In Morocco, I had trouble sleeping. Not because I wasn't tired; walking around for two full days in the delicious warmth of Marrakech followed by six of surfing and yoga at the coast exhausted me in the most relaxed way possible. No, I couldn't sleep because my brain apparently wanted to luxuriate in the memory of every moment that I spent in the country.
Like a spool of film unrolling across my inner eyelids, I showed myself all over again what I had seen each day. City and village alike displayed a Seventies technicolour glory of buildings in faded pinks, oranges, and mint green, punctuated vibrantly with bursts of bougainvillea purple and International Klein blue; flowers blooming earlier than at home; a crescent moon rising over the curling surf; every street tiled, iron-worked, hand-painted with signage for rabbits, plumbing services, hairdressers; shafts of sunlight falling into courtyards that don't seem to fit together with their neighbours.
My nose once again inhaled scents of rose oil and roasting peanuts; my tongue re-ran itself over the flavours of spiced coffee, harissa and La Vache Qui Rit cheese. I rehashed conversations I'd had with painters, surfers, Senegalese cafe owners, butchers, men selling cows' foot stew, grandmothers, wondering how I could have explained myself better in my terrible French. Once or twice I am sure I woke up in the dead of night trying to wrestle my mouth around the unfamiliar syllables of Arabic so that I could at least mutter 'shukraan' ('thank you') for the many small and large kindnesses I was shown. Shoulder and thigh muscles that have never been used relived the exhilarating rush and chilly tumble of the Atlantic waves.
If it sounds like a brilliant and overwhelming flood, then I've accurately described a small slice of my trip. It was too much and I couldn't get enough of it. I couldn't possibly try and explain the sensory overload that I encountered there in more words, so maybe we should let some photos be our guide into Marrakech? We'll ease ourselves in gently with some dusty tones before the Jardin Majorelle really punches our lights out with its citrussy vibes...I'll link to everything at the end of the post.
I stayed at Riad Nuba, about ten minutes walk north of the craziness of Place Jemaa el-Fnaa. It's part of a group of riads owned by RocKech - I also spent time at Riad Bamileke even nearer the centre of town. Both guesthouses were beautifully decorated in different ways, and Alberto, Reb, Matteo and Simone (the Italian fellas who own the houses) along with colleague Ahmed, couldn't have been more friendly, welcoming or helpful. Highly recommended if you're visiting Marrakech! Pictured above is lovely Latifah who made our tasty breakfasts of fresh squeezed orange juice, Moroccan pancakes, pastries and French bread with jams and butter, hard boiled eggs and hot strong coffee.
After lazing around and fuelling myself with coffee on the rooftop, I slowly wound my way towards La Maison de la Photographie. Although I have visited Marrakech before, this small museum of vintage photographs has only opened in the last few years so I was pleased to have a chance to visit. Ironically I hardly took any photos there (a few phone snaps to come!) but happily whiled a couple of hours away checking out the salt prints, early colour images, documentary films, and stereoscopes. I also admired the view from their shady rooftop restaurant, listening to birds and mopeds and muezzins, drawing the view of the stunning mountains that soar over the city. The gallery rooms are cool, with linen curtains and vines over the windows providing some welcome shade (below).
The neighbourhood around the Medina (where I spent a lot of my time) is not quite as touristy as the very centre of town, and I met lots of interesting tradespeople and locals to natter with, including a bookbinder, who taught me that the word in French is 'relileur' and with whom I had a nice chat about gold leaf and embossing tools (I think! Did I mention my French is not that good?) Above, a postbox whose yellow sings out against the terracotta walls, and below, some little love details I saw around the place. The chalk drawing reminds me of the street photos of Helen Levitt...
I totally lost track of time during the day, winding back to the centre of town eventually to find a flower and plant market established in Place Jemaa el-Fnaa. A man was sprinkling water over these pots of roses, all retro-chic in their reused olive and tomato cans, and it looked so flipping refreshing.
In my rambly intro I mentioned all the hand-painted signage in Marrakech; this is just one example for a butcher's stall in the souk selling chickens and rabbits.
And here are the young sellers of said birds!
