Cindy McCainWorldwide Photo Walk
Posted on October 5, 2015
Last Saturday over 21k people were involved in a worldwide shooting. From my home in Nashville to my residence in Marrakech, participants grabbed cameras and celebrated life on photo walks in 1000 locations. To learn more about Scott Kelby’s Photo Walks go here.
Ours was scheduled in the medina to begin at 9:30 at the Café de FRANCE on Jemma El Fna square. Jon–a friend, pro artist and skilled photographer– and I met Kate, a friend from Australia who told me about the event because she had previously done a walk in Melbourne. Synnove, a Norwegian friend I met on a hike last spring, surprised me when she appeared as we were meeting Mustapha, a Moroccan tour consultant of Intrepid Travel, signed up for the walk. After mint tea and juice, we wondered where our photographer/organizer was. Kate checked online and discovered he had changed the time to 3 PM. Unable to wait or return later, we made Jon our fearless leader and were off.
After winding through wares of silver, sequins, and Sahara green pottery, we went into Ben Youssef Madrasa, a visual feast. A special treat was a place I’d been wanting to check out– The Marrakech Museum of Photography— where we saw Jean Manuel’s Portrait of Touareg, the first “photoshopped portrait,” Landrock’s Young Arab, about which I learned Tunisian boys wore jasmine behind their left ears to signify to girls they were available, and Jean Manuel’s Portrait du Tourareg, a personal favorite for a couple of years now. Our session ended at the rooftop cafe of the museum–one of the best panoramic views from within city walls. Shooting in Marrakech manually–bringing its kalidescope shapes and colors into focus– was magic. Especially because it made me feel like a kid again.
Choosing settings for the study of light and dark the souks provide. Photo by Kate Woods
Photo by Kate
Kate
Kate’s photo
by Kate of me
Said to be first “photoshopped” photo (head placed on different body)–details below
Jardin Majorelle…My Backyard Blooms
Posted on September 19, 2015
The earth laughs in flowers.–Ralph Waldo Emerson
Flowers are restful to look at. They have neither emotions nor conflicts.–Sigmund Freud
I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses.–Charles A. Miles
Had Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé not fallen in love with Jardin Majorelle on a visit to Marrkech in 1966, one of the most famous gardens in the world would have suffered the fate Joni Mitchell lamented in “Big Yellow Taxi”: “They paved paradise and put up a parking lot.” Slated to be a hotel complex, the property was saved by the Parisian clothing designer (whose ashes are scattered in the rose garden) and his partner.
Memorial to Yves Saint Laurent
The pair pledged to complete the vision of Jacques Majorelle, a fellow artist who created the space. Mission accomplished, the urban renewal breathes life into city residents and tourists. I recently wrote of my love for gardens. I’m so grateful for this one, located just down the street in my neighborhood in Gueliz, where I find shade, shelter, green space, in the midst of a frenetic city.
The painting studio of Majorelle was convereted into a Berber museum, educating expats on the natives of Morocco, and an irrigation system installed. A legacy of art and beauty, Jardin Marjorelle is the result of one who planted, two who watered, and God who grew a creation all now enjoy.
All gardening is landscape painting.–William Kent
In 1923 French painter, Jacques Majorelle, bought land in Marrakech. He had studied architecture and was an avid amateur botanist. He was also influenced by his father, Louis Majorelle, a famous furniture designer, and the Art Nouveau movement which took inspiration from nature.
A garden must combine the poetic and the mysterious with a feeling of serenity and joy.–Luis Barragan
The composition of his masterpiece includes indigenous plants and those he gathered from his travels across five continents—palms, agaves, cacti, weeping willows, jasmine, agaves, cypress, and my favorite, cascading bougainvilleas. A paradox of serene stimulation, bursting blooms against the buildings’ primary colors—yellow and ultramarine, now known as “Majorelle blue” –energizes while the green of fauna, ripples across ponds, and whispers of fountains calms the soul.
Though Majorelle’s art exhibitions were appreciated world wide, Jardin Majorelle is considered his greatest achievement. Sadly, however, his life did not end with the serenity he gave others. An accident that took his leg and broken relationships led to financial burdens which forced him to sell much of his land and open the garden to the public for entrance fees. He died before seeing the culmination of his vision, never knowing future owners would finish what he started. Still Majorelle said of his passion project: “This garden is a momentous task, to which I give myself entirely. It will take my last years from me and I will fall, exhausted, under its branches, after having given it all my love.”
