My Marrakesh

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:)

Marrakech Royal Golf Club: and come one, come all...

Oh, the weather was fine and they decided to have a spot of lunch at Marrakech's Royal Golf club with a group of British friends.  How very exciting and la-tee-da.  There was even a crown on the sign.    

In preparing for this momentous occasion, six year-old Skylar deemed that a change of clothing was needed.  You see, she had been wearing this....

But something more elegant was required just in case royals happened to be dropping in.  Skylar did some deep curtsies and kissed her cat's paw for practice and then promptly changed into this...

Now the men in the group had all left early for the Royal Golf club to do something truly ridiculous......play 18 holes of golf.  Frankly, it made no sense at all to the blogging girl but she kept quiet like a dutiful little wife. Cough.

The  girl and her rascally brood arrived at the Royal Marrakech Golf club.  There were no royals in sight but there were golfers everywhere in silly footwear, carrying primary colored bags . 

But she had to admit it was a beautiful golf course.  It almost made her want to take up golfing.  Almost.

The others had already arrived and frosty Casablanca beers were being served. Visiting Grandpa Joel exclaimed that this was his kind of place.

It was all quite casual, including the menu.  There was a fab salad buffet and entirely acceptable mixed grill options for about $12.  And there were even options for the kiddies.  Needless to say, the parents were very pleased.

The deserts were particularly good.  The blogging girl was glad to see that the monarchy liked profiteroles with ice cream.  It was nice to know that they had something important in common.

After lunch, the children played very British rugby and then ran around like a pack of wild hyenas.

Except for the littlest one.  He was exhausted from all that golfing....

Royal Golf de Marrakech, Ancienne Route de d'Ourzazate, Tel: 024-40-98-28

Please note that anyone may go to the Royal Golf to shoot pool and cause a ruckus play golf or enjoy a meal. Membership is not required.  Those royals.......such lovely, equal opportunity manners.

Marrakech: and Ludovic's beautiful decay

He had a home in Marrakech.  He had shops in Paris.   He had design projects left and right.  He had 350 embroiderers  embroidering. (Sigh, so refined.)

His name was Ludovic (a Russian prince?) and she loved his lanterns.  She had to have one ....or perhaps two.....or perhaps more....A meeting was called for.

But eek, what if he was terribly snobby?  What if he drank his tea with his pinkie in the air?  What if  he carried a small white fluffy dog with a small white fluffy name? What if his home was oh so Architectural Digest?  In that case, he might not welcome the likes of her.....

With a friend, she set off to meet him anyway.  Nothing risked, nothing gained, she told herself firmly. 

Ludovic's Marrakech home was down an orange (orange!) passageway in the old city or medina .   

A statuesque blond answered the door.  She looked stern and spoke with a Spanish accent.  Yes,  Ludovic was expecting them...... They walked in and the blogging girl learned that she had been wrong -- wrong about Ludovic, wrong about everything. 

Ludo wore faded jeans and a red hoodie. His hair was perfectly  disheveled.  He had a droll French humor.  And his place could only be described as in a state of beautiful decay....  Ludo laughed that although he spent his days working on luxury projects, he had filled his own home with the rejects, with the riff-raff, with the flotsam and jetsam.  How charming he was.

There was a red parasol in the open courtyard. So naughty Victorian.

There was a Moroccan vintage bucket on the brightly tiled wall. 

There were mismatched pillows  on makeshift couches. 

There was a mannequin who doubled as a lamp. The girl wanted one, too.

There was a schizophrenic chandelier rigged up in the plants.  (Well, why not?)

There were surprising still life compositions.

And mysterious bags designed for shopping the souks of  Marrakech or Manhattan.

Just before leaving, Ludovic's cat whispered in the blogging girl's ear that she had been forgiven for all that fluffy white dog nonsense.  So, if she promised to be on her very best behavior, she might just be permitted to come back to spend another afternoon at Ludo's...

PS... and as for the lanterns......look for them at Peacock Pavilions......

PPS Liz and Ted, I am happy to help you with your wedding but your email is not working.  Please do write me with another email address.

Marrakech: and an Easter tale

Oh it was Easter.  And they were spending it with friends.  Everyone had gotten dressed up for the occasion. There were the stripiest tights.

And the polka-dottiest dresses.

And a blogging girl in saved-just-for-Easter pink suede shoes with orange bows.  (You have those too, don't you?)

They sat on the rooftop.  It was a beautiful day in Marrakech.  As beautiful as the Moroccan tiled table.

Oh, the food was delicious.  There were five courses or more.  The blogging girl remembered antipasti, risotto, pasta, salmon, tarts, and more and more.

And so much champagne!

Please, won't you have a glass?

Somehow during all the feasting, the Easter bunny paid a visit and hid treats. (What do you mean you saw the blogging girl and her cohorts hiding chocolate eggs everywhere? Don't be silly.)

Baskets for children, which started out empty.....

...were soon full....

Thank heavens, the Easter bunny made it out alive, despite the efforts of a Swedish-Moroccan cat who snuck in....

