My Marrakesh

Marrakech: and Zara Home tribulations

The blogging girl slipped through the doors of the new Zara Home in downtown Marrakech. She was instantly surrounded by pretty ethnic chic, with bold pops of color.  She made her way through the aisles, stroking a coverlet here, admiring a glass vase there.  Everything so enticing.

On her way down the marble stairs, a large and perfect image loomed before her.    She reached into her bag and pulled out her camera.  Click, click.

Stop! Cried a voice.

She looked down the stairs.  A burly security guard glared up at her.

No photos allowed!  Erase them from your camera immediately!   He said, in a not-so-nice voice.

But I want to post them on my website to encourage people to visit Zara Home,  she protested.

I repeat, erase those photos immediately!   He shouted, threatening.

They wound up before the check out counter where a slight girl who looked no older than 22, listened to the security guard, shrugged her shoulders in a woebegone way, and said nothing.

The blogging girl slid her camera back into her purse.  Then, she looked defiantly at the security guard, and she marched out the store....

PS  See more Moroccan-influenced Zara Home photos right here at Sandman Chronicles.  (He is one of the sweetest bloggers around, too.)

P.P.S.  For Peacock Pavilions three vintage Saarinen tables like the ones in these images were purchased from the Italian Cultural Attache in Marrakech a few months back.  Another story for another time........

Casablanca: and the Sqala restaurant

Nearly every week, the blogging girl took the train to that fabled place, Casablanca.  Truth be told, it wasn't one of her favorite cities -- its beauty had been lost in the hodgepodge of architecture, in the whirring of cars, and in the smog that clung to her like a second skin.  But Casablanca had its slivers of light, too,  particularly along its corniche, or coastline.  It was there that  one of the  girl's favorite  lunchtime  restaurants could be found, the Sqala. 

The Sqala's doors were the perfect sort of blue.

And within those doors lay an unexpected oasis.

There were small stools here and there on which to perch.

The plantings were lush, and flowers climbed with few boundaries.

The blogging girl sat with a French-Moroccan friend.  They shared tiny salads in tiny bowls.  So charming.

They weren't the only ones enjoying themselves in this tiled wonderland.  Why every table was taken.

One last cup of mint tea from a shiny Moroccan  teapot, and it was time to go.

Another meeting, another train....  Sigh. But there was always next week....Same time, same place....at the Sqala.

The Sqala Avenue des Almohades - Casablanca (When you see the flags, you'll know you're there.)

Marrakech: and watery blue tales

Ah, a little  party by the pool in Marrakech.  How very nice.  They loved being invited to those.

They kicked off their shoes. 

And changed into their swimsuits....

before heading for the pool, walking....

or running....

They ditched their hats....

and stepped in.....

Why the dog, too....

oooh so refreshing....

Afterwards, they  lay on the  cool , green grass,  and thought how very fine life was...in late Spring...in Marrakech....

Marrakech: and Expat Radio

Architect husband Chris and I were on Expat Radio (WTBQ 1110 AM  in New York) today talking about Peacock Pavilions and the highs and lows of being expats, hotel-builders and olive farmers in Marrakech. 

Very fun.  Many thanks to sweet and funny Expat Radio host, Tai Aguirre for having us:)

Marrakech: and shopping with the disciple of vintage

She had a fondness for things that were old, that were used, that were vintage.  She had an affection for items that were frayed at the edges, that were dogeared in the corners, that were worn on the ends.

No matter the missing button.  No matter the broken zipper. 
No matter the chipping paint.
No matter the wrinkle. 
No matter the gray hair. 
No matter the varicose vein....

Because everything (and everyone) deserved a second chance. 

Because she believed, truly believed, that middle aged and fabulous were words that went together......

But lest you think that she digresses, perhaps you might like to see some of her pre-loved items from the Marrakech souks....

A vintage Moroccan blanket in pink.  How fantastic it would look upholstering a headboard. More importantly, their dog, Rocky, thought it showed off his  complexion to great advantage.

Vintage kitschy peacock trays.  A whopping 75 cents for each.....

Vintage silvered  bowl with hand stamped patterns and blue  handmade resin beads.  (Set against  ikat fabric  for upholstering a chair at Peacock Pavilions.)

Vintage child's hat from high in the Atlas mountains.  Dazzling with mirrors and sequins......

A mixed flat weave and pile vintage carpet in the loveliest colors.

A Moroccan coin headband from the 1950s on a handloomed light -as-air cream wool throw.

Embroidered appliqued peacocks on a vintage velvet caftan from the 1920s or 30s.

And so if you find yourself one day in the Marrakech souks, perhaps you will find her -- the disciple of Moroccan vintage....

Peacock Pavilions: and signs of spring

She was worried about being a mother.
She was worried that she wouldn't know how to care for them.
How to protect them.

She was worried about what her in-laws would say, what her neighbors would say.
How they would tsk-tsk over her moments of forgetfulness.

She was worried that anything, anything, could happen at any time.
And she would be held responsible.

But in between her worries, she had those flashes
of anticipation....
of their upturned faces, of their baby smell,
that mixture of
black shining eyes and freshly mown grass ....

Oh, the blossomy air.......

Marrakech's Mama Ti Lee: or where to eat in the medina

She loved surprises.  She loved unwrapping presents.  She loved silver linings. 

She liked to walk down the twisty side streets of the Marrakech medina, away from the crowds, away from the noise, away from the bright lights.  It was there that she was likely to stumble upon treasure:  the perfect little store, the darling little cafe, the quiet little riad. Each discovery like the lacquered insides of a plain wooden box.

