The Scent Atlas

The Dadès Valley smells of roses in May. The Rosa damascena harvest lasts three weeks — women pick the flowers at dawn, before the heat volatilises the essential oils, working quickly in the cool blue light while the petals are still holding onto everything they have. Four thousand kilograms of petals produce one litre of pure rose oil. The ratio alone tells you why the oil costs what it costs.

Marrakech smells of orange blossom in spring. The bitter orange trees — bigaradiers — that line the streets and fill the riad courtyards bloom in March and April. The blossoms are distilled into orange flower water — ma zhar — used in pastries, salads, and the traditional morning drink of warm milk and orange blossom that sounds improbable and tastes inevitable. The scent is so specific to the season that returning visitors can tell you the month by the smell of the street.

The Middle Atlas smells of cedar. The Cedrus atlantica forests around Azrou and Ifrane are the largest remaining stands of Atlas cedar in the world. The wood contains natural oils — cedrol and cedrene — that repel insects and resist rot. Cedar has been the structural timber of Moroccan architecture for centuries. The smell of a freshly carved cedar ceiling is the smell of a building being born, and the smell of an ancient one is the smell of a building that has decided to stay.

Argan has no scent until it is roasted. The raw oil — cosmetic grade, pressed from unroasted kernels — is nearly odourless. The culinary oil, pressed from roasted kernels, has a deep, nutty aroma that defines amlou: argan, almonds, and honey, ground together into a paste that the Souss has been eating for breakfast for longer than anyone has been writing about it.

The souk has its own olfactory map. Spice quarter: cumin and dried roses. Leather quarter: the sharp tang of tanned hide. Woodworkers: cedar and thuya shavings. Dyers: the chemical bite of mordants and the vegetal warmth of henna. You could navigate the medina blindfolded by following your nose from one trade to the next, which is fortunate, because navigating the medina with your eyes open is not always easier.

Oud — agarwood — is the prestige scent. Burned as incense in homes and mosques, its smoke is thick, resinous, and unmistakable. The wood comes from Southeast Asia, traded along routes that are centuries old. A small piece of quality oud costs more than most of the goods in the souk combined. The scent lingers in a room for days. The memory of it lingers longer.