Since moving to Morocco I’ve wanted bougainvillea to spill over my balcony. Though I see it everywhere climbing buildings several stories high and have asked locals where I can buy blooming plants at least 3-feet tall, they’ve all said it is best to plant small cuttings without flowers. Finally, I felt heard. I showed a Moroccan friend exactly what I want in pots perched on a riad rooftop. I showed him the size and color, repeating I don’t want to wait… I want beautiful, large plants now, not knowing how long I’ll be here to enjoy them. He nodded, agreed, and produced three single vines. Each spindly…bud less… only inches tall. The Charlie Brown Christmas tree version of what I’d envisioned. Disappointed, I thought, I’ll probably be on another continent by the time these bloom.
But then I decided to do it the Moroccan way. No hurry. Plant. Have patience. Wait and see. Teaching should have taught me this. Whether or not I see the fruits of my labor, I’ll tend. I’ll love. I’ll bloom where I’m planted, believing life–in whatever season–is beauty.
October 2014–Moni and I at a tea hosted by my school’s Board of Directors
Travel bloggers and friends on a Sunday stroll
Riad Hikaya…Balm of Beauty
Posted on September 9, 2015
Love of beauty is taste. The creation of beauty is art.—Ralph Waldo Emerson
Let the beauty of what you love be what you do. ― Rumi
It is very, very difficult to feel sad for long in Morocco, because you can never be alone in Morocco. You are surrounded by beauty…It really is a place, I think, that nourishes the soul.–John Pittaway
A picture from Persian poetry, gorgeous girls in red swung open a heavy, studded door. They beckoned me over a threshold for refuge from the dust, glare, and chaos of the Kasbah. Immediately taking my overnight bag, their attention turned to relieving me of the burden my face and body still carried.
“Welcome. Please sit. Would you like some tea?”
Like Dorothy, swept into a black-and-white Kansas cyclone, then dropped into Technicolor Oz, I had been disoriented by a painful situation but, upon landing in a dream, became distracted from it by beauty. The terra cotta maze of the medina had morphed into a sanctuary of ruby, aqua, green and gold.
Marian and Hakema
I had read that everything I saw on walls and floors, sat on, sat under had been designed by Jane and John Pittaway, English owners of Riad Hikaya, and handcrafted by Marrakshi artisans. I spoke with John that afternoon who studied Arabic at University and also speaks French, Spanish, and the local Moroccan dialect, Darija. Though he has lived in many parts of the Middle East including Egypt, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates before moving to Marrakech, we discussed what makes this place unique…the creativity which brims here…. the tension of chaos and tranquility…the balm of beauty that banishes bad.
By dinner on the rooftop under a full moon, I was fully settled in the Rahma suite (Arabic word for compassion)– able to breathe; to let go; to accept, see and savor the gifts of kindness and peace around me. Not only had the girls turned back my bed, sprinkling rose petals on the duvet and in the tub…not only had Fadoua fed me fresh Tabouleh, the best Lamb CousCous I’ve had, and Celebration Orange and Chocolate Cake which, trust me, is reason alone to celebrate…but Sana, at my request, stopped serving and sat down for a chat over dessert.
The next morning the moon was gone. The sun met me on the rooftop instead. After breakfast and a read in the jacuzzi, I told the girls bye. I left again grateful for the kindness of strangers-now-friends. I remembered John’s words of a 2-year planned renovation that took five years instead. So true of life in many ways: “Anything is possible…It was an interesting journey..a way of learning.”
(from the website) Rahma, (Arabic for compassion), is situated on the first floor of the riad overlooking the smaller, mirrored courtyard.The traditional bed, fashioned from tadelakt and zelij, is framed by a hand carved ‘muqarbas’, or bedhead, with an ornate zowwaq finish. Cactus silk curtains line the tadelakt walls and frame the artisanal, wooden shutters. Hand painted plaster motifs, soft kelim armchairs and vintage berber carpets complete the luxurious feel.
Hand painted tadelakt bath and a monsoon shower crafted from zelij and maillechort, a metal favoured by Marrakshi artisans which in English is known as nickel silver
Sana
Fresh roses
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;
Its loveliness increases…it still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.–John Keats
What a difference a day makes. Thanks to Riad Hikaya for the stay. As always, the opinions here are my own.
