Sunny New Year in Marrakech

The North African city of Marrakech has been on my must-visit list for a long time. When I learn of Ryanair’s regular route from my local airport, I buy tickets without a second thought. And then I impatiently announce to my two travelling companions that we are celebrating the New Year (and my rather significant “0” birthday) on the African continent.
We leave a rainy, cold and still nocturnal Stansted on one of the first flights of the day. Just over three hours later, Menara Airport greets us with bright sun and warm temperatures. It feels like stepping from Winter directly into Summer. The passport control officer asks us where we are staying, places a stamp on some random page and wishes us a heartfelt welcome. The queues at the currency exchange booths are long and slow-moving. But – I don’t like being with no currency in a country where cash is the norm, and I could not get Moroccan dirhams in London.
Our driver is waiting outside to take us to the Iberostar Club Palmeraie Hotel. He is as warm as the weather, welcomes us with broken English and a full heart and gives sweets to our sleepy almost-teenager. We drive through narrow and busy roads in the centre, and then onto quieter suburban streets and finally through a desolated landscape with forlorn palm trees and solitary shepherds.
Our room offers views of the Atlas Mountains and has a small balcony that is perfect for reading, day-dreaming or simply staring at the palm trees and the undulating horizon in the distance. It feels weird to be lying on loungers and sunbathing by the swimming pool at the end of December. But hey – one easily gets used to a good thing. My two swimming aficionados happily jump in the swimming pool. I opt for a book, coffee and G&T instead.




DAY 2
Due to my inability to accurately set the alarm clock, we almost miss our Full Day Tour of Marrakech. Forgetting that Morocco is one hour ahead of the UK, I set the alarm – one hour late. Our male travel companion checks his watch in the dark room and jumps out of bed shouting “we overslept, we overslept”. As a result of this mishap, we have approximately 45 minutes to get ready and have breakfast before being collected from reception. Somehow, we not only manage it, but we still have ten minutes to spare. Miracles happen when one is under pressure, I guess.
Our tour guide for the day is Mehdi, a seasoned tourist professional with excellent English and over forty years’ experience in the job. The clear skies are of a perfect azure shade but with temperatures not more than around 7-8 degrees Celsius, the morning is unbelievably chilly. Over the following few days we discover – but never get used to – the large gap between the morning and the afternoon temperatures. One needs a coat in the morning and a bikini in the afternoon.
We start our marathon excursion with a leisurely stroll of The Menara Gardens. These beautiful and peaceful gardens were established in 1157; they are centred around a large water reservoir and surrounded by orchards and olive groves. The artificial lake gathers water directly from the Atlas Mountains through an elaborate hydraulic system.



Next stop is Hivernage, an affluent and charming area known for expensive hotels of historical importance. One of them is the luxurious Palace La Mamoumia, where Winston Churchill stayed on many occasions indulging his love of painting and general wellbeing. Apparently, he even helped in the Moroccan quest to gain independence from France. A short walk from the hotel is the Koutoubia mosque with its 77-metre-high minaret visible from every corner of the city. This is the most famous monument in Marrakech. The largest of its kind in this area, it serves as inspiration to other religious buildings in North Africa as well as in Andalucía. The entry is restricted to people of Muslim faith, and we can only admire its architectural grandeur from the outside.



Stepping inside the medina through one of the gates of the Walls of Marrakech (medina means the old walled part of town) feels like travelling back in time or to another dimension. A cacophony of noises and smells is overpowering and so is the madness of traffic with horns in a perpetuum mobile mode. We zigzag between motorbikes of various shapes, sizes and production dates and donkey carts carrying vegetables and building materials as well as horse-drawn carriages taking tourists. Through this madness of extraordinary proportions, we reach another major monument of Marrakech, the Bahia Palace. Sultan Si Moussa built this palace in 19th century and dedicated it to his favourite wife who, according to our guide, was in fact called Bahia which means brilliance in Arabic. This major tourist attraction consists of impressively decorated rooms, paved with Carrara marble and decorated with Baghdad stained glass, charming internal courtyards and gardens with flowers and exotic trees. My favourite part is the private apartment of Ba Ahmed's wife (he was the son of Si Moussa). The rooms are large and flashy. And there is even a “niche” for her own private guardsman. In what used to be a Palace Mosque, there is now an exhibition of Andalucian fashion of the extravagant kind.



Next on our fully packed morning tour are the Kasbah Mosque and the Saadian Graves Funeral Complex. Thanks to our guide’s special treatment, we jump the ticket queue. The place is incredibly busy. By now the sun is out and the cold morning has turned into a glorious day. This necropolis contains over hundred graves of notable people, but its real cultural value lays in its architecture, a prime example of the Hispano-Moorish art that can also be found in the Alhambra in Granada.



For lunch, Mehdi takes us to a charming restaurant hidden away from the noisy street. We have a refreshing cucumber and tomato salad for a starter and a typical Marrakech tagine; meatballs in a rich tomato sauce with a scrambled egg topping and plenty of delicious olives of various colours. We finish with juicy satsumas, crumbly biscuits, and cups of rather sweet Moroccan tea.




