Happy cause we're from Marrakech

The storyteller of Marrakech

Storytelling in Marrakech is a practice with ancient roots, thought to date back to the 11th Century. But has it been superseded by modern life? The Cafe de France in Marrakech is something of an institution. It is the oldest and most famous of the slightly louche establishments that surround the main square, the Jemaa el Fna. Dating back to the days of the French protectorate, it sometimes feels as if its decor and staff haven't changed since then either. 

Where To Stay In Marrakech

Anyone who’s been back to Marrakech after a several year absence would have difficulty recognizing the place. The winding alleyways of the medina are still there, with atmospheric riads hidden behind nondescript doors and stall after stall of silks, slippers, brass on sale. And in the center of it all, Jemaa el Fna, the main square inhabited by snake charmers, acrobats, sizzling kebab grills, boulevarding locals and mobs of tourists. 

What’s changed, however, is the hotel scene; it’s a veritable explosion with more coming on line all the time: Rocco Forte’s Assoufid, a Baglioni, a Mandarin Oriental, a W, a Park Hyatt, the Jawhar from Monaco’s Societie des Bains de Mer are all set to open over the next year. 

Marrakech, the hard way

It’s easy to fly to Morocco. Alternatively, one can get there by car, rail and sea Children saluting beside flags Saluting Gibraltar from the Upper Rock There is an obvious way for those living in the UK to take a family holiday in Marrakech: drive to Gatwick, hop on an easyJet flight and a few hours later you will be drinking mint tea in the Red City. Alternatively, you could put your three children in the back of the car, catch an overnight ferry to Santander, drive across Spain, dump the car on a clifftop road overlooking the Mediterranean, transfer your stuff into rucksacks, catch a boat to Tangiers and then the night train to Marrakech. We did the latter.

Morocco's bright lights: Romance, riads and arresting exoticism in the Red City

The Red City yanks you from the 21st century immediately. So much so, it seems impossible that my day began in gloomy London. I stand paralysed, ink from the map clutched in my hand imprinted on my fingers and the bedlam of Marrakech ringing in my ears.