlas Mountains, between
Marrakech and Ouarzazate, in one hundred degree plus weather?
I can answer this. First,
let me give you the backstory: I was on tour in the mid-1980s with Madonna. The
last stop of this promotional quick tour brought us to Paris.
So, it was thrilling for
me to go to Paris for a job. I’ve always loved Paris, and I adored my job,
which was being a back-up dancer and designer for my friend, who was then beginning
her music career. We were booked to stay at the extremely luxurious Hotel Le Meurice. I loved walking around Paris all day in my extreme self-produced
fashions. I spent my per diem for perfume at Chanel and ordered obscure
crustaceans (well, obscure for an American) at La Coupole. I returned
to my suite and was greeted by the news that we would were extending the tour
and going to Morocco.
Morocco! How exciting and
what a great opportunity. We were going to shoot a promotional video for the
song “Holiday” to be aired on European television. An executive from the French
office of Warner Bros. had come up with an idea that included getting us all to
the oasis town of Ouarzazate, where we’d be driven around on the sand, in a
car, by the winner of the French Grand Prix auto race, because we were, um- on a holiday.
It was a simpler time and 1980s music videos really reflect this.
Marrakech was incredible, so
stunningly hot and exotically beautiful. I had never felt anything so hot as
the sun in Morocco beating down on my skin. After a couple of restful days in
this amazing paradise, we were split into two groups, boarded mini buses and
headed south for Ouarzazate. I was grateful that I could remain with my
friends, but not so happy about our travel accommodations. The bus looked as if
it got lent to us from the “Putt-Putt” mini golf course and, true to first
impression, broke down completely as it climbed the first challenging incline.
This was in the time before
we were all attached to our iPhones and lap top computers. There was no way to
reach, well, anyone. We were on the side of a mountain with no food and no
communication, although fortunately we did have some water.
“American Express won’t help you now, Madonna.” “Fuck you,
Rika” was her reply. I did deserve that response. My comment was rather
callous, considering we were truly stranded somewhere in the Atlas Mountain
range. Our party of three ex-professional dancers, one charming blond
artist-road manager, a couple of French record company employees hired to
accompany an up and coming pop singer were useless in the desert with a broken
down mini bus. I remember seeing part of the engine lying in the middle of the
dirt road. This is never a good sign.
I took a little walk
along the road. I saw nothing but a glorious and expansive desert, some
extremely thirsty looking shrubbery and amethyst stones. Someone had the plan
that we should hitch a ride on the first vehicle we saw, which numbered none in
3 hours. Finally, a friendly goat trucker stopped and offered to take us as far
as he could. We piled into that musky truck, grateful for a ride anywhere. I
recall thinking that I wasn’t dressed in my best back-of-goat-truck fashion, as
I was wearing shorts. Bare legs felt so wrong. I was not prepared.
Our benevolent driver came
to the end of his journey near remarkable Bedouin camp with a giant tent at its
center. Madonna and I were the only women. But these men were focused on their
respite from hard work and desert travel. They barely noticed us. There was a
large cauldron of goat head soup that we were kindly offered. “Don’t you dare declare you are a vegetarian,
Madonna!” For once she listened to me. We drank tea and marveled at how large
the full orange moon looked as it shone above the dark, seemingly purple sand.
After navigating scorpions
and bargaining with another trucker to drive us to our destination, we finally
reached Ouarzazate. We were all exhausted, dehydrated and not speaking to each
other.
The resort was stunning.
It was completely isolated, far from any other building or dwelling. It felt
like … an oasis. But we were all too bitter to enjoy it and opted to just shoot
the video by the pool, which was just like any other pool except it was in the
middle of a desert. We had traveled all that distance just to dance in front of
a pool that could have been at the Marriott Marquis in Time Square.
Here I am, along with
Chris Ciccone and Madonna in a promotional video for Holiday. And here is what I
wore in Ouarzazate:
(This video was posted on YouTube by Fabricio 2534)
