A riad is not exactly what you think it is. Or at least it’s not what I thought it was. I’ve always believed a riad to be a Moroccan house with an inner courtyard, but that’s a much less magical-sounding dar. A riad is a house with a courtyard too, but large enough to also have a garden in there. On a recent trip to Morocco I stayed in two dars masquerading as riads: Riad Joya and Riad l’Orangeraie; how close they are to a dar rather than a riad I’ll leave to the architects. To me a courtyard is a courtyard is a riad…and so on.
As soon as I entered the courtyard of Riad Joya, the street noise and bustle fell away as easily as shaking off the medina streets’ dust from my feet. I had left the chaos of ‘Miss Shakira Shakira’, ‘Lady Gaga nice price, nice price’, and ‘Come eat at our reem restaurant, TOWIE yes!?’ (HOW?!), and entered a place of calm. A central white fountain, filled with bright pink rose petals, a few stone plant pots and simple wrought iron furniture are all that was in the otherwise beautifully sparse courtyard. To truly appreciate the serene Riad Joya however, I should rewind back to the afternoon of my arrival.
Travelling along grand main road Avenue Houman el Fetouaki, usually populated by fast cars, motorbikes and tourists in horse-drawn carriages, my friend and I decided to walk instead; our suitcase wheels catching on the uneven pavement and my bright pink case a neon reminder of our tourist status. We had just walked through the Koutoubia Gardens, coming to life in the late afternoon’s faded heat, past young couples chatting chastely on benches, kittens trying to climb up scrawny tree trunks, and boys in football shirts kicking a ball among the mosque’s discarded brickwork. It felt lively but not frenetic and we made it all the way to the medina without getting lost, or feeling too frayed. Ah Marrakech, what magic, what promise! And then we got lost.
We were due to meet Riad Joya’s butler who would help us navigate the small streets to its exact location, but despite getting acquainted with the Jemma el Fna’s dried fruit and juice stands, snake charmers and rooftop cafes, we failed to find him. For 45 minutes we walked around the square and gradually got ourselves more and more hot and stressed, before eventually spotting him standing in what, with hindsight and tourist goggles off, was quite a good meeting point.
A cup of mint tea after our protracted medina meeting calmed the nerves perfectly. Riad Joya’s beautifully light Cornes de Gazelles, scented with orange flower, were the perfect accompaniment; a taster of the steady snack supply of fresh fruits, dates, pastries and water we enjoyed in our room. Just as well this wasn’t a beach holiday.
Each one of Riad Joya’s seven rooms is decorated according to a particular influence on the Moroccan culture, from traditional Berber to Byzantine. We stayed in the glamorous Ottoman room. While the gold velveteen chaise longues, curtains and gold-painted furniture of the bedroom were decadent enough, it was the bathroom – or the toiletries in the bathroom – that had the real wow factor: orange blossom body lotion, shampoo and conditioner, traditional Moroccan sandstone soap and Argan oil, all stocked in beautiful glass bottles and pots that looked and smelt fit for an Ottoman princess.
Breakfast was also fit for royalty – though perhaps a more heavyset noble – with a whole bowl of pomegranate seeds, fresh orange juice, nuts, jams and yoghurt, along with crepes, cake, pastries and traditional Moroccan bread. Not one for the carb-shy.
Even though curling up on Riad Joya’s slightly-too-short rooftop sunloungers, breathing in an apothecary of jasmine, rosemary and mint, seemed like the best way to spend the morning after our aforementioned breakfast, there was shopping to be done. And as any self-respecting visitor to Marrakech knows, it is a tourist’s obligation to get lost in the souks, haggle atrociously and come back with armfuls of tassels, spices, ceramics and lamps that will forever stay stored in the spare bedroom. My friend’s shopping list extended to anything pretty in silver, purple or turquoise. I wanted Moroccan leather cowboy boots, known as Kilim boots.
