Marrakesh

Marrakech for… The party animal

Weekend house parties at picturesque riads are currently the in-thing among the style cognoscenti. Since the 1920s, Marrakech has attracted an endless stream of artists, musicians and free thinkers. Yves Saint Laurent bought a second home here in the early Sixties, and soon Mick and Bianca Jagger were Morocco-bound along with the rest of Studio 54. Celebrities still adore the place and designers find constant inspiration here including Jean Paul Gaultier, Donna Karen, Ralph Lauren and Gianfranco Ferre, while Richard Branson, Kate Moss, Mario Testino, and Gerard Depardieu have been spotted in the souk. Many of them book into one of the city’s riads. Built around a central courtyard and completely hidden from the street by high external walls, these traditional townhouses offer the perfect bolthole from prying eyes and telephoto lenses.

Keen to savour the delights of this centuries-old city with a design-savvy, cosmopolitan vibe, I invited a dozen friends to join me in Marrakech to celebrate my 40th birthday. Besides taking in a few of the sights, we enjoyed a traditional Moroccan dinner party complete with Gnawa musicians and belly dancers.

Over the past five years, wealthy foreigners have been sensitively restoring and re-opening riads as gorgeous boutique hotels, chic guesthouses and luxury rentals. We booked into a once semi-derelict riad now a spacious private home with 10 bedrooms, all en-suite. The English-born owner tells us his riad is regularly booked for fashion shoots, and has also been rented by celebrity A-listers for private parties.

He also helped with all aspects of organisation from hiring a minibus for the duration of our stay to booking restaurants and hamman treatments. And the little details weren’t overlooked either. Our riad was simply, but beautifully decorated with Moroccan handicrafts, textiles and furnishings. Crisp linen sheets covered huge comfortable beds and there were fresh flowers on every mantelpiece. Welcome bowls of dried apricots and crunchy almonds sat on bedside tables, while in the bathroom we found locally-made olive oil soaps and chunky towels. Stephen’s photographs, paintings and personal treasures, displayed throughout, made you feel even more like a houseguest, rather than a tourist in a holiday rental.

Up top, a large, sun-drenched rooftop terrace with canopied daybeds offers far-reaching views of the Medina and the snow-capped Atlas mountains. Accessed via a snaking staircase, it was the perfect spot for long breakfasts, chilling out and being waited on by the riad’s four delightful staff. Nothing was too much trouble for this bunch. Crowd pleasers such as refreshing mint tea, cold beers, fresh dates and pistachios were regularly replenished as we lolled about feeling fabulous. At night, candles flickered and fires were lit in every hearth, while pink rose petals were scattered across our beds. Just as thrilling was having this wonderful retreat all to ourselves. A place to relax, unwind, laugh and catch-up and with the ‘all-agreed’ huge bonus of not having to shop, cook, or adhere to a list of ‘please leave as you found’ rules involving washing up, clearing out the fridge or trying to finds a recycling bank in the middle of nowhere in which to dispose of the empties.

When we did venture out at night, it was to order vodka martinis at the intimate, leather-lined piano bar of La Mamounia – the original grande dame of Marrakech hotels. The guest book reads like a who’s who of the last 100 years’ including Sir Winston Churchill, Dame Judi Dench and Naomi Campbell. From here it was a short drive to city hot spot Comptoir Darna. Set in a classic 1930s house, its entrance is guarded by two Berber tribesmen on white Arab horses bearing flaming torches. Inside, the contemporary Moroccan interior of this large bar/restaurant welcomes everyone and offers great cocktails, contemporary Moroccan dishes and gorgeous belly dancers who swish about the tables all night alongside waitresses balancing trays of burning candles on their heads.

After a long, relaxed breakfast on the rooftop terrace next morning we set off on our eagerly anticipated shopping frenzy in the souk before meeting up again for lunch. The girls then headed for a pre-booked hamman - a steam, exfoliating scrub and massage that leaves you squeaky clean and all aglow. The men, uncomfortable with talk of group massages and shared steamrooms, wandered the gorgeous Jardin Marjorelle instead. Created in the 1920s by French painter, Jacques Majorelle, this small botanical garden is a real treasure. Now owned and beautifully maintained by Yves Saint Laurent, it contains a century-old collection of rare and unusual cacti, along with bamboo, palms, agave and water lilies that contrast brilliantly with the famous Marrakech blue of the groundsman’s modernist house.

We rendezvous later on the rooftop terrace of a cafe aside the famous Place Djemaa El Fna. Being here at dusk is an essential part of the Marrakech experience. As a glowing pink sunset marks the start of trade at the nightly food market, smoke billows from the grills of 200-odd stalls bedecked with fairy lights, while the muezzin calls the faithful to prayer over crackling speakers. As dusk turns to night, crowds gather around musicians, magicians, storytellers, jugglers and snake charmers add much to the carnival atmosphere.

Back at our riad, champagne corks pop and canapés are handed round as we settle down on comfortable couches overlooking the pool. A group of traditional Gnawa musicians dressed in vivid red and green strike up while sitting cross-legged at the far end of the pool. Belly dancers with flashing eyes weave amongst us. Dinner is served at a huge, long table. A fire roars in the hearth and the dining room has been lovingly decorated with flowers, candles, balloons and streamers. Huge earthenware platters piled with couscous and steamed vegetables and special occasion dish, pigeon pastilla, arrive along with a steaming tagine of tender lamb and apricots and another of chicken, lemons and almonds. This traditional Moroccan feast is followed by a huge chocolate birthday cake that doubles as dessert. The food is home-cooked, fresh and delicious, the wine flows, the musicians play on, the belly dancers coax the all-too-willing to dance on the table. Then there are a few speeches, mostly bad, and a couple of drunks test out the pool. The rest of us dance the night away to Seventies disco classics.

Next day we left Morocco, bags stuffed with our souk treasures and rugs rolled into neat bundles under our arms - a catalogue of happy memories stored in our hearts and on our digital cameras.