23rd August 2021

Amazigh is the word for the original Berber people from whom the majority of North Africa's population are descended. And truly the colours, landscapes, tastes, smells, sounds and music of Morocco are amazing! A rich tradition of handicrafts from shoes to soaps lives alongside a peaceful spirituality that reboots at the start of each new day with the call to prayer.

An unusually strong feeling of well-being emanates from the ground as I touch down in Marrakesh. Travellers glide smoothly over the marble floors under the high white geodesic arches of the pristine Menara airport. The scruffy greeters and taxi drivers must wait in the designated area beyond the airport doors on the orders of the King. Outside, I jump into a beaten up old blue Mercedes, which weaves its way through crowded roads with the horses and carriages, and wonder what is secreted in the old city behind the high fortress walls perforated with holes like a looming Swiss cheese. 

Marrakesh is guarded by a strategic mix of police, army and gendarmes posted in sentry boxes at checkpoints along the city walls. Inside the medina at night on a full moon, people work late and take bread home for supper. Behind more impenetrable walls are the fountains and plant strewn inner courtyard of the privately owned Riads. Small birds slip under plastic awnings stretched across the wide open sky to wait noisily for mealtime crumbs. Inside the narrow walls of my bedchamber, a four poster is festooned with red velvet and small vibrant flags rather like the bunting at a medieval joust. Unctuous oils, rose petals, and warmth conjure the quintessence of romance and continuity in this magical, scented kingdom.

Outside, the stench of the souk gets right up your nose. Moroccans set out their stalls early in the morning. There are butchers, bakers, cobblers and lantern makers. In pungent sprawling workshop-tanneries the pools of urine fix the intense colours to cloth and leather. Freshly dyed hides dry in the sun attracting flies. Hundreds of cats keep thousands of rats at bay. Every conceivable mode of transport thrusts its way through the network of seemingly neverending narrow passageways: bicycles, motorcycles, donkey and traps, and well sprung hand-pulled carts.

In the ‘big square’ El Jeema, a smoky feast of tagines, pancakes and performers awaits. Boys sing Arabic songs drumming and galloping to the intoxicating rhythm of slave bells. Drawn into their circles my drumming is praised until I vocalise un-self-consciously and give myself to the endless haggle. And, I get used to the call to prayer - the wild siren song that punctuates the day, from early morning to late at night, and the aftermath of peace that settles over the city.

Yves St Laurent

A large elegant blue tiled house stands outside the city walls in Marrakesh’s ‘new’ town Guilitz. What was once Yves St Laurent’s private house is now his museum set amongst the verdant Majorelle Gardens, and next door to the Berber Museum. This was once a place of retreat for St Laurent, who got sacked by Christian Dior when he fell ill after fighting in the Algerian war. What a way for Dior to repay his brightest star, who desired to empower women through wearing his superbly designed clothes. The stunning collection of YSL couture displayed amongst the sumptuous Moroccan interiors set in the most beautiful of gardens has inspired me to buy a chic, but cheap black hooded jellaba in the nearby souk. The sight of Yves St Laurant's collection has reminded me that I am and always was a girl inspired by YSL at Dior.

The Road to Mogador

Mogador is the ancient name Essaouira, a port town with a fortress two hours drive west of Marrakesh, also known as "The Bride of the Atlantic." Along the road to the coast, the mysterious Argan trees flourish, as do the women’s co-operatives which produce the majority of Argan oil for the global beauty industry. There is 300km of Argan forest in Morocco, which looks similar to olive trees, and no-one knows where they originate from. The women saw the potential of Argan oil for soaps, shampoos and cosmetics, the benefits of which have become world famous. There are two types of oil: cosmetic and culinary, and both are good to smear all over your body and hair. 

Police checkpoints on the road to Essaouira routinely stop drivers for speeding, and dish out on the spot fines of 300 Dirhams, 15 euros or £13.50. The Moroccan Dirham (MAD) is closely guarded within the Kingdom’s borders, and given that Dirhams can only be bought locally, and are not available outside the country, only adds to the mystique of Morocco.

Outside the city walls an eager porter loads my stuff onto a bouncy hand wheeled cart and heads off at speed through the arch into the medina, now a UNESCO world heritage site, and onto the bumpy sand road leading to our hotel. A portrait of the King Mohamed VI hangs on the wall, which I respectfully acknowledge every morning over coffee. Imagine my dismay when I later discover that his beautiful wife Princess Laila Salma, the mother of his two children, has rarely been seen in public for a number of years, sparking some controversey as to her wherabouts. 

Essaouira has been a well known centre for the colour purple since the Berber King Juba II established a Tyrian dye factory to create the purple togas worn by the Senators of Rome made from the sea snails and purpora shells found in the rocks around its coastline.