Jnane Tamsna…Garden Paradise
Posted on September 3, 2015
“The soul cannot thrive in the absence of a garden. If you don’t want paradise, you are not human; and if you are not human, you don’t have a soul.” –Thomas More
The lesson I have thoroughly learnt, and wish to pass on to others, is to know the enduring happiness that the love of a garden gives.”–Gertrude Jekyll
My love of gardens began in my grandmother’s backyard. She told me names of heirloom flowers, shrubs and trees transplanted from her childhood home, then my grandparents’ farm, Mockingbird Hill. Weekends I now play in secret gardens I once read about in fairy tales, Song of Solomon, and Arabian Nights. They hide behind Marrakech walls from the Medina to the Palmeraie, and I seek.
When my daughter turned five I had a garden tea party for her I’d been planning since she was born. I, the “Flower Fairy,” hid pearl necklaces in fifty rose bushes and left a note instructing her and her guests to find them. Purple hydrangeas big as soccer balls bobbed in bowls on white-clothed tables under our oak dripping with ivy. Her birthday fell near Mother’s Day–appropriate since she made me a mom.
Twenty years later, I drank mint tea with a friend in another garden last Mother’s Day. With her children in Australia and mine in Nashville, we vowed to survive our first one without them. Tears dampened my lunch and blurred epic beauty surrounding me.
But thankfully, a couple of weeks ago, I entered that paradise again. This time as I walked through the magical arches of Jnane Tamsna, I was ready to explore the passion project of Meryanne Loum-Martin and Dr. Gary Martin recognized by press from The New York Times to Architectural Digest to Gourmet. I was drawn back to the quiet of this Edenic place of sprawling size and biodiversity for which Gary, an ethnobotanist, received recognition last March. Janane Tamsna and Villa Oasis, Madison Cox’s creation, were the only two gardens chosen for private tour by the Botanical Symposium on Mediterranean Flora of Jardin Majorelle. I was also eager to meet expats and tell them I appreciate their commitment to the local community.
I was led to my gorgeous room to drop off luggage, then to a poolside garden where Meryanne and Gary had just finished lunch with a guest.
They’d been talking awhile, so as they invited me to sit, we all shifted chairs into the shade. Quickly I knew what Laura Werner meant when she wrote in Forbes, “Staying at Jnane Tamsna in the Palmeraie is like being at an extended dinner/house party.” And by the time I left, I understood why Hugh Jackman, a regular, did the Happy Dance by one of the their five pools. Privacy and peace are premium here.
https://youtu.be/-qdy9TcWO3w
Advocates for culture and education, they’d hosted salons where authors, such as Esther Freud (I’d read her memoir of Marrakech a year ago upon moving to Morocco) and historian William Dalrymple, had read from their works. I learned their daughter had graduated from the school where I teach, and they’d just returned from Paris early to see Suddenly Last Summer performed for a fundraiser in Tangier–the city that inspired Tennessee Williams (my favorite southern dramatist) to write it. The murder in the play segued to another book set in Savannah and gardens there I love, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. This literature lover and mother had found kindred spirits. When I told Meryanne I’d been there briefly Mother’s Day, she completely understood. She, too, misses her children.
They headed to projects and I to the pool, where lounges like gentlemen in crisp, white dress coats joined me in saluting summer and bidding my last day of vacation goodbye.
Jnane Tamsna
Like smooth music the afternoon soothed my soul. That night, the moon escorted me to dinner.
“A garden to walk in and immensity to dream in–what more could he ask? A few flowers at his feet and above him the stars.” ― Victor Hugo, Les Miserables
The next morning I woke to wander the property and gardens.
“The Venus flytrap, a devouring organism, aptly named for the goddess of love.” — Tennessee Williams, Suddenly Last Summer
Though Gary doesn’t have a Venus flytrap…yet…he has over 230 varieties on a lush list hailing from the Chilean Andes to Madagascar, from Australia to Hong Kong that continues to spread on 8.5 acres. He has accomplished his “childhood dream of a botanical garden with signs giving the common English name, Latin name, botanical family and geographical origin of species.” A walk through it taught me a lot as did his address (excerpt below) to the Botanical Symposium:
Facing nearly nine acres of water-stressed palm grove, I first set out to create our own organic orchard garden (arsa) where the scent of orange blossoms and mint could waft around colorful aubergines, kale, tomatoes and many other vegetables. Then I put in a border of transplanted olive trees – part of the ‘rescue horticulture’ I practice, saving fruit trees from areas of urban sprawl elsewhere in Marrakech. This created a pathway to our bustan (Arabic for garden from a Persian word that means ‘a place of smell’), which is resplendent with angel trumpets, Japanese mock orange, white iceberg roses and climbing jasmine.