She was with her friend, the photographer-of-roses, when she first discovered the secret of Mama Ti Lee.  Tucked away down a narrow street, Mama Ti Lee's doors had just opened.   

The soothing greys and lavenders of the interiors were a visual break from the city's saturated reds, pinks and oranges.  There was sleek metal seating.

And a flash of yellow on an open window sill....

The  photographer-of-roses sat with Serge, the  English-speaking French co-proprietor in the cooling interior courtyard.

Then they wandered up to the roof terrace where they found cushions sidled up to low tables.  Oh, to lounge on the leather carpet with cold hibiscus juice in hand! 

But more Moroccan chic was to come......because there were beds (!) on the terrace, too, where evenings could be whiled away, immersed in talk of everything and nothing.

Cecile, the charming chef and co-proprietor made the most delicious light meal.  It really was far too pretty to eat but greedily, they ate it anyway....

And the blogging girl in boxing shoes thought the homemade granita was a particularly refreshing finishing treat.

After they left, she realized that she had forgotten to ask about Mama Tee Li, the mysterious person after whom the restaurant was named.   Hmmm...it seemed she would have to return to find out....Perhaps, you'll come too?

Mama Ti Lee Derb Laarsa, #13, Riad Zitoun Jdid, Marrakech medina, 024.38.17.52, mamatilee@yahoo.fr

Open evenings.

Marrakech: and Thomas Cook City Spots Guidebook

Eeek!  She had had a book published! 

Oh my, that pseudo-Moroccan girl clearly was prone to exaggeration.  She most definitely had not had a book published.  But she had updated a guidebook on Marrakech:  Thomas Cook City Spots, to be exact.  She was told it was on the book stands on this very day.  And she assumed that her name was in tiny letters somewhere inside. 

In addition to oodles of phone and address confirmations, highlights of the guide book updating process included: 

* Testing home made ice creams in ice cream parlors.  Demanding second tastes just to make absolutely sure of quality.  Putting only her most favorite in the guidebook.

* Loitering in gorgeous riad guesthouses, pretending to be a potential guest, meanwhile stealthily taking undercover notes

* Spending ridiculous sums of money while updating the shopping section.  Rationalizing the purchase of approximately 63 pairs of Moroccan sequined leather slippers.  Sigh.

* Sneakily slipping in a few of her own photos.  (shhh....don't tell the publishers!)

* Observing whether the snake charmers on Jemma el-Fnaa square were truly able to charm the snakes or whether the snakes had a skeptical look in their eyes.

Needless to say, it was arduous, and it was harrowing, and the blogging girl barely made it out alive.  But it was all for the good of her beloved new homeland. (Isn't this when the national anthem is supposed to start playing in the background?)

Marrakech: and a Saturday stuffing

It was one of those days in Marrakech - sunny and breezy.  Just the right sort of day to have a little lunch party in the garden.  So the blogging girl and her family invited four couples and a flock of  six children to spend the afternoon with them.

Naturally, six-year old Skylar decided to dress as Snow White.  She thought it would be enchanting to sprinkle tiny flowers on the tables.  Her prince charming -- a small blond boy named Finn -- was to be among the guests.

Roses from the garden were set in vintage Moroccan footed bowls.

And a handprinted tablecloth in pink and red was brought out of the linens closet.

The children had the open air  Berber tent to themselves.  They sat on cushions on a sequined Moroccan kilim and whispered secrets at a low table made from a huge vintage Moroccan aluminum tray.

Lunch was leisurely:  spicy briouwates (a Moroccan dumpling) with tomato and coriander dipping sauce, roasted mashed potatoes with rosemary, 6 sorts of barbequed sausages, saffron chicken and vegetable brochettes, green beans in olive oil, and arugala and lemon salad. 

And of course, there was tea and desert, served with idle chatter and laughter.

Before they knew it, it was nearly 6:00.  Children's sweaters were buttoned for the  journey home and suddenly everyone was spirited away.... 

... until another Saturday that is....

PS I have fixed my blog subscription service!  If you type your email address in the space provided in the left side of my blog, you'll find Marrakech in your email box on a regular basis:)

Peacock Pavilions: and an entirely real conversation

They looked to be taking a nap. 

She tapped each on the shoulder.   "Excuse me," she said.  "Sorry to bother you," she said ( in a voice that showed that she wasn't terribly sorry at all). 

They gazed up at her from their slumber.  They had heard that tone of voice before.

"We need to talk.  You see, we seem to be behind schedule, far behind schedule," she said briskly, her finger tapping the clipboard.  "I need to ask for your full cooperation in getting things back on track. " 

Her eyes unwavering, she continued: "Now all things considered, I believe I have been rather patient.  But frankly, my patience is wearing thin.  I don't know how to put this politely, but I am going to have to ask you to speed it along.  Yes, to hurry it up.  I hope I am making myself quite clear."

The two bedroom pavilion, which had a tendency to be insolent, retorted in a phony British accent, "No need to get your knickers in a tangle.  We're doing the best we can. "  And then he yawned. 

The girl flushed.  It was precisely this kind of attitude that worried her.  With her hand gesturing vigorously she replied, "Well, I'm afraid your best simply isn't good enough.  While your outsides are done, your insides remain in a state of disarray.  The plasterwork needs to be finished and the painting must commence this week.  Yes, this week.   And as for the pool tiles.....very disappointing.  They need to be identified and installed immediately."   

"No more excuses please."  And with that, she turned on her heel and walked away.  The 3 bedroom pavilion called after her shrilly,  A stitch in time saves nine!  Good things come to those who wait!

But the blogging girl didn't even bother to turn around.