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During the last newsletter I anticipated that this, the subsequent newsletter, would be exclusively devoted to the arrival of the fantastic new Aston Martin DB9 car, but having only just been launched, we have another couple of weeks to look forward to its arrival as it is to be delivered via the London dealer though it is already constructed and happily sitting in the Gaydon factory just half an hour down the road!
The resident black Labrador helped us with lunch and afterwards we took a leisurely drive over the Kirkstone Pass to Ullswater. We were soon at Sharrow, now in the ownership of the Von Essen group of hotels, and already benefiting from some refurbishment, particularly at Bank House where several bedrooms have been improved. However, for a change we chose to stay at the main hotel, in 'Marion', a lovely bedroom overlooking the lake and distant mountains.
That's Hallin Fell in the far centre of the 'blue' photo, as dusk approached, by which time I had already walked all the way around it and up too! The trees were all just coming in to leaf and the fells were alive with the new born lambs and hardy Herdwick sheep that graze the Cumbrian hills. Walking the surrounding fells is a great way to build up an appetite for the famous Sharrow evening meal, as good as ever, and I managed a reasonable morning run too, to justify the porridge and full fry up for breakfast.
Journeying back home, we called for coffee at Storrs Hall by Bowness on Windermere whose facilities we have used many a time over the last 25 years, when we used to waterski from the hotel jetty and more recently, after it's refurbishment five years ago, spent Christmas there when we invited some friends to join us, all flying up from Spain by private jet to Blackpool, where a helicopter then ferried us in minutes on to the hotel lawn. Well, Dennis has always insisted on travelling first class! We have been curious about visiting Marrakech, having heard some interesting reports on the city and more recently reading about some fabulous new 'Riads' that have been opening in the old 'Medina' , offering guests the experience of living in luxury, amidst the mayhem of the ancient walled souks of the town, a myriad of endless passages and alleyways, where a door in a wall could be concealing anything from a bakery, carpet maker, a World renowned restaurant or local Arab's meagre home. We 'played it safe' by choosing to stay in the famous 'La Mamounia' hotel by the entrance to the old town (Medina) which has become a bit of an institution over the years, famously being the Winter residence of Sir Winston Churchill. Built over 75 years ago to a traditional Moroccan style with Art Deco furnishings, it sits amongst 30 acres of lush tropical gardens and is an oasis of luxury. So, extracting all necessary info from the internet, we booked a flight with British Airways from Heathrow, and last Tuesday took the afternoon flight there, armed with a list of recommended restaurants and various hotels to drop by on for future reference. What a fascinating few days it turned out to be! We landed at dusk and were met by the hotel's driver to take us the short journey to 'La Mamounia', located just within the ancient walls of the town of Marrakech. The surrounding countryside was flat and cultivated with orange and olive trees, but the Atlas mountains dominated the near distant skyline. The hotel has become a landmark over the last century, offering every luxury. The bedroom suites were very comfortable, ours overlooking the gardens and distant medina, with large private terrace from the lounge, and marbled bathroom complete with Jacuzzi and power shower. The interior was a quirky mix of art deco and traditional Moroccan architecture, most pronounced on the ground floor where a beautiful open arched square terrace with fountain led to the principal restaurant.
The gardens were extensive and immaculate, the borders a mass of colour with the old towering palms and jacaranda trees shading the lawns. We had a leisurely breakfast the following morning outside by the pool, accompanied by the sparrows picking up all the crumbs. We were woken before dawn by the wailing from the nearby mosque, calling for the first prayers of the day, followed shortly afterwards by the chorus of birdsong from the garden as the sun rose. We wondered how the storks suffered the noise from the megaphones, their large nest of twigs balanced precariously on the top of the mosque tower, surrounded by four large speakers! We had a busy day planned, and so abandoned the poolside sunbeds in favour of an exploration of the town. First on the itinerary was a visit to 'Amanjena', a new addition to Marrakech's list of top hotels. During our stay two years ago in The Far East we became 'Aman-junkies', (as they call their faithful guests) after visiting Amanpuri, Amandari and Amankila, in Thailand and Bali. Each location was outstanding and the atmosphere was of total calm in absolute luxury. Unlike conventional hotels, guests enjoyed their own private villas complete with pools, hidden away in tropical gardens or by the beach. So, having negotiated a return rate with the taxi driver, we headed off away from the town looking forward to a tour of 'Amanjena' , their only European hotel. Located six miles on the outskirts of town, the place lacked 'location'. However, once inside their walled domain, the atmosphere was completely different. It is a place to escape from the outside World, I suppose, where everything is calm and unhurried, where the guests are to be pampered, or just enjoy their total seclusion. The photo below illustrates a typical 'maison' suite, complete with living area, two bedrooms and pool.