Every bustan needs its water feature, and ours is a zen swimming pool where guests can take a dip before enjoying lunch in the garden, shaded by prolific date palms and mulberry trees. Our two interior courtyard gardens (ryads) feature frangipani, gardenias and star jasmine as well as some rapidly growing olive trees with native viburnums and Mediterranean ruscus in their understory.
pomegranate
On that morning walk I heard in my memory my grandmother humming her favorite hymn: “I come to the garden alone. While the dew is still on the roses…” I thought of a favorite quote by Emma Goldman, “I’d rather have roses on my table than diamonds on my neck,” and saw my daughter at five, plucking pearls from roses. And I realized that when I am present and thankful for now–even when missing my children on Mother’s Day–I can receive beauty and thus feel them there with me. And when I stop fretting about future plans and dwell in the now– of birds having breakfast with me or the moon looking down upon me and those I love a continent away, peace is no mirage. It’s an oasis in the desert.
Thank you to Jnane Tamsna for my stay. As always, opinions are my own.
Luxury Tent Experience…Camping in the Country
Posted on June 17, 2015
Koutoubia Tent at Manzil La Tortue
Whispers within as lanterns flicker, casting silhouettes on white canvas. Stars without, winking from an ebony sky at the palm grove beneath. All is silent but green leather leaves rustling in a restless breeze.
Since I was a child, Hollywood has fueled my love affair with tents. Though Tarzan never slept in one, the adventurous women on African safaris did. So did leading ladies in my favorite romantic movies–Beyond Borders, The English Patient, Lawrence of Arabia. At Manzil La Tortue my adult fantasy of nomadic nesting made chic by sheiks was finally fulfilled. Merging my love for camping and country (Dad’s only idea of vacation involved a campfire, and our grandparents took us every Sunday to visit relatives on farms), my stay at this rural retreat was heaven. As Paula (see video below) said after welcoming me with mint tea, “This is our own little piece of paradise.” I’m so grateful they shared it with me.
I had booked a Sunday pool and lunch day with friends the weekend before. My fish was delicious, the molten chocolate cake amazing, and the pool was perfect.
I couldn’t wait to return for a weekend stay when I’d wander and photograph the property. When I arrived last Saturday with my friend, Jasna, who photographed me for this post, Paula walked us past the herb gardens. Outside our tent we could smell the orange and lime trees, but the breeze also carried mint, thyme, lavender, rosemary, and scented geranium which reminded me of home.
As we passed the hen house I thought of my cousin, Sonjia, who showed my sister, Penny, and me how to gather eggs. I remembered my cousin, Brock, who showed prize rabbits as we passed the thatched area where bunnies were munching on breakfast.
We passed through a gate to a private area where our tent awaited. I hadn’t looked online to see if because I wanted to be surprised. My mind flashed back to last fall when my friend, Monica, and I rode camels to a campsite in the Sahara Desert. I had expected a white canopy cloud blowing in the instead. Instead our guide disappeared to fetch dinner so we stumbled by the light of my phone into a pitch-black tarp where we slept on 2- inch burlap mattresses tossed on the sand.
As I walked inside, I was stunned. By contrast, Manzil La Tortue provided so much more than I expected… glamping at its finest.
Tour the deluxe Koutoubia tent in the video below– an immense 61 square meters/656 square feet. Waking up to morning light illuminating the colorful canopy was as delightful as falling asleep to the wind’s breath causing the canvas to rise and fall.
The rest of the weekend I felt like a kid again in my own secret garden.
As a Southern girl who values beauty breaks in bucolic settings and family, I love that this peaceful place is owned and run by a team of great people: Fouad Housni and his wife Meriame, manager of two companies, Unitours Moroc and Morocco My Way, providing excursions for guests; Fouad’s mother, Paula; and two adorable girls, Lina and Salma. I enjoyed hearing Paula’s romantic story (video below) of passing through Casablanca in 1970 headed to Canada but never making it. She moved to Marrakesh with Fouad in 1981.
Tents of many sizes are available as are rooms in the villa or even “camper cars” for those who want to rough it.
Breakfast is included, and half board and full board is also available for lunch and dinner. As a mom who grilled nightly on my deck in Tennessee and a girl whose dad grilled on every camping trip in Kentucky, I was excited to try their specialty, Planchas, plates of food grilled by guests at the table. Not quite sure what to do with so many olive oils and spices, I was assisted by Brahim, the waiter, then Chef Abdelhaq, who showed me how it is properly done. From Abdessamad, pool tech and security, to Naima who served breakfast, the staff made us feel welcome.
