Marrakech: and a tale of a beautiful Moroccan courtyard house (riad) for sale

I met her years ago.  I'm not even sure how.  But I remember thinking light poured from her.  She collected heart stones and was connected to the universe. 

She was (and is) Swedish -- as many beautiful things are.

She had a little and perfect Moroccan vacation home in Marrakech.  I wrote about it here.  Oh. It's now for sale.  Perhaps it should be yours?

It has a courtyard at its center...

with lovely features...

and glamorous light fixtures & nooks in the living & dining room.

The prettiest stairs...

lead up to  just two bedrooms -- each as pure as a Christmas tale (and overlooking the courtyard below).

Amazing & elaborate sculpted crown molding everywhere.  And even...calligraphy!

Further up still....a terrace!

and a private outdoor shower (to complement the 2 full baths inside, of course).

1100 square feet, less than 200,000 dollars.  In the heart of the Marrakech medina.  Perfectly renovated and furnished.  Can we be neighbors?  

If you would like to see it or have more information, drop me a line at moroccanmaryam(at)yahoo.com.

PS Did you know that this darling house is in my book, Marrakesh by Design?  Yes, I love it that much.  A detail shot is even on the book cover!

PPS If you like this blog post, take a peek at my Pinterest boards.  I have one on Moroccan design.

PPPS Did you hear that Marrakech won Africa's leading destination for 2012 in the World Travel Awards? Check it out here.  I am as proud as a Moroccan Auntie. 

Mirleft Morocco: and a birthday tale for my son, Tristan

My husband hadn't wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl.  And so after the sonogram, the Nepali doctor, his eyes unblinking, had solemnly handed me a little piece of folded paper.  On it in lower case letters was simply written the word, boy.   

I had been brought up by feminist parents.  I was prepared for a girl.  I knew just how I might raise a girl.  But a boy?  Well, that was something altogether different.  Now that was likely to be tricky.  

Tristan was a tiny baby with delicate features.  He didn't have rolls or dimples or pudgy fingers like the other babies.  Seeing my furrowed brow, the doctor had told me to massage his limbs every day to encourage growth.  And I did, with the vigor and determination of a first time mother.  

Tristan grew and grew and grew.  And now he is, well, big.  He woke me up early this morning by whispering in my ear that he was a teenager.  Oh.  

Dear Tristan, Happy Birthday.  May you continue to be kind and funny and brave, and well, sort of amazing. May you continue to set up impromptu chemistry labs to test out your theories (even though they make a mess). May you continue to eschew linear thinking in favor of free association -- like a firecracker display flashing in every direction.  And may you continue to create crazy personas with Southern drawls and gangster attitudes.    

If I could make a special request that you also continue to dance with your mother by the side of the road for absolutely no reason, no reason at all.  

I'm so glad that that folded piece of paper said, boy.  I wouldn't have had it any other way.

PS Images by the very talented Delphine Warin.

Mirleft: and a tale of a drenching

We told them we were going out and they looked at us, their eyes disapproving.  It might rain, the ten year old said.  It had rained the night before and the morning had been thick with fog.  But the sky had cleared, and optimistic, we set off in our sneakers, the three of us.  It was an hour's walk down the mountain at a brisk pace.   We made exuberant comments about the few patches of blue sky.  

There were random moments of dancing on the way down.

We didn't say anything, no we didn't say anything when the sky clouded over, ominous.

And then the first drops fell when we were far away, still far away, from the town.  We smiled at each other brightly.  We said it would pass.  

It didn't pass and there was no one, no one on the road.  We shivered in our shorts and our summer dresses.  We ran shrieking and laughing down the mountain in the pouring rain. My 12 year old son put his fist in the air and shouted, YOLO.  What's YOLO, I asked?  He replied, You Only Live Once.  

 We pulled our shawls over our heads.  Suddenly, suddenly we looked just like Berber girls.   

Our teeth chattering, our feet covered in red mud, we finally arrived at the bottom of the mountain.  In their four wheel drive, they met us there.  Her hair fluffy, her clothes dry, the ten year old looked at us, embarassed.  

Drenched, yes drenched.  But then again, YOLO.

Images by Delphine Warin.

Marrakech: and a tale of night life or where to have a drink in Marrakech

Dear friends,

It's my birthday today.   I'm going to celebrate with friends later this week.  But for now, I thought I'd share a few images from recent evenings in my hometown: at So (sponsored by the darling girls at Madame à Marrakech) and at Bo & Zin.  These are good places to have a drink & listen to music if you're in Marrakech. 

So Night Lounge
Rue Haroun Errachid,
Hivernage. Marrakech

+212 656 515 009

Bo & Zin

3.5 Km, Route de l'Ourika

Marrakech

+212 (0) 524 388 012

xo

Maryam

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