Remember when your mother used to tell you that it's what's inside, not what's outside that counts? Lying by the vermillion-coloured pool at the Murano Oriental Resort one bright but chilly day last December, watching the waiters ferry cocktails from the sunken garden bar to a group of garrulous Italians bravely tanning on the far side of the pool, it suddenly strikes you that as a city, Marrakech the Red has taken those words to heart.
Red not for the colour of its politics, which are as royalist today as ever, but for the delicate tint of its mud walls, its ochre ramparts and salmon-coloured minarets, Marrakech is a labyrinth of narrow, winding alleyways, arcaded passages, decorative stucco doorways and flashes of zellij-tiled exuberance. Spectacular from without, it is in the city's inner world of palaces, private homes and courtyard gardens that the real enchantment lies.
Take the Saadian Tombs. Reached by a bland, claustrophobic passageway to the right of the Kasbah Mosque, the mausoleums of the dynasty that made Marrakech mighty hide their splendour well.
At first, the site seems little more than a walled pleasure garden and a simple one at that. A few paths, some knee-high hedges of rosemary and the occasional orange, fig or palm tree. You barely even notice the tombs.
Then, subtly, your gaze is drawn to a monumental marble doorway slathered in dainty stuccowork. It leads to a room elegantly decorated in zellij work, the tiny tiles so intimately associated with Morocco. A carved cedar ceiling reproduces the geometric floral patterns of the tiles in wood above and is supported by elaborately adorned pillars and arches. Several modest tombs lie within, including the sepulchre of Sultan Mohammad El Sheikh, founder of the Saadian Dynasty. Well, most of him anyway. The sultan's head ended up in Istanbul following its removal by the Turkish assassins sent to end his reign.
Impressive as this mausoleum is, it pales into insignificance beside that of its neighbour, Sultan Ahmad Al Mansour. A wonderland of zellij, marble and stucco, of columns, arches and stalactite carvings, not a single centimetre remains unadorned and the walls still bear faint traces of the colourful pigment and gold dust in which they were once painted.
Marrakech's many riads, the courtyard homes built by its wealthy merchant class, also hide their treasures well. As a result of the tourism boom of the last decade, dozens of these elegant old homes have been transformed into boutique hotels, art galleries, bars and restaurants, lending Marrakech its reputation as a bastion of Hip. The frosting on this cake is Marrakech's highly-respected International Film Festival, which makes it possible once a year to shop next to Catherine Deneuve, eavesdrop on Parker Posey at the oh-so-colonial Grand Café de la Poste in the new city or glimpse Leonardo Di as he and his burly entourage attempt unsuccessfully to slip unnoticed into the souk.
Unassuming, even a little decrepit from the outside, the riads come in all shapes and sizes, from Orientalist fantasies and Modern Berber to Manhattan Kitsch and Contemporary Cool. Most have courtyard fountains, many have a small rooftop pool or an in-house hammam and several are known for their award-winning cuisine. Stylish and intimate, they provide precisely the kind of experience most foreign visitors come to the city to sample; traditional upper-class Moroccan domesticity.
Of course, not everyone wants to live like a merchant, no matter how princely the pad and however opulent, the riads are all rather small since space is at a premium inside city walls, so the larger hotels have chosen to locate themselves further to the north. Here in the more rational streets of Gueliz or the Hivernage, old colonial neighbourhoods built by the French, you will find the big international chains. A little bit further on, in heart of the Palmeraie, the palm grove that once surrounded the city, you'll find Marrakech's most luxurious resorts; the Palais Rhoul, the Amanjena and last year's hot ticket, the Villa des Orangiers.
And here too, you will find the Murano, five villas set in four acres of lush gardens and probably the most 'boutique' of the bigger hotels. It is not the place to stay if you are looking for some old city charm, the Murano is about as far removed from the riad experience as it is possible to get, but spot-on if, like the Atlas, you like your glamour quotient High.