Here's wishing you chocolates today and every day.  Happy Easter from far away Marrakech. . .

Marrakech: and the Peacock Pavilions Family Portrait

Today's task......the family portrait for the Peacock Pavilions website, the website for our Marrakech boutique hotel-that-almost-could.

Troops, fall in......

What have we here......Hmmm.... white shirts.  Yes, that will do.  Jeans, big or small.  Yes, appropriately Bobsy Twin-ish......

Professional photographer.....?  I don't think so.  Can we bamboozle a friend to take our picture?  Well, we can certainly try. 

The parents sat, the children squirmed. 

*CLICK*

The architect husband forgot to shave.
The blogging wife forgot to accessorize.
The blond son forgot to smile.
The sweet daughter forgot her shoes.

Oh dear.

 

Marrakech: and an outdoor lunch

A sunny day.

10 friends at bay.

5 languages in play.

Strawberry tart in a tray.

Marrakech: and New Year's eve in a house of beautiful shadows

They spent New Year's eve at the house of friends, deep in the heart of the Marrakech medina.  A house like no other, a  house made of dreams, vast and complex.

A private party, an intimate group.  They drank glass after glass of champagne.

A five-course dinner at two jewel covered tables by the  courtyard's glimmering pool.

It was a singular house.

A house of lights.

But above all else, a house of shadows.

No ordinary shadows but those made of roses.

Or flowering fields cast from back lit ceilings.

The evening galloped like horses down a polished hallway.  Soon it was 2008.

With a new year's morning soon upon them,  the blogging girl picked her way through a perfect forest.    And said  goodbye to 2007 and the house of beautiful shadows.

******************

Wishing you all a 2008 that is lived at risk because you decide to pursue your dreams, rather than just dreaming them.... 

Marrakech: and the volcanic, sexy chicken

They were the least pretentious people you could imagine.  She with little make up and in her birkenstocks.  He with a laugh so loud that you felt a kind of crazy happy when you heard it.   The two had met in Cairo.  She was Egyptian.  He was Moroccan.  She was the girl next-door.  He knew a good thing when he saw it.

They had just sold 1500 acres of prime land in Marrakech.  With the money, they didn't buy a palace -- they bought a small stucco house on a small piece of land.  That's just the kind of people they were.  He was a lawyer but secretly, in his heart, he was a barbeque chef.  The blogging girl and her family had been invited over for lunch.  Oh lucky, so very lucky....

Before she even walked in the house, she knew it would be a special place.  Perhaps it was the bougainvillea growing by the door. 

 

And the door!  It beckoned her in....

 

(Did I mention that the Moroccan windows, with their panes of lavender and blue, were equally charming?)

This was a home with its heart in the kitchen. A Moroccan patterned dish, a sunny yellow tile, a bare cement wall.

There were matching flowers growing in the kitchen window.

There were cheery little rugs to admire and tiny little stools on which to rest.

The Moroccan barbeque sauce's secret ingredient was drying on the floor.

He told her that his barbeque sauce was called, Hot Lava Juice.  Hard of hearing, she thought he said Hot Lover Juice.  Oh my.

They diced and they chopped and the coals grew hot.  The Hot Lava Lover Juice was liberally applied.  And then it was done.

They ate and they ate.  And then they ate some more.  And then they sat outside.  And there was a moment, or perhaps several, when she forgot every single worry.  Because she was too busy being thankful .....for the Moroccan life she now lived.

Marrakech: and the birthday broom

Every year they celebrated his birthday and Halloween on the same day.  This year, 25 little goblins and witches showed up.  And so did their parents.

His sister was a fairy.  Of course.

 

His mother was a cat.  Of course. 

Even late in October it was sunny.  It was warm.  It was Marrakech. 

The tables were dressed with Egyptian fabrics.  The napkins were placed in baskets made of recycled Tanzanian beer caps.

 

They sat outside.  The Berber tent provided shade.

   

There were games to play.  They kicked off their shoes before jumping on the trampoline.

 

They ran a relay race, with rules made by people who lived in a Moroccan olive grove.

They bobbed for apples.  And then they ate them.

After the fake shaving game, after the pinata, after the wrap the mummy game, it was time for the cake.  The now-eight-year-old boy -- in his costume with its hand-stitched dragon -- blew out all the candles on the first try.  Of course.

Then with pockets filled with candy, and with balloons fluttering in tow, the little witches and goblins and their parents hopped on their brooms, and said goodbye.  The boy continued to wave until he could no longer see them behind the clouds.

   

Happy birthday darling Tristan.  We love you more than you could ever know.

A Moroccan garden: and blowing out the candles

It was a little birthday party, for a little girl of four. 
More than a little special, we walked through the garden door. 

Boys and girls of all sizes had come to celebrate.

Oh, delicious things to eat!

Oh, drinks in colored goblets!

Candy colored carpets on the grass.

 

Paths down which to wander.

And goldfish more than gold.

Oh happy feet!  Oh happy day!

 

Happy birth-day, dear Yasmine.