Morocco has long been a canvas for the grandest tales from history and mythology, having hosted iconic figures such as Oedipus, Ramses the Great, Jesus of Nazareth, Alexander the Great, Lawrence of Arabia, gladiators, prophets, Tibetan monks, crusaders, and even a few dragons. It seems fitting that this vibrant nation has become a global conservatory of bygone eras, filled with rich cultural narratives.
In light of such a storied legacy, it would have been a missed opportunity to deny the arrival of Ulysses. The legendary hero from Homer's epics has graced our shores under the watchful eye of Christopher Nolan, who has chosen Morocco as the filming location for several sequences in his monumental adaptation of The Odyssey. The ancient ksar of Aït Ben Haddou transformed into the city of Troy, while a beach in Essaouira served as the stage for a sand-emerging Trojan horse, a tribute to Poseidon. Further south, the White Dune of Dakhla took on the guise of Ogygia, the island where Ulysses was held captive for seven long years by the nymph Calypso.
From the Atlantic shores of the Sahara to the surroundings of Marrakech and Tahanaoute, Morocco has generously provided its stunning landscapes for the wanderings of the King of Ithaca. This is not entirely surprising; for decades, Morocco has lent its mountains, kasbahs, deserts, medinas, and light to many of the world's most significant international productions. However, with the story of Ulysses, something unique is unfolding.
Christopher Nolan, much like the hero of Homer’s tale, has traveled across various lands—from Greece to Italy, Malta to Scotland, and even the landscapes of Iceland. Yet, in Morocco, he discovered more than just a backdrop. Whether intentionally or not, he has reignited a representation of the world that the Greeks had already etched into their collective imagination. To fully grasp this connection, one must momentarily set aside modern maps and the borders we impose between the East and West, North and South. Ancient Mediterranean geography was not divided into neatly separated nations of Europe, Africa, and the Near East; instead, it was a singular sea traversed relentlessly by sailors, merchants, soldiers, and travelers.
This space of exchange, where beliefs, goods, fears, and hopes circulated freely, allowed for dialogues between pantheons just as much as among peoples. Poseidon, a central figure in The Odyssey, exemplifies this connection. Herodotus recounts a tradition suggesting that the Greeks adopted his worship from the Libyans, whom he situates around Lake Triton, often linked to today's Tunisian chotts. This same historian also associates Athena, Ulysses' protector, with the Libyan goddess Neith, a connection that would later be echoed by Plato.
As sailors ventured westward, the outlines of the world blurred, and the marvelous began to prevail. In this most distant West stood Atlas, a name that eventually became associated with the mountains of Northwest Africa before extending to the Atlantic Ocean itself. Not far from there lived Antaeus, the son of Poseidon and Gaia, an invincible giant as long as he remained grounded on his mother’s soil. He was ultimately defeated by Heracles, who lifted him into the air. Plutarch recorded that the Africans still pointed to his tomb in a megalithic tumulus near modern-day Larache, saying, “This is where Antaeus is buried.”
In this mythical geography, several ancient authors identified Lixus, near present-day Larache, as the land of the Hesperides, the nymphs of the West who guarded the famous golden apples. Pliny, Pomponius Mela, and Plutarch located their garden here, as well as one of Heracles' twelve labors, making the Atlantic facade of Morocco one of the great mythical landscapes of Greek imagination. It is thus unsurprising that some authors sought, at the edges of the known world populated by Atlas, Antaeus, and the Hesperides, some of the stages of Ulysses' journey.
According to Homeric tradition, Calypso, the daughter of Atlas, rescues Ulysses on her paradisiacal island after his shipwreck. Infatuated with the hero, she keeps him with her, even promising him immortality if he agrees to forsake Ithaca, Penelope, and his mortality. Yet Ulysses refuses eternity, opting instead to reclaim his wife, his kingdom, and his fate. But where was this island located? Homer never specifies, leaving it up to his readers to imagine. For over two millennia, geographers, historians, and travelers have attempted to pinpoint Ogygia. Some identify it with the Maltese archipelago, others place it near the Greek coasts, or even close to Ceuta.
Turning these hypotheses into geographical certainties would be perilous. Homer was not writing a nautical guide, and the islands in The Odyssey belong as much to the realm of symbolism as they do to cartography. Ogygia has indeed been claimed by various islands and shores of the Mediterranean and Atlantic worlds, each wishing to integrate a piece of the most renowned of ancient voyages into its heritage. However, the Moroccan hypothesis is not devoid of mythological coherence. Calypso is the daughter of Atlas, whose abode lies at the western edges of the world. The Pillars of Hercules precisely mark the boundary between the Mediterranean and the Ocean, while the garden of the Hesperides, the realm of Antaeus, and various exploits of the most celebrated Greek hero all fit within this same horizon.
Within such symbolic geography, the island of Calypso is far from incongruous. Myths may not serve as archaeological evidence, yet they unveil the mental geography of the ancients. To them, the extreme western lands of Africa were not a barren desert at the edge of the world but a living space rich with narratives and fabulous presences. Thus, Moroccan lands stand at the intersection of two geographies: that of navigators, who explored the limits of the known world, and that of poets, who populated these very shores with giants, nymphs, and heroes.
After the bards, sailors, and geographers, now filmmakers are redrawing the map of The Odyssey. By selecting Morocco as one of the settings for his adaptation, Christopher Nolan may have aimed to offer Homer’s epic a new horizon. In doing so, he has, in a certain sense, closed a loop that has remained open for nearly three thousand years.
As reported by fr.le360.ma.