The complex was primarily built on one level, surrounded by a central irrigation pool creating the feeling of a desert oasis. The calming sound of trickling water from the numerous fountains and rills, scattered with rose petals, was ever present. Curtained alcoves opened on to plush cushioned salons, ideal for relaxing and perhaps reading a book. The spas are a particular feature of the Aman hotels, the Amanjena being no exception, offering Turkish baths, and a complete menu of beauty treatment. The hotel seemed deserted but we were informed they were actually fully booked. They are now taking reservations for Christmas 2005! (and that's with 'maison' suites starting at $2,800.00 per night!) Our taxi driver had waited patiently for us (after all, we hadn't yet paid!) and we asked him to return us to the centre of the medina, to the famous market square of Djemaa El Fna, from where we could explore the souks along the maze of ancient narrow streets and alleyways. As the taxi pulled up our door was opened by an English speaking Arab who flashed us his card proving him to be an official guide, and whisked us in the direction of the souk market for a whirlwind tour. (whether we liked to or not!) Cost was to be 60 dirhams, though that had risen to 300 when he deposited us by a cash machine two hours later! It was money well spent: we couldn't have negotiated the myriad of alleys and markets without getting completely lost, and we didn't exactly fit in to the local scene of Arabs going about their daily life. Followed carefully by hundreds of pairs of eyes wherever we walked, they sussed the formal mustard coloured robe of our guide which prevented us from being hassled too much. After all, we were his 'property' for the morning and he would only introduce us to the street sellers offering him a good commission!! He walked at a brisk pace, his well practiced English patter educating us on local products on display. He told us to beware of pickpockets and I clung on to my video camera! Each alley was barely 10 feet wide, tiny stalls lining the sides displaying fruit and vegetables, colourful Moroccan ornaments or intricately woven carpets. Suddenly a passageway would open on to a large square with a market in full progress, as illustrated below.
Our guide told us that the Arabs in blue robes had travelled from the Sahara Desert with their fruit and spices to sell, and stayed in rooms above the square for 1 dirham a night. We thought better of telling him we were paying 10,000 times more than that for our suite in 'La Mamounia' each day! It was time, he decided, that we should contemplate parting with some of our money.'But we don't have any!' we said. 'Yes you have. It's in your right pocket!' he stated. We were taken through a door in to a house with big brick kiln where the local bread was baked. 'You take a photo and give him some money' I was informed. Next on the itinerary was a visit to one of the local 'big wigs' who lead us upstairs where women were kneeling in front of large looms, weaving carpets. Hundreds of completed rugs lined the walls. 'Sit down and I will bring you some tea' the owner instructed. He clapped his hands and a couple of young Arabs appeared, ready to unfold however many dozens of carpets it took to achieve a sale! 'They're all lovely, but we don't need any more carpets' we tried to explain. 'But price is very good' the owner exclaimed. 'It's not about price…we buy what we want, and we don't want any more carpets!' we protested. 'Tell me what you want to pay for beautiful rug. We don't use child labour like Pakistan!' Well, we resisted getting in to a bartering situation, and so the offer of tea was swiftly withdrawn and we asked the guide to move us on to the next venue, followed out by the owner still trying to draw us in to a bartering match! We had been informed that the final price could be anything as little as a quarter of the starting figure where negotiating a price for anything was concerned. It was time for a consultation with the local pharmacist. The old Arab men, sitting quietly by the door looked knowingly at us and our guide as we entered. 'Another likely pair of tourists ready to be ripped off!!' The guide ushered us in to a small room as the young assistant entered and drew the net curtain across for privacy. He stood at the counter complete with bottles of potions offering a cure for anything from constipation to impotency. Informing him that we had no ailments as he ran down his carefully practiced list of diseases, as a last resort he decided we both needed a neck massage, with a secret healing lotion which we suspected to be cooking oil! His side-kick appeared through the curtains and asked us to remove our shirts and commenced the 'healing process'. We realised we were not going to escape without being relieved of some money, and so purchased a bottle of 'cooking oil' and gave the masseur a few dirhams for his 'healing hands'.which also covered the cost of taking a photo!