A word on street photography in Morocco. Many people have signs saying 'no photos' in shops and stalls or will otherwise make it obvious that they don't want to be papped as they go about their daily business. Personally I've always felt pretty uncomfortable just shoving a camera at someone with whom I haven't even exchanged a word and tend to avoid doing so anyway. On this trip, feeling creatively emboldened, I would ask permission only of those people I'd already had a bit of a chat or exchanged a greeting. In the case of these lads, I'd stopped to exclaim over the prettiness of their sign and then they in fact asked me if I was a journalist and would I take their picture! It should be obvious that you respect people's wishes about getting photographed even in tourist hot spots like Marrakech but I actually witnessed one man shooting a phone pic of a HUGE 'no photography' sign sooo...guess not.
So much love for the palm trees that are everywhere here. I adore the way they look so sharp and sculptural against the hot sky and at the same time so lush and green in this dry land. Pictured below left is the minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque. As a non-Muslim I couldn't go in but it has some nice green space around it if you fancy a quick rest.
Meeting painter Mobtaji (above) was one of the most rewarding experiences of my trip, and one of the most linguistically challenging. I passed his tiny studio-shop on my second day having admired him busy at work there previously. Popping in to check out his art we fell into conversation about all sorts - the luxury of thinking slowly, the value placed on art in Europe versus Africa, his favourite city in his homeland (he likes the Moroccan countryside the best), and how true art will rise to the top over time like cream in milk. I think I already mentioned that my French is not great (ha ha, just once or twice) but I was really proud of just chucking myself at it and trying my hardest. It only goes to show that communication is so much more than words and that you can get a deep connection to a place and a person with a little willpower and a lot of 'baaaaaahhhh' pauses to buy yourself time to dredge the vocabulary out of the recesses of your mind. Mobtaji doesn't have a website but I'll put directions below as best I can.
Regretting heartily only having hand luggage, I purchased one of the small paintings you see in the window, a composition that conjured the light, shade, and rosy tones of the souk alleyways. I'll definitely be back to buy one of his delightful larger paintings (far left: Charlie Chaplin, Van Gogh (also second left), Gandhi, and the King of Morocco) on my next visit.
And so on to my final stop in Marrakech, designer Yves St Laurent's Jardin Majorelle, a tonic for the senses in every respect. The home he left to the city is painted in an almost painfully bright shade of ultramarine pioneered and patented by another Yves, Klein by name. The garden is a tranquil haven of bamboo, palms, succulents and cacti growing to enormous heights in calming grey gravel, koi carp blipping peacefully in ponds, and pot plants housed in vessels in an acidic gold and juicy tangerine; all misted by cool sprinklers.
It's a little bit of a walk outside the city walls in the more modern Gueliz neighbourhood so feels even more of a relief after the blare and heat of walking along a busy main road. While it's thronged with fellow tourists, I still felt incredibly calm after spending a couple of hours there doing some quiet coloured drawings and taking a million photos. There's a nice little gallery of St Laurent's collaged LOVE greetings cards he sent friends and family every New Year, a museum of Berber costume and history (which I didn't visit), and an extremely fancy boutique and cafe (which I couldn't afford!).
And after all that colour and calm, I hopped back to Riad Bamileke where I'd left my bag. On the way I stopped off at a quiet Berber cafe for a too-quick tagine and then unloaded my impressions into my travel journal on the roof with a cold drink before walking to catch a bus to Agadir on the coast for the next stage of my journey.
My Guide to Marrakech
STAY
VISIT
La Maison de la Photographie, 46, Rue Souk Ahal Fassi, kaat Ben Nahid, open 9.30am-7pm. Entrance is 40dh (about £3.75) and free for under 12s, rooftop restaurant has a lovely set menu for 100dh (try the mint lemonade!)
Le Jardin Majorelle, Rue Yves Saint Laurent. Open every day throughout the year but times change seasonally and for Ramadan (check website). Entrance is 70dh for foreigners, residents and Moroccans living abroad get a reduced rate as do children. The garden is wheelchair accessible.
EAT
Interestingly, Marrakech seems to have embraced a certain hipster element since my last visit. Around the Place des épices you'll find Cafe des Epices and Nomad, both highly recommended by bloggers and Instagrammers I follow, and I passed Nomad's sister restaurant Le Jardin on my wanderings. I called in to check the cafes round the spice square out but to be quite honest I live in East London and don't want to eat in places that look just like the ones in Shoreditch when I am abroad!