Seafood Plancha
Beef fillet with mashed potatoes, apples, and apricots
Moroccan chicken tagine with prunes
Gazpacho with home grown tomoatos
Marrakesh is a frenetic place–a speedway of honking taxis and zooming motorbikes. Malls and even grocery stores blare “disco” music, and at my last pool in the Palms, the speakers that hung over every lounge chair vibrated from a DJ who made relaxation impossible. Sometimes we need wide, open spaces…especially when the road ends here. Fouad can assist with transportation.
Manzil La Tortue, thankfully, is a No Noise Zone. All I heard were brilliant blue birds singing; fat, white doves cooing; and hens clucking. Whether your “tent thing” is Gatsby, Game of Thrones, or a childhood version in the backyard, here you can play.
Lina and Salma watching a child’s program on a tablet
For the Manzil La Tortue picture gallery, go here.
Thank you, Manzil La Tortue, for a wonderful experience!
A New Perspective
Posted on April 25, 2015
“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.”–Henry Miller
Sundays are delicious days. Finally, the work-weary can feast on time. We say of Monday, the most unpopular day of the week, we’ll “hit the ground running.” We lament that until the weekend we “won’t have time to turn around.” But today I do. And I did.
In Nashville, Sundays began on my deck under my grandmother’s quilt. In the trees I’d rest, recharge and remember. There God lifted my gaze from problems to possibilities. I’d later walk Ella, ready to face the world again with faith, love, and hope. As if she’d never seen the familiar greenway, she’d strain at the leash leading me. I’d, too, with new eyes, see panoramic beauty on our path.
In Marrakech, today began on my balcony in a handmade chair delivered on the back of a motor scooter. My feet propped on a pouf under a Moroccan wedding quilt, I was reminded in my quiet time of the same promises. But this time my chair faced a different direction.
Last August when I stepped on my new balcony, I took a quick look down the alley both ways. At one end I saw cluttered buildings and satellite-covered rooftops. On the lower end, nearer my apartment, I saw pretty palm trees, green space, and hills in the distance. I loved that view and have looked that way each time I stepped outside since.
But today, I looked the other way.
I couldn’t believe it. There they were. My favorite site in Marrakech–The Atlas Mountains–strong and beautiful, peered back at me as I stood, amazed.
Though hidden behind summer heat and sand when I moved in, they must have shown themselves last winter. They had been there all along. For months I could have enjoyed them on clear days, if only I’d looked a different way.
Two years ago, my friend, Kim, gave me this Marcel Proust quote on a porcelain plaque. Neither of us knew I’d be moving to a French- speaking country: “Le véritable voyage de découverte ne consiste pas à chercher de nouveaux paysages, mais à avoir de nouveaux yeux.” Translated, it means, “The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”
A friend asked yesterday what I’ve learned most since the move. I said I realize now that understanding people and places takes time. That just when I couldn’t be happier and think I have this thing of living cross-culturally “all figured out,” a situation or person disappoints me and I feel I’ve slipped back to square one. But if I take a breath–my yoga class helps with this–release, pray, I realize I just need to step back. To wait and watch. To be patient with circumstances and others. And with myself.
Sometimes we find beauty, as I did, at the end of the street and are satisfied to stop looking for more. Contentment is good and being thankful for what we do have even better. Settling is not. Knowing the difference is hard. Sometimes we aren’t ready to see something even better–wouldn’t recognize it–even if it appeared. Others we scan the horizon in faith, in expectation for a vision for our life, a deep desire, a dream planted in our hearts long ago to be fulfilled. Today before stepping outside I was reminded though parts of the vision I have for my life tarry, to wait. What I desire may be years away or right around the corner. In the meantime, I’m thankful for my destiny and this day.
I’m still thankful for the pretty patch of green at the end of the street that continues to soothe me. The sun sets there. But I’m amazed to see today that it rises over the majestic Atlas Mountains, symbols of strength, gifts of beauty, within my vision. With patience, they revealed themselves when I looked up in a new direction. When I could see.
Hmmm…I had a Hammam
Posted on April 13, 2015
I did it. I bared all to be pampered like a princess and bathed like a baby. And I liked it.
Marrakesh Must-dos for a Girl’s Day Out are what I call the 3 Ss–souk shopping, Jemaa el- Fnaa Square, and a scrub. By- day the largest market in Africa hops with henna and monkeys and snakes, Oh My. And by- night, pop up food stands serve with a shake (aka) belly dancers. But to really Go Moroccan, after a day of dodging noisy motorcycles, pushy peddlers, and some pungent smells, globe trotters can wash away a world of care. 
