My Marrakesh

Marrakech forecast: mostly sunny

Your messages and emails poured in.  So much kindness, so much support from near and from far.  I actually wept over the abundance of it all and the way that the universe had gathered around me and lifted me up, when I needed it most.  Thank you.  I feel so much better now.  So much braver, so much stronger. 

So the dream carries on.  The checks are written and cashed.  The negotiations are broached and agreed to.  The workers paint, plant and plaster.  Peacock Pavilions is there before me, at the edge of my fingertips.  Not a figment of my imagination but proof that dreams are worthy and can come true.....if you believe in them enough.

I take a deep breath, and then another and another.  Then I watch my dancing girl sideways.  I remind myself that if on this journey, I get dizzy and fall, I have only to pick myself up, dust myself off and twirl again....

Marrakech: the presence of clouds and ____ springs eternal

Dear friends,

I am living with anxiety now.  It's taking its toll.  Sleep comes uneasily, concentration is difficult, tasks go undone.  We learned today that although our bank loan (our third) has been approved, it seems that somehow (How?  How?) the money will not be in our hands until mid-January.  Mid-January!  But……..but……orders have been put in for windows and doors…….for insulation and bathroom tiles.  If we do not pay…we will forfeit our deposits.  My parents have suggested that we temporarily close down our project -- our Peacock Pavilions job site.  (We are eternally grateful to my parents, the most generous of all people – the funds and good will that have sprung willingly from their checkbooks and hearts have kept us afloat for some time now.)  But closing down our construction site is simply not possible.  We would have to fire all our workers, who would then get new jobs, and where would we be?

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The fact is…….that we can’t stop.

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So at 6am this morning, we held an emergency meeting – Chris and I.  We looked at each other, and then, in worried whispers, we came to a decision; we are cashing in retirement funds. And we must pay the fines that this entails. I do know that this is a drastic thing to do (hand wringing, hand wringing) but desperate times call for desperate measures.

* 

We must not falter.  So I beg you to send no messages with alternative plans or ideas.  I am so fragile right now, and time is against us, you see.  What I need most is your kind support, your encouragement, your shoulder to lean on.  If I could ask you please, please to take a moment to close your eyes and send out into the universe a small and resolute message of strength …winding its way from your home or office across the ocean…..to our little olive grove here in Marrakech.  You will know it's our place by the flowers spilling over the gate, by the peacock feathers strewn on the path, by the children’s shoes by the front door ….

*

This time will pass and be over.  There’s no time to look back.

With love,

Maryam in Marrakesh

Top image ninazdesign, bottom image afihara

Marrakech: and the mutterings of a design schizophrenic

I love white.  I love simplicity.  I love purity.  I love clean surfaces.  I love sharp lines.  I love minimalism. 

I tear page after page out of magazines as inspiration.  Yes, I murmur under my breath....that's what I am after.  So fresh, so zen, so clean.  My head nods but there's no one in the room. (Apparently, I like to agree with myself .)  The Swedish,the contemporary, the stark.....it all calls out to me.  I sort, I stack, I file.   I take notes that say things like: clear glass vases, white porcelain birds, creamy silk twill.... 

Sigh, then I rush out and buy the tribal, the carved, the embroidered, the turquoise, the fluffy, the patterned, the painted, the shiny..... Oh dear. ... I am a style schizophrenic.  Somebody please check me into the clinic made to help people like me....  Actually, now that I think about it.... a white crisp room, a freshly starched strait jacket......  Why, it's all so modern in it's own way, isn't it?  It might be just the design rehab I need....

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An antique three-dimensional Moroccan Zouak cornice from Fes with gold leaf, to be placed over a bed in Peacock Pavilions.

A vintage wood game purchased in Ghana, set against a wool table cloth with intricate hand embroidery bought in Rajasthan. 

A large, old turquoise Moroccan urn, in front of huge tiger patterned floor pillows.

A Namibian tribal basket on an antique carved Moroccan chest bought in Meknes.

Marrakech: and stylish riad for sale?

He was tall, very tall.  He was handsome.  Yes, very handsome.  He was a model for Hermes.  The blogging girl's friend said she felt weak in the knees, whenever she saw him.  The girl understood why.  Perfectly.

He wore black.  Naturally.  His house was almost all white.  Of course.  He was a stylist for Kenzo, for Vogue, for others.  The last Zara catalogue?  That was his work.  But he was so modest, that when she asked him about that, he just laughed, and said that his first job was selling towels on the beach in the South of France.  And then he poured her more wine.  How very, terribly, devastatingly charming. 

He lived in France and in Spain. And in Morocco?  Why not?  He bought a courtyard house, a riad, in the Marrakech medina.  Greedy, he bought a second one.  Feeling guilty (Catholic, she wondered?) he decided to sell it.  A riad which was perfectly modern, perfectly minimalist, perfectly edited.  He had styled it himself.

The blogging girl coveted the riad.  Something about sitting in the courtyard's open air.  As she could not have it (sadly, so sadly), she thought that perhaps ........perhaps..........you might like it.  The price is good, quite good.  Please promise that if you buy it, you will invite her over.  She will arrive bearing chocolates....

Riad represented by www.franceatlas.com, contact@franceatlas.com