Like a magpie in a tin foil factory, Claire stopped at every stall. I meanwhile, like a magpie in a cling film factory, kept my head down and bypassed stall after stall, stopping only at ones selling boots. At one kilim stall we waited nearly 45 minutes while the vendor went away and came back with sack loads in different colours and patterns, (aside from the leather, the tops of the boots are made of kilim carpet), and sizes to fit my clumsy European feet. Like an ugly sister cramming the glass slipper onto her horse hoof, he could see he wasn’t going to make a sale and let me go without a fuss. I spent the rest of the day looking at boots that weren’t nearly as good as the first stall. With the double hit of shopping and never quite knowing where we were going all day, we were grateful that the second riad we were staying at was only a few minutes walk from Riad Joya.
Riad l’Orangeraie’s warm earthy, orange tones, which complemented the courtyard’s trees and resident tortoise, were a welcome respite to our tired selves. After a quick refresh in our new room – lit candles and scattered rose petals in the show-stopping bathroom were a beautiful touch, if a little amusing for my friend Claire and I – it was time to head back into Marrakech and have dinner at the Jemaa el-Fna. Once again we were subject to being called any western celebrity’s name under the North African sun, although sadly after the heights of Shakira the night before the best we were getting tonight was ‘Spice Girl!’.
The way to pick a food stall worth handing over your dirhams to is quite simple: go for the crowded ones. However, when every step you take is matched by an opportunistic vendor haranguing you in a mock cockney accent, it’s tempting to give in and sit down at the first available empty table. We did this on the first night and were duly disappointed, so held out on the next night for a good eating spot. Slow-cooked lamb or lamb mechoui is a Moroccan speciality and the good news is the stands are easy to spot, because not only are they busy but cooked lambs’ heads line the front of the stalls; for those of a squeamish disposition, that’s also the bad news. Thankfully we were seated at the back, a huge vat of stew immediately behind us, bashed kettles piled up against a tea urn to the side. It felt like I was eating in a sauna but the taste was worth it.
When we arrived back at the Riad l’Orangeraie the film Casablanca was being projected onto the wall above the plunge pool. No one was watching, but it added to the homely feel of the place. Its large lounge ideal for a Marrakechi nightcap: Moroccan whisky aka mint tea and take away pastries from Patisserie des Princes. The Riad serves complimentary hot drinks to guests whenever they want. Nothing says ‘assalamu alaikum’ like a pot of mint tea, and unlike some mint tea which is sweetened to the syrupy point of no return, the glasses I drank at Riad l’Orangeraie were the most refreshing out of any roof café or tea stand on my Marrakech trip.
By the end, I had successfully found a pair of boots that fit, eaten mouth-watering lamb mechoui and visited more than enough palaces, riads and gardens to satisfy my Moroccan fix. And so it is that on my last day I decide to stay at the Riad while Claire opts for one last dip in the souks. I could be slightly ashamed for swapping culture and a last tour of the city for sunbathing and swimming but I’m not because a) I have a childlike obsession with swimming pools b) my desperation at finding a pair of boots was so patently expressed in my face that when I finally found a pair that fit and I liked, I was no match for the vendor’s wiley haggling – and therefore left with nothing but a few pennies to buy a coke with.
After making the most of l’Orangeraie’s breakfast (served on its gorgeous rooftop garden): fresh juice, tea, hot chocolate, French bread, cake, fruit, and eggs cooked according to personal preference, I got down to the serious business of rooftop sunbathing. High up on top of the riad, it gave me the chance to observe Marrakechi life without being hassled to buy/try/eat something. The sounds of children on their way to school drifted upwards, as did the sporadic rattle of scooters weaving in and out the narrow alleys. Peering over the edge I spot an elderly man selling macaroons off a wooden tray, next to a handcart proffering round bread rolls stuffed with hard boiled eggs at breakfast time, and La vache qui rit cheese triangles at lunch…
Riad Joya, Hay Mouassine, Derb el Hamman 26/27, Marrakech 40000. Website.
Riad l’Orangeraie, 61 rue Sidi El Yamani, Mouassin, 4400 Marrakech Medina. Website.
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