SUIT!NG UP FOR FALL
ER.F.ECT PEARLS
ยง.
to Morocco and son editor, has just flown in from Rome to
rederick Vreeland, the former U.S. ambassador
of Diana, the legendary
Vogue
host a lunch party at his Marrakech home, Orchard of the Shooting Star. LikeVreeland himself, who is tall, slim, and devastatingly good-looking, with intense dark eyes and his mother's high cheekbones, the house oozes Bohemian chic.The villa is located in the Palmeraie,the smart enclave of Marrakech,home to the crรถme of the cityt sociery including the transient population renting private houses (the insider alternative to Marrakech's five-star hotels).Vreeland's is the best of them, hidden behind sunburnt walls and a heavy', studded wooden door. There is no trafic, only the sound of a Berber shepherd exhorting his ragtag flock, and birds-thousands of birds. Their song comes from within the orchard of apricot, lemon, and olive trees surrounding the pretty eight-bedroom house, built around a shady courtyard and cluttered with 18th-century European antiques, Moroccan textiles, worn sofas, andVenetian oils.The centerpiece is an arch-shaped pool on a raised terrace overlooking the garden. Swallows dart at the water; bees hover in the flowers; the scent of orange blossoms 6lls the air. 'We eat in the shade-the group includes a fashion photographer, NewYork banker, and Moroccan palm tree specialist. The talk is of Marrakech's current popularity; the ciry was empty of even the Gess (among the early high-style immigrants to Marrakech in the late 1960s) whenVreeland first arrived on an oficial tour withJackie Kennedy in '63.At that time the Palmeraie was uninhabited. Now his neighbors include various scions of the Moroccan royal family, Xavier Hermรถs, and Farid Belkahia (North Africa's most well known contemporary artist) as well as seasonal guests like Linda Evangelista, Nicole Kidman, and Giorgio Armani, "Marrakech has become rhe destinarion," says Vreeland. "Everyone is talking about it. It has heritage and exoticism, but itt also a place where as an American you feel most at home in both the Arab and African worlds." The signs are everywhere. In the Palmeraie, four-wheel-drives cruise past with darkened
159
.i'';:.- ' ",iยง,,r.
;
:{i1;:; ')i -t
.:rat;:
.
.
lr r
l."f:.
*q
;:!
Staff in the lobby of La Mamounia. Like Marrakech itself, this Art Deco hotel reflects an amalgam of cultures, with themed suites that include British and Moorish decor. Opposite, top left: the courtyard at Riad Enija, one of the city's new upmarket B&Bs. Top right: chameleon in the courtyard of Riyad El Cadi. Bottom: reflecting pool at Amanjena, where the suite: are like fiefdoms, the pools like lakes.
u.inclou.s. disappearing behind bolted doors into secret garclens. I sta,v at I)ar Tamsna. a
flrvorite of the visiting fashion ;rack, where I'rrr waited on by a staffof ninc and have a pool to myself, there are antique-fiI1ed salons and a garclen that flicker"s vuith candles u.hcn night f.rlls. I hear about other villas, about land pri«:es going fiorri 975,000 for 2.5 acres in 1995 to double tl)at 11ow, about the people defucting from London, Paris, and I{onre. "l r-rsed tr> flatter mvsclf that I kneu, cvcry foreisner irr this towil," seys Mernphis-
born Bill Willis, an interiors :rrchitect who camc here in '(r(r to work on fhc homes of Yvcs Saint Laurent and French philosopher Ilernard-Henrr Löw "Nos. ' sa,vs Willis. rvho is Marrakechi nrost famous socialite, "I feel
I don't know
anybody anymorLr."
Marrakech'.s olcl town, or walled medina, has witnessccl the greatest inflr-rx.The attrrction is the liads, traditional houses built rlound internal courryards hiclden behind the featureless w:rlls that make up the al1cys. Many are being converted i:nto maisons i
i
r t t'i'{ t
r'
t*-.