Modern but in a very Marrakchi way, the graceful arches, elegantly carved wood panels and liberal use of red (cushions, tablecloths, and of course that swimming pool) clearly reference the city's heritage but the décor and furnishings are very contemporary.
Lavishly carved wooden wall and ceiling panels, similar to those found in the old city palaces, are painted either black or white, a simple act that transforms something traditional into something much more up-to-date and creating a spare, monochromatic interior which makes the perfect stage-set for some of the hotel's more dramatic fixtures (and no, I don't mean the guests) like the massive, milky chandelier hanging in the lounge area, the room-length leather sofas or the crimson felt armchairs in the restaurant.
The drama continues in the capacious rooms, which come complete with a fireplace – this only appears excessive if you don't visit in winter, when the night-time temperature hovers a few degrees above freezing. The beds are country-sized, at least large enough to sleep an entire football team and are so unbelievably soft that getting out of them (even if you are alone) can be very, very difficult.
Rooms and gardens are liberally sprinkled with an array of high-tech goodies, from plasma screen televisions and DVD players to wireless hot-spots and hidden speakers playing an entrancing combination of souped-up Big Band, 1950s classics, 1970s Soft Rock, Gregorian chant, the odd Chanson, some West African Pop and a liberal sprinkling of Lounge, specially mixed at the Murano's sister hotel in Paris.
Add to all this sumptuous food, seamless service and the blissful calm of the gardens and you may well be tempted to spend your entire trip wandering contentedly from bedroom to breakfast to swimming pool (each villa also has its own) to lunch to, well, you get the drift.
If I have one complaint, it is that the Murano is difficult to drag yourself away from and I fear that once the in-house spa opens next spring, it will be almost impossible to find a the will to leave.
At some point, however, you should attempt to sample Marrakech's other attractions. The sprawling orchards and tranquil pools of the Menara Gardens, for example, where a Saadian prince built a pavilion to pursue his amorous adventures. The Jardins Majorelle, a riot of exotic species planted by a French water-colourist in the 1920s and nursed back to life by current owners Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé. Or the Bahia Palace, the Kotoubia Mosque, the sprawling ruins of the El Badi Palace, the Ben Youssef Madrassa, the Dar si Said Museum, the Hammam Sidi Mansour, the boutiques in the new city or the daytrips into the High Atlas.
With so much to do, you may have trouble deciding where to start. Where you should end is much simpler; Marrakech's (in)famous souks, which sell everything from doorknobs and Berber dolls to slippers and scented tobaccos. All the tourists come here but the locals do too, so the "I (heart) Marrakech" t-shirts and cuddly toy camels are tucked in next to stalls selling vegetables, sides of beef and piles of household gadgets made in China.
It's a bewildering place so rather than worry where you are going, leave navigation to the crowd, for if you follow the flow, you are certain to end up, at least once, at the Djema al-Fnaa.
This huge piazza, part market, part food court, part circus, is the beating heart of the old city. It draws country folk and entertainers from all over North Africa, who come here to trade, to entertain or simply to pass the time. One of Morocco's most storied tourist traps, it is the haunt of street performers, storytellers, palm-readers and snake oil vendors, all out to fleece foreigner and farm boy alike. It's also enchanting, especially at sunset.
As the sky turns the same shade as the city's walls and the muezzin call the faithful to prayer, the babble of a million voices mingles with the aroma of cooking food, wafting even the most cynical traveller (temporarily) to the heavens.
Later, as you nurse a Martini from the comfort of the long white leather sofa in front of the roaring fire at the Murano, you will reconsider your moment by the vermillion pool. It is true that in Marrakech, what lies inside is fascinating but sometimes (sorry, Maman) what lies outside can be every bit as compelling.
Contact
Murano Oriental Resort
Marrakech, Morocco
Tel +212 024 32 70 00
HYPERLINK "http://www.muranoresort.com" www.muranoresort.com