There's 'Lawrence of Arabia' our guide, on the bottom right photo, introducing us to a restaurant for lunch. We weren't his best clients, once again declining the invitation! The photo bottom left was our next port of call, an alladin's cave of shiny Moroccan trinkets, hanging lights and porcelain. We showed much enthusiasm for the owner's wares as he escorted us around the three floors, but tried to explain that beautiful though everything was, nothing would fit in at home with our traditional English antique furniture. Not to give up, he pulled down a lamp I had given a second glance to, and asked how much I wanted to pay for it. As I didn't want it, I didn't even commence a bartering war, and so he suggested £100, falling immediately to £80, and as we walked off, £50! 'Lawrence' by now realised we were not going to earn him too much commission that morning, and it was time to complete the tour and return us to our starting post. We still had one other request before departing company and asked him if he knew the location of 'Riad Farnatchi', a newly opened boutique hotel within the old medina. He wasn't aware of the establishment but knew the road of the same name, and so hailed a taxi for us and told him the directions. As mentioned earlier, Lawrence's tariff for the morning had jumped five fold to 300 dirhams, but it was money well spent and an unforgettable experience for us. We squeezed in to the battered old Peugeot 205, complete with buckled rear wheel that violently rocked the car as the driver juggled between the donkeys and carts, mopeds and hoards of locals down through another maze of narrow streets. They became narrower and narrower as he asked for directions to this riad. He finally abandoned us and pointed down a side alley. He said he would wait for us, particularly as we were yet to pay him! We had no idea where the 'Riad Farnatchi' was, but a group of children pointed us to a large arched wooden door with bell and spy hole. We knocked and it quickly opened, the man ushering off the street, the door separating two contrasting worlds as we left the mayhem of the medina and entered a luxurious oasis of calm. Lynn the English Manageress appeared and warmly welcomed us to 'Farnatchi'. We had already been in touch by phone a few days before when we asked whether it would be O.K. to call and be shown around. She had also been very helpful in sending me by e-mail a useful guide to some of the better restaurants in town, which helped us choose our night time venues. The hotel, with just five private suites, offered the perfect combination of complete luxury and privacy incorporated in to the character of a traditional Moroccan home (riad). We walked through the terracotta tiled entrance that opened on to an inner open courtyard whose upper verandas looked down to the reflection pool and orange trees below. Fully restored originally as a private home for the owner from three riads dating back 400 years, this hotel now offers the most ideal exotic location for a private party of 10 guests, and Lynn was more than enthusiastic to make her guests' stay memorable, with her local knowledge of the country and willing to organise treks to the nearby Atlas mountains. My photo below shows the courtyard, but their own website far better illustrates the hotel, to be found at www.riadfarnatchi.com
Glad to find our driver still waiting for us, we returned to our hotel for a serious bout of relaxed sunbathing for the afternoon and recharge our batteries for another excursion in to the medina at dusk to experience the famous twilight gathering of entertainers at the huge market square of Djemaa El Fna. Was it just 24 hours ago that we were heading down the M25 in driving rain for Heathrow airport?! Five o'clock and again with the wailing from the tower of the mosque, for us that was the calling not for prayer, but to get up to the market square and soak up the atmosphere as the sun set over the Atlas mountains. Again clutching video camera and totally unable to blend in amongst the locals, we arrived armed with a pocket full of coins to reward the opportunistic Arabs. The market square was alive with colour, movement, smells, and noise. It was a heaving mass of open air stalls selling fresh orange juice, nuts, dates, or cooking sheep's heads. There were story tellers, belly dancers, fortune tellers, henna ladies, astrologers, musicians, acrobats and snake charmers. Wherever we paused to take in the scene or make a photograph, we were immediately approached for financial reward; after all it was not to be a free show for us visitors, feeling slightly voyeuristic in experiencing and witnessing a taste of traditional Moroccan everyday life.