i.;t'('l I I t nI,"r' (',/'{,rir'(',',\',,il. j, /
,i {){t"/{r't'{
a
i
r'
iil{}s' fi{ llrslll(' iii
t.,}i,1
t.':'!!',
L,r
{
ii
J
i(
i
l: ! ,'j
)i"it !.'i
d'hötc, or upmarkct B&Bs. There is Riad Eru1a, with its slorious courtyard (colorfül rrrosaic tiling, r fountain et its center) and Riyad El Cadi, nestlecl at the encl of three narron. lanes. ()ccupving five illterconncctcd courn'arcls, E1 Cadi dates back to the 13th centr,rry. Its wal1s are hung with thc owneri exqrrisite collcction of early Islamic and l3yzantine art ancl 19thccntury Berber tcxtiles, and sonre of what is displayed has traveled on loan to majot exhibittons. Aside from thc B&Bs, thele are more obvious srgns of e destination rnuch changccl. In the medina, women irr Prada wander the souk fbr handwoven silks (l evcn see a pair of Manolos negotiate their way through thc cl-rst), meeting lor a light lunch at Rvad fämsna, a styLsh restaurant boutique converred by Parisran-Senegalcse ex-pat Mcryanne Lounr Martin. Late in the afternoon the well-l'reeled retreat to the cream linen banquettes and sip nrint tea. My adclrcss book bulges with recommendations: []eldi. u.here Plloma Picasso comes tor her handstitched caftans;Va16rie Barkowski, a designer of colorful knitwear and hand-finishecl bed 1inerrs; PlaceVendöure, where a fricrrcl wants her Fendi ba-
gtrctte copied in plle-cream kid. There are also qalleries. I visit Ministero dcl Gusto. an appointment orily house exhibiting contcrnporary, Afiican-inspired lirrniture (morc Soho than Maghreb), owncd by Aless:urclra Lippini, a lormer fashion editor
161
J\,
,)
J
I tl
.;4:
q
Shopping can be a full-time adventure. Clockwise from top left; tagines from Couleur Sable; Mia Zia scarves and bracelets at Amanjena's shop; one-of-a-kind furniture at the design gallery Ministero del Gusto; Moroccan slippers (babouches\ at Ryad Tamsna; antique olive-oiljug at Al Badii.
nl'
'-
e., t,,."+'
* t-
ß*§ i.;f
I s 'ät ,
:I
{
,
ü ,&rj'
1.,
I
:,9,
!
ni
j,
LT
.§
it
r
,r.!\ :
{
l I
I
\l
t \:T ni'\
i
,I {
:1
$+
b.r-rery@-1-'-
ltaly. Itt surprising that a shop this sophisticated a Moroccan combination of Gaudi and Warholt Facron'.r can pull it off in a North African oasis. But the clients come, including David Bowie.'W'e talk-Lip-
tom
pini. her partner Fabrizio Bizzarri, and Frans Ankone, -\larrakech habitu6 and art director of Romeo Gigliconcurring that the appeal of Marrakech is that it is rhe safest far-offcity you can find.You don't even get husded. Quite the opposite is true: A Moroccan friend helping me find a shop in the souk is the one who eets stopped-by the Tourist Brigade, introduced a few \-ears ago to stamp out the pseudo guides who used to gir-e Marrakech its insalubrious reputation. Moroccan food is healy (rich tagines,pastillas dunked rn oil) which is surprising, considering most of the counEn' was a French protectorate for so long: The kitchen
the first thing to be colonized by the Gallic motherland. But a more delicate cuisine is developing, drir-en by the demand of discerning visitors, with upand-coming cheß like Swiss-trained Moha Fedal giving French rvvists to Dar Moha Älmadinat Moroccan staples. At Le Comptoir Darna, young, rich Marrakechis sip Champagne over Oualidia oysters. rs usually
of the Orient, they largely meant the hot, desert Islamic countries of North Africa and the Middle East. Their champion was painter Eugöne Delacroix, whose overland journey through Morocco in 1832 became the the Orientalist experience. It was exotic, djellabahs smoking hookahs, and erotic, iith kohl-eyed women hidden behind veils. This clih6 is what visitors still expect of Marrakech. air, the medina must look just like an earth-
ä§ääst-a knot of narrow pink lanes circumscribed eight kilometers of 12th-century ramparts. On the round, it is no less dense. The epicenter is the Jemaa Fnaa-the Times Square of Marrakech. Except the ple seem more peculiar. A man with a face like a ied date circles an egg around a girl's head. Behind
im sits another fortune teller melting lead. Children to catch soda bottles with a hook and bamboo rod. family sits with a scribe. There are snake charmers nd monkeys on chains. Smoke rises from steaming escargots; lambs'brains are laid out in neat little rows. There are castanets, tambourines, mobile phones; and there is shrieking laughter.There are storytellers, acro-
To be in the world,'s largest oasis with those mountains, it's so tlteatrical. Throw in the palm trees and, it looks like a. stage set. These portents ofsophistication are not confined to the ciry proper. In the High Adas Mountains, an hour's drive from Marrakech, Kasbahs, or old fortified castles, are being turned into luxury hotels. British entrepreneur Richard Branson is renovating Kasbah Tamadot, rhe former home of California-based antiques dealer Luciano Tempo. It's a breathtaking place, overlooking the Asni Valley, thick with wildflowers, orchards, and ilirrurring pools in hidden courryards. Farther into the lunterland, Bill Willis is converting Kasbah Agadir N'Gouf.And there's Kasbah Agafay, a new all-suite hotel converted from a 150-year-o1d hilltop fort 20 minutes outside the ciry. It is a trend inspired by Amanresorts' Amanjena (opened last February), where the suites are like fieftloms, the pools like lakes, the hotel the ultimate S800-a-night symboi of the new chic of Marrakech. "Marrakech gives quality of 1iß," says Farid Belkahia. We are sitting in the artist's villa, stuffed with books, painrings, and antiques. "But it's also a place people visit for a reason-spiritual, intellectual, cultural. It makes
