The Daily Telegraph - Saturday - Travel
Five mums escape to Marrakech
Leaving 10 children and the British winter behind, Aoife O’Riordain and four friends find solace in the souks and hammams of Morocco
Like many of the best things in life, our Mumscapade happened spontaneously. Five of us (a journalist, a horticulturalist, a designer, a teacher and a soon-to-be psychologist with 10 children between us) had decided that a break from the drudge and dreich of winter was in order.
Our calendars aligned and so did our ideas. We needed sun, we needed shopping and we needed spoiling.
There was never any debate about where we would go. For us, Marrakech was the obvious choice and it also felt like the right time to visit. The city was back on its feet and welcoming tourists following the devastating effects of the earthquake in the Atlas Mountains in September 2023 and there had been a flurry of new openings too.
We stayed at the heart of the medina at Annex House, a standalone addition to the newly-opened and stylishly restored Riad Brummell Medina, an easy walk from the Djemaa el-Fna. Breakfast was delivered to our doors every morning. In the evenings, we gathered on the roof terrace for drinks as we watched the sun sink behind the minaret of the Koutoubia mosque. At night, all was silent save for the early morning call to prayer and the occasional brawling cat.
The trip was unapologetically light on culture and heavy on retail. Shopping was top of our agenda and the souk, one of Marrakech’s hands-down highlights, was on our doorstep. Each evening we would review what we had bought that day, or make a mental note to return to a stall (including one run by a basket seller we had nicknamed Pharrell thanks to his flamboyant headwear).
Between rummages, we found time to be spoiled at a hammam. The spa at the La Sultana Hotel in the medina’s Kasbah was the ideal spot due to its subterranean pool and overriding sense of calm. Still, modesty was left at the door as we were led by our therapists into the steamy embrace of the chamber and laid down on the warm marble while they worked their magic, scrubbing our skin with hammam gloves and black soap and finishing with an Argan oil massage. Later we emerged, blissed-out and blinking, into the heat.
With temperatures in the mid 20s, a day by the pool was non-negotiable. For that we left the city behind and took a 40-minute drive to the newly-opened Farasha Farmhouse. It is the creation of
Rosena and Fred Charmoy, the founders of Marrakech events company Boutique Souk, who have organised everything from a birthday party for Madonna to Dior catwalk shows.
As you might expect, the farmhouse has been designed with fun in mind. It is chic in a restrained Morocco-meetsIbiza way and comes with a show-stopping saltwater pool edged by olive trees and double loungers beneath crocheted umbrellas. Though there are four bedrooms, non-residents can visit for pool days at weekends and get a delicious lunch thrown in: sleep it off by the pool before heading back into town.
Eating was a top priority. L’mida, hidden away in the medina with a boho roof terrace overlooking Marrakech’s enticing sprawl, was a favourite we returned to (even its Wi-Fi password, “ladiesfirst”, seemed on message for our trip). On other nights, we made for Guéliz, a 10-minute taxi ride away and full of reliably buzzy dinner spots.
Among them, we found +61, an expat enclave during the French Protectorate era that now feels Marrakech by way of Melbourne. Then there was Sahbi Sahbi, one of the neighbourhood’s newest openings. With a zellige-tiled and wooden interior designed by the fashionable architectural practice Studio KO, it has a menu that celebrates Morocco’s dadas (women chefs who cook for their communities) with traditional recipes handed down through generations.
Our four days together felt like one long, laughter-filled conversation. We exhausted every possible subject, running the gamut from air-fryers and the best bingeable TV (The Bear) to our children’s mobile phone addictions and the inevitable menopause.
We ended on a high, too, treating ourselves to a final night out at La Mamounia hotel, a beacon of glamour for more than 100 years. Rechristening it “La Mumounia”, we began with drinks on the orange blossom-scented terrace of the Majorelle Bar. Dinner was at Le Marocain, buried in gardens of soaring palms and delicate roses. Serenaded by musicians, we even tried lambs’ brains, alongside less testing dishes such as tagine and couscous.
After dinner, none of us were in a hurry to get home. We snatched a final group selfie in the flattering light of the hotel bathroom, then wandered the quiet streets, skirting the edge of the Djemaa el-Fna where, even after midnight, smoke was rising from stalls catering to late-night diners and Berber musicians played to huddles of revellers. The break had been just what we needed – so much so that we have made a pact to return at the same time next year. Until then, Marrakech, thanks for the Mumories.