One ticket to heaven...
I keep reminiscing about my wonderful escapade to Marrakech last May. The spicy air, the dreamy colours, the mosaics, the architecture. It was my first time in Morocco, my first holiday in eight months and one whole week that I had entirely for myself. The time could not have been more perfect as I left a very gloomy and rainy London to embrace the sunny skies and lovely heath. It was also a turning point in my life as I was about to commence my new exciting job at a leading auction house upon my return.
I landed early on a Wednesday morning, the sun was hiding timidly behind low clusters of clouds that gradually left way to a magnificent turquoise brilliance. I arrived at my very own paradise for the week: Riad Enija, undoubtedly, the dreamiest of all places in the city. Nestled in the very heart of the Medina and tucked away from the jostling crowd, this nineteenth century pearl offers the perfect blending of spiritual and physical refreshment.
Walking through its passageways, through the intricate games of plasterwork, mosaic tiles, sumptuous textiles and lush gardens, one can just visualise the paradise as it was imagined in Islamic thought since the ancient times: a green, secluded oasis of endless, trickling water, filled with shade, palms and exuberant foliage that purify the souls. The four paths quartering the inner courtyard, or the heavenly rivers of milk, honey, wine and water, lead to the central fountain, mirror of the heavens, surrounded by four areas filled with a variety of aromatics, trees and shrubs.
My day always begun early with a trip to the rooftop terrace when I took my time staring at the wonderful sunrise as a crispy breeze enveloped me and the city was slowly waking up to the charming calls to prayers that echoed one another in different corners. Then came my favourite moment of the day, when I enjoyed breakfast in the heavenly garden surrounded by a triumph of peace, colours and the fragrant smells of the exotic flowers, the fresh mint leaves infused in the piping hot tea and the simmered spices of the tomato omelette. I had lost the concept of time by then and could have sat there forever. It truly felt like heaven.
Fully replenished with vigour and enthusiasm, I was ready to explore that outside world surrounding my enchanting paradise. All of a a sudden, I was immersed within the hustles and bustles of dusty, crisscrossing alleyways where artisans worked straw, leather, shoes, sold carpets, slippers, spices, bread and cooked deliciously hot and spicy food.
I loved loosing myself in these alleyways and feeling the ancient splendours of the wonderfully long Imperial past as I strolled through the hues of rosy earth impressed on the buildings retted amidst fragrant rose and jasmine gardens.
One of the things I loved the most about Marrakech is that, whenever I wanted to break from the vivacity of the Medina, I would always find a little piece of paradise where I could hide away from the world and find comfort in the little pleasures of feeling the gentle breeze crossing my cheeks as I sat against the high walls of a grand mansion admiring the graceful reflection of the colourful mosaics in the emerald-green floor basins. Or watching a local lady prepare fresh mint tea in the charmingly demure cafe' of the city museum, once a sumptuous palace and still an extraordinary example of Andalusian architecture with its splendid carvings, fountains, hammams and chandeliers.
My favourite hideaways were surely the Ben Youssef Madrasa, a Quranic school founded in the 14th century but reconstructed to its actual state in the 16th century, with its extraordinary balancing game of woodwork, marble and stucco, and the luxuriant gardens of Bahia Palace dotted with a multitude of blossoming orange trees and kittens.
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Of course, my long wanders through the labyrinth of the Medina of course allowed for the most selective and satisfactory shopping too. Not far from the Bahia palace I found the tiniest boutique of artisans working all models of the chicest raffia slippers and leather sandals; once I went in, I did not leave until after two hours, the smell of fresh leather and palms was intoxicating. I also bought a quantity of floral silk and leather slippers chez Topolina, a chic Moroccan designer, found the perfect maker for elegant and understated kaftans, and I certainly could not return to London without a bottle of argan oil, a jar of black, softening soap and my own selection of locally made green-glazed earthenware bowls and spices including saffron, rose buds, cumin cinnamon, turmeric and paprika. I cannot wait to go back to Morocco, that paradise is too addictive to miss for more than just a few months.
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