In the afternoon we tour the maze of the souks, the markets, and between them the most famous of them all, the Souk Semmarine, a place where traders have been selling their goods for over thousand years. We do not buy much; it does not feel right to buy souvenirs before we actually scratch the surface of the city. We buy a package of ground cinnamon (very popular in our family) and a few souvenirs for the youngest member of our travelling crew. I struggle with the Moroccan style of shopping; no price tag but a “you chose, and we give you an offer” approach… I just cannot do it – you tell me the price and I decide whether I buy or not. I am not good at purchasing mementos, anyway. I prefer the ones of the perishable sort.
And as we say goodbye to our guide with a coffee in another of his secret cafes, I am happy that we had him for our first day in this city and on the African continent. He speaks excellent English, understands tourists’ needs, has a vast knowledge and knows how to present it in manageable chunks. He also has a sarcastic streak. Oh, don’t talk to them, they will force you to buy something! And when my husband apologises to him as I am taking too many photos and slowing us down, he says: She is allowed to enjoy herself on holidays.
Left on our own, we struggle to cross the road with no traffic lights, crossings, or any kind of obvious rules. We stop for a freshly squeezed pomegranate juice in the middle of the road. The most delicious ever. When we realise that we are completely lost, we flag a taxi to take us back to the hotel. And we pay as much as we are asked.




DAY 3
The following morning, we optimistically take the hotel shuttle bus to Jardin Majorelle. This place is one of the major tourist attractions in this city and – of course – the queues are long and tickets for the day sold out. In the nearby café La Bonne addresse we stop for our midmorning coffee and for a dose of rethinking. I do not want to leave Marrakech without seeing the gardens and the museums and I buy tickets online for the next available slot; early afternoon two days later. Today we can go to the Museum of Moroccan Women and the Museum of Marrakech. They are close to each other and inside the walls of the medina. To get there we jump on a horse-drawn carriage, a rather interesting experience considering the mad and disorderly traffic here.
The narrow souks are pleasantly empty. And no – I do not find souvenir sellers jumping on me and forcing me to buy stuff (something I was warned about in many reviews of Marrakech and Mehdi mentioned it yesterday). I buy a green teacup and once in the shop I also take a small espresso cup. The shop assistant is shy and gentle and does not try to sell me anything else. A little further, I buy a colourful plate. Again, a rather pleasant experience. I am shown plates in various sizes and colours and left to decide.



The Museum of Moroccan Women is a small centre in a narrow house, and it is a homage of its kind to all the famous women in Moroccan history as well as the acknowledgment of their importance in today’s society. The gallery on the second floor hosts a photographic exhibition; portraits of women by women photographers. We stop for a cold drink in the café on the roof. The sky is clear and of a perfect pale blue shade, the buildings are of a very light brown and beigey tint interlaced with dark green palm trees. This panorama reminds me of the pages of the illustrated Bible I had when I was a child. All the stories took place against this kind of background.



A little further, there is the Museum of Marrakech situated in an impressive palace with decorated walls and ceilings. It holds a collection of objects of everyday use, such as weapons, carpets, pottery and jewellery from various parts of Morocco. The most fascinating fact for me is that the city of Marrakech was built for a woman, Zaynab an-Nafzawiyyah. Well worth a visit.



In Chez Abdelhay, a small restaurant short distance from the Museum of Marrakech, we stop for lunch. We order two tagines – Makfoul (lamb) and chicken – and a chicken panini for the youngest member of our travelling trio. An extremely friendly ginger cat joins our table. We feed him pieces of chicken. We shouldn’t do it, but he looks rather slim. This city is full of stray cats. Mehdi told us yesterday that in Morocco they believe cats need to be free. As long as being free does not also mean being hungry. We finish our lunch with tea and biscuits. And a photo session with the owner of the place.



In no time we get lost in the labyrinth of the souks. We ask for directions to a place from where we can get a taxi. A man decided to show us. He walks fast in front of us and only the man of this family can follow his pace, while the two of us lag behind. The streets are narrow and congested to bursting point. We slalom among scores of people coming out of mosques, cars with loud horns, trailers, motorbikes, bikes and just about any other form of transport. The air is impregnated with smells of cooked lamb and burnt oil from motorbike’s carburettors. At one point we have to flatten ourselves again the wall to avoid being crashed by all the traffic squeezing through the narrowest part of the street. A few corners further, our random guide asks us for compensation for taking us there, although we still cannot see any taxi. We were warned about situation like this. We search our pockets but have no small change and we apologise and walk off. No hard feelings.
One cannot leave Marrakech without this kind of experience, I guess…




