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 ...

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.




At sunset, it was impossible to resist the call for a climb onto a chic rooftop cafe for a mojito or a glass of chilled wine and enjoy the breathtaking views of never-ending pink roofs blending naturally into the vivid reds of dusk. The glamourous candlelit rooftop at El Fenn even has a breathtaking view over the Atlas Mountains and the Koutoubia, main mosque in Marrakech, and a charming Berber-tented sitting area filled with glamorous cushions that make it too tempting for drinks to be dragged into an inviting dinner showcasing an interesting blending of Moroccan tagines and European lamb and fish courses.





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.




About me

I ’m Benedetta, Italian born and London resident. I am an art historian and a specialist in Chinese art, dealing with anything relat...



I’m Benedetta, Italian born and London resident. I am an art historian and a specialist in Chinese art, dealing with anything relating to the tomb of the First Emperor of China and how people imagined life after death in the Land of the Dragon. My love for writing and research took me to Oxford where I obtained a Doctoral degree in Archaeology a few years ago. I knew there was more to life than just interacting with books and cultures of the ancient past, so I joined an auction house where I could pursue my other interest in social interactions and the working of the human psyche.


I was fascinated by what drives people collect certain things and learned about the crucial role of objects in forging the identity of their possessors. Anything that we own, from the art to the clothes and accessories that we wear, and the social activities that we perform, are not just ‘things’ that we like, but markers of our own identity and how we wish to be perceived by the community that surrounds us.


I often travel by myself, longing to be charmed by the deep blue skies and the colour blocking palettes of the buildings, the fragrant smells of exotic street food or the piping hot mint tea, the incense, the spices and freshly baked bread as I sit down a cafe watching the world go by.

I am in the constant pursuit of breaking the barriers of my own culture to appreciate different point of views and expand the horizons of my intellect. I surely love to be considered a citizen of the world and this is how I feel alive. I also take pleasure in simple things like waking up early in the morning to appreciate silence as I sip a warm cappuccino. I practice all sorts of sports, with a preference over those bringing me closest to the nature in its purest state, like skiing, swimming, jogging and horse riding. Nothing beats the feeling of goodness that only working in harmony with nature can bring.      
      

                            

I wish I lived in a huge estate that could fit all the creatures that I have rescued from the streets and I cannot imagine my life without at least one furry friend by my side. I love colours, shapes and textures, and fashion in general in its capacity to enhance the several aspects of my personality. In a world full of rules and regulations, clothes provide innumerable ways to complete self-expression. They are excellent mediators between your emotions and daily situations, always protecting and reminding you that if life is not taken seriously all the time, then is the one worth living.

Hello World and Merry Christmas!

Today is a very special day, in every sense. In the first place, I have finally gotten around with starting my very own blog, which I...
Today is a very special day, in every sense. In the first place, I have finally gotten around with starting my very own blog, which I have been thinking about for such a long time. This very space of my own will be freely dedicated to the several sources of my inspiration, a story from the past, a tale of travel, a hidden gem, an art work selected from antiquity or the extension to one’s personality, fashion.
Today is also Christmas, the most joyful day of all; the day when this side of the world stops and time should be dedicated to love, sharing and compassion.
I remember dearly when, as a little girl, I used to spend this special day with my brother, mum and dad. We often travelled to Limone, a tiny village nestled in the Italian Alps next to the French border, in the evening on the 24th. The journey lasted about two and a half hours, and we children often fell asleep in the back seats, bundled up in my mum’s softest arctic fox’s fur coat, dreaming about our charming encounter with Santa Claus, later that night. Once at the house, the light went off as we hid underneath the tick, warm blankets, of a gigantic king bed, excited and inebriated by the most magical feeling of the year, the wait for the mysterious character. Dad played Santa, wearing several layers of puffy coats and manifesting himself between the blinds of the cold balcony.
I loved my parents’ joint efforts with preserving the very traditional magic of Christmas amongst their children and I am very jealous about that time, since they separated a few years later and sadly brought an end to the traditional idea of togetherness that so many children love.


Many years have gone past and I relocated in London a few years ago, sharing a small but cozy cottage with my boyfriend and beloved white furry bundle of joy, Nino, in Hampstead. To me, this is the most charming part of London. Once a Saxon village and land of crops and grazed animals, Hampstead became the attractive escape of wealthy Londoners wishing to fleecing the plaque in 1665 and find solace away from the noise of the city. Its little alleyways and cobbled streets still retain much of the village's eighteenth century splendour, with small and colourful residences, to historic homes embellished by fairytale gardens once inhabited by famous artists and writers such as Keats and Constable.




 Enjoying a cup of earl grey tea amidst the crispy air and wonderful game of colours of the lush gardens of Burgh House, one can feel the splendour of the 18th century private paradise, residence of physician, Dr. Gibbons, and the source of happiness as it was described by Elsie Bambridge, one of its latest inhabitants.
Wandering through the enchanting game of small passageways and old stairways, hiding great picnic shops and cozy cafes, one can stumble upon the magic of the Holly Bush pub.Built in 1943, this charming gem is tucked in Holly Bush, a small cul-de-sac dotted with small traditional Victorian cottages a cozy. Its ensemble of small rooms offer the perfect retreat from the daily world of hustle and bustle and an escapade to the country where one can enjoy the quintessential of English togetherness and cuisine such as beef and ale, pheasant and fisherman's pie, whilst sitting amidst the warmth of a roaring coal fire and enjoying a pint of traditional London beer. 

                                                                                                              
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