My Marrakesh

Marrakech: and a tale of a French ring

I love your ring, she said
It looks like a sculpture, she said.
That's because I am a sculptor, he replied.
And then he added....
         I think it should be yours.

Oh, but my husband won't be happy, she said.
If I buy your ring, your beautiful ring, she said
Oh, I understand, he replied.
And then he added....
            But I am no friend of husbands.
[And he smiled a French smile.]

The last in a series of four, of which.....now.... there are no more....:-)

Luc Baille, Sculpteur de Bijoux
luc_baille@yahoo.com
*
Please, please, coming to Marrakech?  Kind courrier desperately needed.

PS Having problems commenting on my blog?  Pls email me at maryam [at] mtds.com

Marrakech's Ministero del Gusto: and Becoming Fabulous, sigh.......

Sigh, she was waiting to be discovered.......No, no, silly, not by Hollywood.  By one of those television makeover shows.  You know.... the kind of show where two perfectly Spanx-ed women go ripping through your closets, throwing out all your past-their-prime T shirts, all the skinny jeans that don't fit you anymore, and all the items you bought that didn't look quite right but were astronomically marked down on the sales rack. The kind of show where they find you fresh new things in boutiques that all look magically incredible on you, whittling inches off your waist line and making your legs look a mile long.   The kind of show where they put makeup on you so you look like you glow from the inside and -- after inevitably tsk-tsking about your brassy hair color -- they transform your locks in a way that compells you to swing your head from side to side, gasping I-love-it-I-really-love-it!  And when they finally bring out your husband from behind the curtain, he can't help but look totally shocked by your sheer gorgeous-ness.  And in the end.... you feel like a Whole New Person. (And your closet is a perfectly honed collection of wearable things where everything practically goes with everything else.) 

Oh dear, it was a well thought out fantasy....

And speaking of fabulous, she was in the always-surprising Ministero del Gusto in the Marrakech medina and found that they had a vintage section......oooh Prada, oooh Pucci, oooh  Valentino........Not that you would expect anything less from Allessandra Lippini, a former editor of Vogue Italy for over two decades....

.

Ahem, once the makeover show discovered her, you would find her on Ministero del Gusto's set-worthy terrace.  Such a beautiful place..........

Ministero del Gusto, 22 derb Azzouz, el Mouassine, Marrakech medina.

ministerodelgusto.com

T: +212 (0)24 426 455, +212 (0)24426 662
Open mornings only

Marrakech: and the quest for caftans

She was inspired by vintage Moroccan caftans.  In an era of plastic, of mass consumption, of strip malls, of chain stores, of Big Gulps, of Chinese manufacturing, of “it bags”, of identical outfits at identical parties ….they were a gentle reminder of another possibility.  Of things made by hand, stitch after stitch.  The embroidery :  exquisite.  The finishing :  perfection.  The drape : flattering .  Inspiration to pick with care, to wear with care, to store with care.   To buy fewer but better.  Why they were the very antidote to disposability.  In a time of Spanx, of control tops, of shapers, of slimmers, and of liposuction, the caftan evoked an ideal self merely through suggestion.  No exposed décolleté, no slit to the hip, no parading of the thighs.  But discretion, beauty, elegance. 

And so if you wondered where the blogging girl in Marrakech might be, perhaps you would find her somewhere deep in the heart of the medina souks, looking…… for yet another vintage Moroccan caftan.

Marrakech: and the Moroccan slipper or babouche

Oh, it may not be in the medical books, but mark these words:  sequins have curative powers. 

Preliminary findings from clinical studies currently underway in Marrakech demonstrate that sequins can be used to treat a wide variety of modern day ailments --  from crabby moods, to snapping unnecessarily at one's spouse, to sweating the small stuff. 

Never mind those paragons of good taste who poo-poo  sequins at every opportunity.  Indeed, the blogging girl had noticed that it was those very poo-poo-ers who seemed to suffer from high degrees of  irritability.  'Nuff said.

Although scientific advances had not yet allowed for the ingestion of sequins intravenously, other means of application seem to provide almost instant diminishment of problematic symptoms.  Particularly promising appears to be the wearing of sequinned babouches, or Moroccan slippers.  The only reported side effect is an accompanying giddy, light headed feeling. 

One six-year old tester, who had recently scraped her knee when riding her bike without training wheels, put on a pair of Moroccan slippers and immediately shrieked, ooooh, pretty, sparkly, princessy....!

A medical miracle. 

Applications of sequins via internet remain highly experimental of course.......

Psst, a gift of Moroccan slippers with every purchase of a sequined Moroccan wedding blanket.  A double whammy for those suffering from mild forms of depression.

Moroccan caftans: a tale of passion

She started collecting vintage caftans.  She liked to look at them, to stroke them, to admire their handiwork.....She wasn't the only one, it seemed...

Suzy Menkes talks with Pierre Berge about the exhibition "Une Passion Marocaine" at the Pierre Berge-Yves Saint Laurent Fondation in Paris.  On exhibit from March 14 to August 31. Thank you beautiful-karma Kaydee for the link.

P.S.  Lovely Richele from Richie Design clued me into Vivre's shopping picks inspired by Marrakech.  Check it out right here.