DAY 4
The last day of 2022 we spend in the resort. Our plan is simple: to relax, enjoy some of the many entertainment options and then join the celebratory end-of-year dinner and party. Considering ourselves a sporty family, we decide on badminton and tennis. In no time both attempts descend into chaos, heated arguments, throwing rackets and dramatic exits. And with our Year 8 companion announcing that she did not expect anything better from a highly dysfunctional family like ours. I guess, it is good to have an almost-teenager who can express herself so clearly.
After the morning’s dramatic events, we decide to take some time apart. I sip my double espresso, read and write in the bar area. I think the other two went to the room.
The overcast and greyish morning turns into a bright and warm afternoon. We spontaneously regroup at the swimming pool; a little swimming and one or two GTs (adults only) is exactly what this travelling circus needs before the evening festivities.
The evening at the hotel is ultimate – and somehow embarrassing – decadence. We got invited to the New Year’s Eve extravaganza by default (the opt-out option was nowhere to be found). After a delicious dinner – my choice was a starter of octopus salad (most likely the most delicious example of the dish I ever ate) followed with a few pieces of succulent tagine beef and green bean salad – we join the wedding-reception style party with entertainers and live music.
Nevertheless, we do not last till midnight. Our almost-teenager prefers seeing the year off with a book and, after a few glasses of champagne, I am struggling to keep my eyes open. Our male companion has no choice but to follow us to the room.
Happy 2023!



DAY 5
I cannot think of a better way to start 2023 than with a visit to the Jardin Majorelle. The garden is situated in an affluent part of Marrakech with terracotta-coloured apartment blocks with large balconies. We are far too early for our timed entry, and we walk to the nearby European Cemetery. Cemeteries are the most accurate summaries of a city’s past, and we are not surprised that most tombs have French surnames. There is also a memorial to all the French soldiers killed in various battles.



The Jardin Majorelle is an exotic sanctuary with numerous varieties of palm trees, cacti and other tropical plants, several water ponds with either sleepy frogs floating on lotus leaves or fish swimming in circles, a monument to Yves Saint Laurent and two museums. Even with strictly controlled sale of tickets and entrance times, the garden is extremely busy. I am a bit disappointed that the house where YSL lived is not open to public. Its exterior is stunning. The blue house, which once used to be the home of Mr Majorelle, the founder of these gardens, hosts the Musée Berber, a centre dedicated to everything Berber, from the history and the language, through to jewellery, costumes and other artefacts of everyday life of this indigenous people of North Africa.



We eat in the Majorelle Garden café. The sun is bright and temperatures are high; it feels like a hot summer’s day and we opt for indoors seating instead of the terrace. Seduced by delicious smells, we forgo sandwiches and order fish, chicken and beef meatball tajines. Our almost-teenager announces that her tajine is the tastiest meal she had since arriving to Marrakech. I agree. My fish tagine is absolutely delicious. Two fillets of white fish (possibly brass or bream) are soft and flaky, and the carrots, potatoes and peppers are infused with wonderful spices and lemon juice.
The Museum of Yves Saint Laurent is just outside the gardens. One part of the exhibition covers a detailed timeline of YSL’s life with accompanying facts and photographs while the other presents a showcase of some of his most iconic creations; including a dress from his Piet Mondrian collection, a jacket inspired by Van Gogh’s paintings and a dress dedicated to Pablo Picasso. Interesting place. If you are into fashion.
And we are done for the day.
Sightseeing with your family can be a rather tiring affair.



DAY 6
On the morning of our final full day in this fascinating city, our male companion has a nasty fall. He slips in the shower and in an attempt to recover his balance, injures his arm and hand. For a few moments he is in so much pain that we even contemplate calling an ambulance. Luckily, the pain eases and as he can move all fingers, we are sure that he has not suffered a fracture. However, he does not feel fit enough for riding a camel, and he opts out.
The two of us head to the Palm Grove. The place is not far away from the hotel and the dry, scorched area with palm trees is bordering with a Berber village. In no time we are enveloped in the robes and scarves of the nomadic Bedouin tribe, and we climb onto two camels – Shakira and Sylvia. They have a rather placid, obedient manner and large bellies. I worry for a minute that they might be pregnant but then I remember that camels can store provisions for days. For over an hour we ride through a peaceful and relaxing grove. The experience is therapeutically relaxing. The muscles of our backside and inner legs get slightly sore but nothing can diminish our enjoyment. As I look at our trotting shadows, I once more recollect images from my childhood’s illustrated Bible and think of stories of caravans progressing through an exhausted landscape.



Lazing by the swimming pool on our last afternoon in Marrakech, we sum up our impressions. As English say, this was exactly what the doctor ordered. We visited a new city, a new country, a new continent. We experienced the famous madness of the narrow streets of the old Marrakech, we got lost, we interacted with locals, took a horse ridden carriage down a chaotic road, rode camels in a relaxing oasis. Enjoyed – possibly even over-enjoyed – the flavours of the local cuisine. And met friendly and welcoming people. I bought souvenirs mostly from shops where women worked…and from gentle male shop assistants. We never had any issues with the taxi drivers – they were all very pleasant, friendly and welcoming. I admit, I had a few superficial fears induced by online reviews. I wish I had never read any of them – Marrakech is a fascinating place, and I would happily return.