From madness to the Oasis...
Has the ideal way to introduce his family to the joys of Marrakech
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WHAT to do when you have to go on holiday and satisfy the needs of two children, your wife AND your mother-in-law? This was the problem I was faced with when deciding where to go on our latest family holiday.
We had only a few days and needed somewhere sunny, not too far away and with enough going on to keep my highmaintenance entourage happy. There was only one solution: Morocco. Just three hours' flight away, it's a totally different world – a veritable attack on the senses, with awesome food and pretty much guaranteed sunshine. And it just happens to be one of my favourite countries in the world.
Normally, I l ove driving around Morocco as the country is so extraordinarily diverse – from the lush Atlas mountains to the buzzing medieval cities of Marrakech and Fez; from the moody Atlantic towns such as Essouirah to the stark, dry beauty of the desert.
We chose Marrakech as we had only five days and wanted to stay in one place. I wanted to give my family as good an introduction as possible to the city, so I chose two different places for us to stay in.
We started off in the Palmerie, a vast, dry palm grove just outside the city in which are located some seriously i mpressive palaces and villas. Ours was the wonderful Dar Ayniwen, a former family villa of the Moroccan diplomat and avid collector Sidi Aziz.
It is now run by his son Stephane and we were welcomed into the beautiful central hall with glasses of mint tea and huge smiles. As our bags were whisked away up to our rooms, my wife and mother-in-law were shown the steam bath and the kids whooped and hollered around the gorgeous garden.
There are several secluded garden cottages, ideal for honeymoon couples or tortured poets, but we had been allocated the entire top floor of this two-storey building. Seemingly every room had a balcony leading us to another view of the pool and the stunning gardens.
I took a shower in the incredibly ornate bathroom and have to admit to a little frisson at the thought of both Juliette Binoche and Monica Bellucci having recently done the same thing (although not, I believe, at the same time). Dar Ayniwen is the destination of choice for a plethora of European beauties.
After a sumptuous lunch under orange and lemon trees, the chauffeur-driven car at our disposal whisked us through the Palmerie and into the attack on the senses that is the city.
My plan was to introduce the family to the hectic Djemaa El Fna Square and then whisk them to the Mamounia, one of my favourite hotels in the world for afternoon tea in the gardens. If you haven't been to the Djemaa El Fna, it's difficult to describe. Surrounding a labyrinth of souks, it's a huge open expanse which serves as fairground, outdoor restaurant and general meeting place for seemingly everyone in North Africa.
As you approach you see smoke rising from the multitude of food stalls selling enticing looking fare, while the sound of drums played by a dozen different troupes creates a hypnotic soundtrack as you weave your way past snake charmers, storytellers, acrobats and water-sellers.
My Canadian mother-in-law was at first slightly freaked but soon relaxed.
The kids didn't know where to look and my wife Stacey just tried to avoid the multitude of locals trying to drape a snake over her shoulders. After an hour of soaking everything in we jumped into a horse-drawn carriage to go to the Mamounia... where an officious looking woman looked us up and down as though we were urchins and said: ‘There is dress code and you are not guests.'
And that was that. Suddenly, one of my favourite hotels had become a soulless, prison camp – the shame...
We returned to my new favourite place – Dar Ayniwen – for supper in the moonlight in the garden. Over the next days we did classic Marrakech things – visited the Majorelle Garden of Yves Saint-Laurent, shopped in the souks and dined at some fabulous eateries.
When we came to leave Dar Ayniwen, it was with a heavy heart. But I wanted my family to see a different part of Marrakech, and I'd organised for us to stay the last two days in a lovely little riad, the Souika.
I love riads – walking through the front door is always an entrance into a secret world. Ours was at the end of a crummy little alley and seemed very unpromising to my family.
A smiley man called Aziz opened the heavy door. He would look after us while we were there, cooking if we so required or simply providing breakfast and mint tea on the rooftop as we gazed over the city to the snow-capped Atlas mountains. The riad was snug and cosy and intimate. Everybody loved it and we really felt part of the city.
And then, far too soon, it was time to go. Marrakech had been a huge hit and nobody wanted to leave. I had to promise that we would make this an annual visit. As the car flashed past the beautiful town walls, I heard the distant wail of a muezzin calling the faithful to prayer. We'll be back all right.