rvriters and artists inquisitive. The trouble is that the Occident doesnt necessarily understand it. They don't kind of spirituality in their own countries.They come here to try to listen, but this indicates to me that there are some problems in the Occident, that there is something missing." His wife, author Rajae Benchemsi. cuts in: "They just want a hit of Orientalism." When'W'estern travelers of the 19th century spoke have this
belly dancers in drag performing wherever a pool of space forms in the evening crowd. Flanking the Jemaa el Fnaa are the most heavily trafficked souks.There are no cars (itt too tight), only mules and carts. Sun slices through the oleander awnings, through skeins of fuchsia, saffron, and indigo cottons hung out by dyers in the early morning. Artisans work in hovels, chipping at tiles. Each trade-tanners, leatherworkers, metalworkers, slipper-makers-keeps to its own quarter, infused with a defining scent: rotting carcasses, burning metal. Except for the absent veils (this is a progressive Islamic state), it is still a Delacroix canvas.There is nothing familiar-I saw only a single pair bats, and male
of babouches (Moroccan slippers) with the fakeVuitton monogram-and there are no advertising billboards. Globalization runs out of momentum in Marrakech. "Moroccans are proud and have a very ancient culture. They're open-minded to what comes in from ouside, as long as it fits in with the local philosophy," says Mohamed Bouskri, aVIP guide for the last 32 years. "There is neither systematic rejection nor acceptance of new ideas.This is because we're African-Mediterranean and Muslim by religion.'We are a mosaic of different cultures with a history of filtering influences. The Jewish The ambiance at Dar Moha Almadina (opposite) is as inviting as
the cuisine. Here Swiss-trained chef Moha Fedal serves Moroccan basics prepared with less fat, fewer olives, and delicate spices.
Mellah and Royal Palace are back to back, despite our king being the highest representative of the Islamic faith. And Club Med is next to the Koutoubia Mosque." "There seems to be some real cultural elasticiry here," says Gary Martin, an American ethnobotanist living in the ciry. "There's an abiliry to deai with the introduction of new cultural pressures. They're able to absorb it. This is why Marrakech retains its own identiry." Visitors seeking their hit of Orientalism will be satiated; it is the familiar that eludes you, not the mys-
%
?
3{
T
\ *
tique.Yet most of the tourists coming through Marrakech touch only the surface-certain sights, certain
*.4 .."
xt
qb
tt-t)
t !-
,rga, -*'
6-' -체
,t
tt
/
/
ofthe 16th-century royal palace,Yves Saint Laurent's spectacularly renovated Majorelle Gardens, the metalworkers'souk.This, however, is no longer enough for the increasing number of more discerning visitors who want to go beyond the picturesque. And beyond the obvious, from Berber Picassos (the carpet weavers) to that inevitable story about a grand vizier and his 25 concubines that trips ofi-the tongue ofevery guide at the Bahia Palace. This trivialiry has become Martint bugbear. IdentifiTing the demand for a more sophisticated cultural experience, he recently launched Diversity Excursions, an organization specializing in custom tours accompanied by Moroccan academics, from garden historians to archaeologists. Says Martin, "Its purpose is to plunge deeper into the things that everyone else sees, and things that they don't even get near."
I/
places: the ruins
I'm floating
above Marrakech
in
a hot-air balloon.
I
can see the Atlas Mountains rising dramatically out of the plain, and the Palmeraie, with its patches of green, stretching out from the pink w채rren of the bustling ciry.
Camels are strung out along the northern walls; the gates
into the rnedina are jammed. I try to peer into the gardens of the private villas.They're too far below, a flock of goats becorning a string of ants on a sere hi11. I am reminded of Willis: "To be in the world's largest oasis rvith those mountains in the distance, itt so theatrical. Throw in the silhouette of the palm trees and it looks like
a corny stage set." Better. Better by far. Because Marrakech is a ciry that understands the value of privacy, epitonrized in the medinat architecture with its courtyard gardens and high, windowless walls. I wonder then if it'.s this subtlery the sense of understatement, that makes Marrakech the sophisticate ofAfrica. D Sopt-rv Rorr.trrs IS DE?,4RTtrREs' cONTRIBUTTNG El)tTOll FoR Eunopp..
t67