For locals through the ages, public bathhouses, like those found in Turkey and Rome, are places to steam to release steam weekly. Those covered head-to-toe on the street disrobe and socialize here, but for those too shy to go public with strangers, private spas and hotels are ways to test the waters.
My first two hammams were with three friends at two different private spas. While those experiences were good, this Goldilocks found the third bed at my last close encounter—the slab of stone on which the washing takes place—to be just right. It’s not surprising that at Royal Mansour, a luxurious mini medina of private riads built by king’s decree, one will receive royal treatment. The spa is open to the public for those wanting to splurge.
Massage room
Up to a party of six can receive hammams simultaneously. I went solo, but a party it was nevertheless. Whether your fantasy is to be Jasmine preparing for Aladdin in Arabian Nights, or a mom, who after years of bathing little ones and watching the Disney version gets to rediscover her own child within, letting go under waves of water is wonderful.
First I was given a plush robe and slippers to walk from the dressing room to the entrance of the hammam across the hall. At the cold pool where the hammam begins and ends, the attendant took the robe from my shoulders and led me to a warm, king-sized slab of stone. She filled a silver bucket of water from a beautiful basin, poured it on me, and left me to stretch out and steam.
My stone bed and silver bucket
Next, she lathered me with black soap and olive oil, sabon beldi, and left me as my skin became more supple for what was to come. Slippery like a seal or mermaid, I waited, till it was time for her to scrub off my scales.
She untied a gold bag that contained an exfoliating glove or kese. She told me to turn over and sanded my back side from scalp to heels, then my front side from forehead to toes, taking layers of peeled skin till silk was exposed underneath. Next she covered me in local Argan oil with honey from the Maroc Maroc line. On my face she used a mix of Argan oil and powder. I was rubbed with aromatic Vallée des Roses cream, and on my hair she used almond shampoo, then an orange masque for conditioner. More buckets of warm water.
We walked back toward the frigid pool for a final dip, but first she instructed me to take a tepid shower with multiple nozzles. Wrapping me in the robe, she led me to the “relaxing room” where I had my own tented bed to sip mint tea served by the waiter. Or was he just a dream?
Like Scarlet O’Hara at the Wilkes’ picnic, I was encouraged to nap. Unlike her I obeyed. Outside my curtain, birds sang about the balcony. After my rest, I sat by the pool and thought about how good it felt to feel be like a little girl again. Arms raised and lowered to be dressed and undressed. Back massaged, and my hair caressed. I left smelling of oranges, roses, and almonds. And feeling pretty.
Thank you, Royal Mansour, for the invitation to tour your haven and for the hammam. Indeed, the experience was a whole new world.
Congrats Marrakech for Being Named 2015 #1 Travel Destination in the World
Posted on April 11, 2015
I’m back in Marrakech where sidewalks in my neighborhood are crowded with tourists (Nashville, think CMA Music Festival Fan Fare). And this party is just getting started! While I was in Paris, Russia, and Prague (pics below) during Spring Break, my new city made big news. What a perfect place for a travel blog. 🙂
Congrats, Marrakech, for being voted the #1 DESTINATION IN THE WORLD! Check out TripAdvisor’s Top 25 Picks. If you have travel questions about Marrakech or places I’ve been (ones for which I’ve posted pics below), please post in a comment. From the list below, my next destination pick is Budapest. What about you? Please share YOUR next stop/ travel plans for 2015. 
Top 25 destinations
1. Marrakech, Morocco
2. Siem Reap, Cambodia
3. Istanbul, Turkey
4. Hanoi, Vietnam
5. Prague, Czech Republic
6. London, United Kingdom
7. Rome, Italy
8. Buenos Aires, Argentina
9. Paris, France
10. Cape Town Central, South Africa
11. New York City, United States
12. Zermatt, Switzerland
13. Barcelona, Spain
14. Goreme, Turkey
15. Ubud, Indonesia
16. Cusco, Peru
17. St. Petersburg, Russia
18. Bangkok Thailand
19. Kathmandu, Nepal
20. Athens, Greece
21. Budapest, Hungary
22. Queenstown, New Zealand
23. Hong Kong, China
24. Dubai, United Arab Emirates
25. Sydney, Australia
Royal Mansour for Regal Riads and Sunday Brunch
Posted on March 15, 2015
Elegant and beautiful. Mysterious and still. Oh, Resplendent Respite.
