MARRAKESH

MYSTIQUE

my body is exfoliated with a glove, a mask of avocado is smoothed on to my face, and the water in the plunge pool has been tempered.

It's more than 40 years since I lived in this city, and 22 since I first came back. In 1990, I was nervous of returning, afraid that the Marrakesh I'd dreamt of since leaving would have altered unrecognisably and that my closely held memories might evaporate as soon as I arrived. But I needn't have worried. Everything was just as I'd remembered it. Ancient, dazzling, a step into the past. Then, I stayed in a small hotel not far from the Djemaa el-fna. Rooms were arranged around a courtyard—one toilet, one cold shower, and a tap on the roof where you could wash your clothes.

I was woken at dawn by the call to prayer from the Koutoubia Minaret, and all over the city, cocks crowed the start of the day. But in the years since, change has been fast and furious. Morocco is now firmly on the jet-set map. It is no longer just a destination for the intrepid traveller looking for exotic adventure an hour's ferry ride from Spain. Now there are flights from all over the world to the rebuilt airport. The choice of lodgings has multiplied too, with resorts in the Palmeraie, upmarket riads in the Medina, and modern hotels in the new city.

Much of this development has been spearheaded by King Mohammed VI, the young successor to his father Hassan II, who was