Introducing a new monthly column, novelist and screenwriter Anthony Horowitz tells of his love affair with the Moroccan city that has both beauty and character.
I love Marrakesh. I’ve been five or six times and every time I arrive I find it hard to believe that I’m just three and a bit hours from Gatwick. Even the drive from the airport is thrilling… a herd of camels parked underneath a palm tree, the great ramparts of the city dating back to the 12th century, February sunshine and a dazzling blue sky with the Atlas Mountains astonishingly clear in the far distance.
And then you plunge through one of the gateways and the noise, the colours and the smells simply swallow you whole. There are donkeys pulling carts of bananas, tourists in calèches (horse-drawn carriages), young Arab men weaving past on motorised deathtraps. And all this before you’ve seen the snake charmers, the monkeys and the fortune tellers at the Djemaa el Fna – the main square. This is not just another country, it’s another continent and there really is nowhere else that’s so far away and so near at the same time.
I was here to interview the actor Rupert Everett as part of the fifth Marrakesh Biennale, an arts festival that sprawls across the city and well beyond with installations in ruined palaces, empty office buildings, museums, courtyards… even in some of the taxis.
The artworks ranged from the weird to the occasionally not quite wonderful but you can’t fault the enthusiasm of the young people – local and international – who get involved. A high point for me was a 60-metre boat, made of wicker, built on top of a hill at La Pause, out in the desert. It was constructed by the Ukrainian artist Alexander Ponomarev and it certainly wasn’t something you see every day. In fact, as I stood there eating strawberries on a tent-covered slope with 200 people and a helicopter buzzing overhead, I felt like an extra in a Fellini film.
What to do in Marrakesh? Just follow your nose and you can’t go wrong. I visited the wonderful El Badi Palace which is simply incomparable (it’s what the name means). It’s also vaguely apocalyptic with its dungeons, its vast open spaces and single palm tree. Storks nest on the walls and it’s wonderful to watch them soaring overhead.
I looked into the very lovely Ben Youssef Medersa – or religious school – and tried to imagine what it would be like to be an Islamic student, sitting in my austere cell with its tiny window gazing out at the elaborate stucco and beautiful zellij tiles. The Yves Saint Laurent gardens were closed but I have to mention them because I’ve been before and they’re so gorgeous and peaceful with shades of blue you’ve never seen before.
And, of course, I went to the souk. It’s hard to believe there are so many thousands of things that you don’t really want but which you’ll probably buy: slippers, tiles, candlesticks, chessboards, mirrors, masks, daggers, lamps, all tumbling over each other in a maze of covered walkways with the sun finding its way through and searing the shadows.
The shopkeepers are a lot less aggressive than they used to be and you can walk without being pestered but you still need to bargain and I’m afraid I’m no good at all. If that nice man (“your friend”) wants 500 dirhams for an ornate box, then surely the box, which I can use to keep my other boxes in, must be worth it. But when, after much pleading and gnashing of teeth, I walk away with it for 300 dirhams, am I happy? Not a bit of it. I’m worried that I’ve ripped off the shopkeeper who needed the extra £15 far more than I do.
And I’m even more worried that I’m the one who’s been ripped off because if he’s accepted 300 dirhams for the b----- thing it must be worth half that amount and was probably made in China.
Where to stay? I’d recommend the Royal Mansour Hotel because it is insanely, jaw-droppingly beautiful and luxurious and they poured large quantities of champagne into me when I visited one night. But I’m not sure you’d thank me, as rooms start at around £900 a night. They kindly put Rupert Everett up and he said he felt like Saddam Hussein. But you really don’t need to lash out this sort of cash as Marrakesh has dozens of well-priced riads – houses built around gardens or courtyards.
The Royal Mansour Hotel
I stayed at the utterly charming Riad El Fenn which is tucked just inside the walls, close to the Luxor Gate. This is a hotel like no other. For a start, every room is different. Mine had turquoise walls, a silver mirror above the bed, a carved wooden ceiling (triple height), a stone bath, fresh roses and, of course, one of those Moroccan doors within a door that are somehow always so romantic. The riad has loads of courtyards and plunge pools, so you’ll always find somewhere shaded and quiet to sit, and the rooftop with its sofas, sunbeds and terracotta pots is one of the loveliest spots in Marrakesh. Breakfast is unforgettable. All the food is delicious. Just be careful not to step on one of the tortoises.
Sadly, I feel obliged to mention that the two English owners are friends of mine (no discount, though) so you may choose to take that last paragraph with a pinch of quekoum. But if you are going to read these monthly columns of mine, be assured that I will never lie to you. My aim is to share the pleasures and the pains of international travel. Marrakesh was a pleasure all the way.
Buy on Amazon