When I accepted an invitation to visit the Royal Mansour, I didn’t realize I’d be entering a sumptuous city handmade on command. King Mohammed VI commissioned over 1000 artists from Marrakech, Fez, Meknes and Essaouira to use the finest materials in crafting the showcase of Moroccan splendor which opened in 2010. Here guests are guided not to rooms but to fifty-three regal riads. With one to four bedrooms, the three-story mansions boast butlers and rooftop pools.
Hidden behind 13th century walls of the Marrakech medina, Royal Mansour was fashioned after medinas of all the imperial cities of Morocco with its courtyards, winding streets, and great gates. Cedar, metal and sculptured plaster construct an entrance like the famous “Bab el Khemis” (Thursday Gate) promising happiness, wealth and prosperity. Inside is North African, Spanish, and Portuguese traditional Moorish architecture.
Here every desire is anticipated. A straw for fresh-squeezed orange juice offered on a china tray from a white-gloved hand. A plush robe lifted from my shoulders, removed, then hung on a hook to prepare me for the hammam. As if with a sixth sense, staff appeared when needed and discreetly disappeared to allow me to roam the riad I shot and to relax for hours in the spa.
Most impressive, they protect the privacy of their guests. Unlike some in the service industry who use VIP labels to create a place “to see and be seen,” Royal Mansour offers a hidden haven for government officials, diplomats, celebrities. The large staff including 24-hour maid service, valets, and cleaners move surreptitiously through underground passageways so the world above is kept quiet. The goal is for guests to feel they are the only ones there unless they wish to interact in public areas, such as the restaurants under the supervision of Yannick Alléno. Last month the legendary Parisian chef won 3-stars in the 2015 Michelin Guide.
Alléno says his objective for La Grande Table Marocaine is “to give the Moroccan cuisine, already great by itself, a new dimension.” And of La Grande Table Française, under the same roof, he offers “a creative, structured, sensitive and modern cuisine. The menu was created in accordance with local raw materials using leading Moroccan products such as spider crab, Moroccan black truffles, lobster or veal.”
There are events open to the public. For those living in the city or staying elsewhere, they, too, can enjoy this gorgeous place for Easter brunch and an egg hunt, cooking classes, or a cigar party. See the schedule below.
A believer in Beauty Breaks, I spend weekends scouting places that soothe the soul. I was invited to visit three times (the first two I couldn’t photograph a riad because there wasn’t a vacant one). Touring, lingering at La Table for breakfast with a friend, and enjoying a hammam I was encouraged to play Monet and study my subject–a masterpiece–in morning, noon, and night light. Each time I entered, attentive, amiable staff members welcomed me. Each time I left every sense felt energized.
Birds, fountains, basins, and breezes. Hot marble. Cold marble. Steam rooms, cool pools and sheets.
Trees dripping olives, lemons, and pomegranates. Gardens of roses, gardenias, jasmine, and rosemary.
Follow me and experience Royal Mansour…
La Grande Table Marocaine
La Grande Table Française
Riad 32 with one superior bedroom
Entrance courtyard to main floor
Master Bath
One big reason I moved to Marrakech was for warmth, and I don’t just mean the sunny skies. I grew up in a culture of Southern hospitality. In Nashville, like many, I take pleasure greeting friends with a hug or kiss and serving guests on fine china under my magnolia tree.
Here Moroccans greet one another with kisses on each cheek. Waiters don’t rush you from the table by bringing the check. They wait for you to ask for it because they don’t want to intrude whether you are socializing with friends or family or traveling solo. Moroccans observe tea time as do the British but with a French- flare- for- fancy as they pour the hot mint brew from silver pots into decorative glasses. Though accustomed to royalty, their tea tradition is egalitarian–observed on shaded terraces of fine restaurants, in alleyways of the souks, under trees on farms at break time.
Riads at RM start at around 10,000 Moroccan Dirham/$1000 USD per night. For tourists staying elsewhere or locals, brunch by the pool or a visit to the spa is sure to be an affair to remember.
Thank you, Royal Mansour, for your hospitality and exotic brand of charm.
Upcoming Events:
STARTING MARCH 15TH Brunch every Sunday Restaurant La Table
SATURDAY, MARCH 28TH Cigar Club Party
SUNDAY, MARCH 29TH “Cooking Class” Flavors of Spring
SATURDAY, APRIL 4TH Easter «Atelier Royal Mansour» Chocolate cooking class for children
SUNDAY, APRIL 5TH Easter Brunch SUNDAY
MAY 31ST Mother’s Day Gift creating class by children Brunch
For more details, go here.