The snake charmers played their loud pipes, encouraging the rattle snakes to rise from their baskets whilst loud drums beat as young acrobats leapt across the square. Smoke bellowed from the rows of improvised foodstalls, where snails and sheeps heads boiled away. We took a breather up on a raised terraced bar for a bottle of coca cola, surveying life in full swing below. As the sun went down it was time to prepare for dinner, our chosen venue being 'Le Comptoir', in the new quarter of town and currently one of the more fashionable places to be. The revue from 'Farnatchi' recommended diners to forget the pre-dinner drink in the courtyard as one is expected to get down on the scatter cushions at floor level. We wish we'd taken their advice! The tradition is to live by candle light in the evening, which made the menu rather difficult to see, and I nearly ended up setting fire to it as I held the dripping candle over the page to see what was on offer! Dennis enjoyed his local soup and steak but my starter, though looking like some sushi dish from the renowned 'Nobu', tasted nothing like, and it is most unlike me to struggle with my food, though the main course was better. We tend to rate restaurants primarily on food rather than fashion and 'the' place to be, so 'Le Comptoir' didn't rate too highly for us. The following day was again bathed in glorious sun and so after recent adventures we decided to enjoy the afternoon by the pool and start our tans for the summer. However, we still had another hotel to visit first and so in the morning headed off on foot in search of 'Villa Des Orangers', a Relais & Chateaux riad just up the road from us. We expected the hotel to stand out from the surrounding environs but were soon lost and even when told that it was in sight, it still remained elusive. We should have realised that, like 'Farnatchi', it's entrance would be a discreet door in a wall, which it was, next to a bicycle and car repair shop. The tiny entrance lined with rose petals led to a lovely cool open courtyard shaded with mature orange trees, with open swimming pool and terrace beyond. It was yet another calm sanctum from the hustle and bustle outside. Well, after a rejuvenating afternoon on sunbeds and regular dips in the pool at La Mamounia, we once again ventured up to the market square for the early evening spectacle of music, dance, and entertainment. We were looking forward to the evening meal at the famous 'Yacout' restaurant, arguably Marrakech's finest, and it didn't disappoint. The taxi ride was again eventful, the tiny alleyway leading to the old riad of Yacout lined by inquisitive locals observing us tourists who could only be heading to one place. The driver promised to wait all night for us as we were ushered towards an old studded wooden door hidden down a dark passage. Hundreds of candles lit our way through the beautiful old house; a warren of rooms, some clad in old mosaic tiles with rooms opening on to double height courtyards with a fire burning in the corner. We were taken up to the roof to observe the skyline of the medina and then sat for a pre dinner drink by local musicians playing their lutes. Dinner was to be a traditional banquet and we were led to our oversized table tucked away in the corner of a grand domed dining room, embellished with Moroccan antique artefacts. The waiters were slick and well spoken, bringing a succession of tasty starters. We counted eleven in all, each a vegetable, marinated to give a combination of flavours, helped down by an endless carafe of local white wine and fresh bread. After a brief pause a whole chicken was delivered and carved at the table, cooked in lemon with olives. We did our best to do it justice, knowing that a plate of lamb was to follow! Thankfully it wasn't a whole lamb, and we declined the cous cous that was supposed to follow! Desert was delivered on a plate a couple of feet across, a flaky light pastry covered in a melted cream. We were thankful that we skipped lunch. It was a perfect feast in the most exotic of settings and an evening to remember. We returned to England on Friday morning, and I am typing this newsletter over the weekend whilst the trip is still fresh in my mind. Well it was certainly an education, and a complete contrast to the usual holiday flight down to Spain. As Lynn at Riad Farnatchi told us, Marrakech is a paradox, and looking at a dictionary it states that this means' A statement that seems absurd or self contradictory but may be true'. The place could fit many a description; to one person a paradise, to another a panoply of the senses, or for the jaded tourist a place inducing paranoia as he or she flees from the parasites and grabs for the paracetomol!! We loved our brief visit there and already have lots of new venues lined up to explore during our next trip there. Well, that concludes our news over the last month. That grass outside won't stop growing so I'd better get out and start the big cut once again. See you next month in the new Aston!! Colin & Dennis. |