On my first evening I ravenously devoured chicken, liver brochettes, ful (stewed white beans) and tea at a teeny neighbourhood place where some teenage boys helped me order because none of the staff spoke French or English and the whole giant feast cost me about £1.
I enjoyed my aubergine salad and mint lemonade at La Maison de la Photographie very much (see above for details).
On my second evening I took myself a food tour of Place Jemaa el-Fnaa, where stalls set up shop every night and each one grills, stews and fries for locals and tourists alike. On offer are tagines, barbecued skewers, stewed lambs head, snails, grilled brains, cows' feet and more. I hopped from stall to stall eating harira at one (the ubiquitous lentil soup that starts most suppers) for 3dh a bowl (about 30p); a delicious sandwich of Moroccan bread (a bit like a spongy, crusty bap), mashed potato, hard boiled egg, Laughing Cow cheese, harissa (chili sauce), with more tea at a second for about 60dh - salty, carby, greasy, spicy and amazing.
A note on this one; it was, I realised too late, really a stall for locals and only for men at that. I felt a little uncomfortable having plunked myself down among them - the stall-owner wasn't super friendly and I got a few stares - but what the heck, let's smash the patriarchy two carbs at a time, hey? A final course of little merguez sausages set me back 40dh meaning my whole dinner cost me less than £6. I chose stalls where lots of locals were eating, and everyone squishes up to make space for each other. It's fast, furious, and no frills.
I wanted to visit the Amal Women's Center, a training and development organisation that has fantastic reviews for their food. They upskill women at risk by training them to cook at a restaurant level, and there is an emphasis on sustainability which I really admire. Unfortunately I ran out of time! It's not far from the Jardin Majorelle so maybe could be combined. You can also take cooking classes with them which I think would be really fun.
My other meal in Marrakech was at Terrasse Chez Mariama Berbere, just a wee restaurant I passed in the market and liked the look of. It was very quiet when I was there (mid-afternoon) and the Senegalese owner came to have a chat after I was welcomed heartily by the Moroccan woman running the kitchen. I had a Berber tagine (which comes with dried figs and apricots, lamb kotfe, couscous and vegetables); and they also brought me some little dishes of lentils, ful, and olives to start with. The decor was lovely, and the terrace was very peaceful. The bill, again, was about 60dh (less than £6). Visit them at Abd El aziz, Route Sidi Abdelaziz.
BUY
I wasn't really interested in doing a lot of shopping, especially as I only had hand luggage. However, if I was going back I'd love to visit the following, several of which are on the same street:
Gallerie Motabji, near Riad la Ruche - for paintings and great art chat!
Bloom Boutique, on Place des epices - part of the hipster revolution, the goods are all Moroccan made and undeniably gorgeous. Handbags, jewellery, clothing, accessories, and stationery.
Hanout Boutique, 194 rue Mouassaine - beautiful and high end clothing, lovely owner!
Maison des femmes artisanes, 196 rue Mouassine - shop supporting a women's co-op! Sells argan oil toiletries and accessories mostly.
Tamgroute Poterie by Mourad, 28 rue Mouaisse - in a city groaning with ceramics these stood out for their quite unique lack of pattern deep green glazes. The owner makes the glazes himself and ships everywhere for quite reasonable prices.
Star Poterie, 47 bus, Souikat Bensalah - this was in 'my' neighbourhood and boasted shelf on shelf of crockery of all shapes, sizes and designs, many of which I'd seen in restaurants and other shops throughout the city. I am guessing that if you wanted a full dinner set they'd cut you a pretty good deal.
HEALTH
I didn't take any special precautions, health wise, and didn't get ill the entire trip. I did only drink bottled water but brushed my teeth with the stuff from the tap after the first day or two. I rinsed fruit I bought in the street or on the beach but didn't worry too much about salads etc in cafes. I will say REMEMBER YOUR SUNSCREEN! It is expensive and not very easy to find there and that sun is strong. Drink lots of water and tea to stay refreshed!
And so, on to the sea...but not before a special stop in the Souk de teinturiers (dyers' market). Until next time, fellow travellers...
The souk de teinturiers or dyers' market is hard to find. I mean, that could be said for much of Marrakech (as someone who muddles up left and right even at home I found myself thanking the Google gods that I could occasionally access a map). Persevere in seeking it out and you'll be rewarded with two or three little streets where a very old craft still thrives among the stalls of neon pompom-ed straw bags and shoes that could have been made in China. 