Spring Planting and a Wild Ride
Posted on March 11, 2015
At my home in Nashville, Tennessee my favorite room had no walls. On my second-story deck my kids and pets would swing and I’d grill dinner most every night. Every day started under the trees with coffee, a Quiet Time, writing until heat drove me inside. I taught three streets from my school and Friday nights Wildcats would swing by after the game. The first night my nest emptied, I cooked Italian for the salsa girls, serving sangria under the stars so I wouldn’t fall apart after delivering my son to university. From here Precious the Persian and Ella the lab mix watched squirrels play tag in the yard below and on branches above.
At my apartment in Marrackesh I have a balcony. From here I can see people, mountains, and pink sunsets. From here I can host friends. On my deck were herbs for cooking and flowers for hummingbirds. Since moving to Morocco in August, I’ve longed for green and pink, yellow and white blooms…LIFE… outside the glass doors sliding open to a balcony extending from my bedroom to living area. Finally I found a “plant guy.”
His name is Rachid and his stand is located across from the Koutoubia Mosque across from Jemma-el Fnaa. He gave deals to my friend, Jasna, and me. On Sunday he was out of some of what we wanted, but said if we came back the next day he’d have those plants and more. Monday after work he greeted us like old friends. And he had exactly what I wanted– yellow, pink and white jasmine, lavender, rosemary, mint, thyme, and geraniums. While I pointed placement, he and a coworker planted them in ceramic urns that took two men to carry. Best of all– he delivers for free. But when I showed him the address, he said through another game of charades, (the one we’d played when I chose and he priced the plants), that he didn’t know the place, so he and his driver would follow our directions.
“So you have a truck and want us to get a taxi?”
He shook his head no and motioned in a Meet- the- Parents -Robert -De -Niro- Circle- of- Trust- gesture that we were to go with them.
“With the plants? But in what? Where is your delivery truck?”
I realized it was behind me as they began loading into a cart balanced on two wheels pulled by a motorcycle. 
“He wants us to ride with the plants,” Jasna said. But where? I wondered since the cart was about full, and he had disappeared. “Voila,” he said, producing two plastic chairs for us to sit in and offering his hand in a your-carriage-awaits way. So, giggling, we climbed in. 
Knowing he had to help the driver carry the urns and we had no more room in the cart that seemed destined to dump us onto Mohammed V as we made our way to Gueliz, we asked where Rachid would sit. He jumped on the bike’s running board by the driver, balancing himself with the cart. A man steadied the cart and launched us into traffic that terrorizes tourists. Most swear they’ll never be caught dead in it…for fear they”ll be caught dead in it. A boy on a bike riding amidst the motorcycles, cars, and taxis hung onto us whether to steady us or hitch a ride I’m not sure.
(As I write this I shiver thinking about earlier tonight. Two teens on a motorcycle cut around a curve as I crossed the street. Swerving close to scare me or just being boys, they lost control and the bike skidded out from under them, then slid on its side across the street. I was one step from being taken down in the wreck. They got up, laughed, and walked it off the road. I was thankful no one was killed.)
But riding home in the back of that cardboard covered cart, all I could think was I was thankful to feel so alive. Drivers must have wondered who was laughing on a Monday night from behind all the branches and blooms. 
International Women’s Day
Posted on March 7, 2015
International Women’s Day will be held again on March 8. Since 1911 the annual celebration recognizes women past, present, and future for their economic, political and social achievements as the United Nations calls for greater equality. This year’s theme is “Make It Happen,” and Project SOAR is doing just that in Marrakech.
The non-profit now not only serves girls at Peacock Pavilions but also has opened doors to women at a new center in the Dourar Ladaam village. Here local women can take health and fitness courses like the one offered last Thursday. Led by internationally recognized Pilates instructor, Mareile Paley, the course was translated by two of my students into Darija, Moroccan Arabic.
We all had so much fun making new friends and trying new moves. By the end of class we discovered we’d communicated in the same language throughout. Laughter.
To support International Women’s Day, go here. To support Project SOAR, go here.
Cupid Crawl from Riad Mur Akush to La Maison Arabe
Posted on February 17, 2015
Riad Mur Akush Marrakech
Each day for six months has been nothing but new. My only constant has been change. Even traditions–Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s Eve—were celebrated in first-ever ways. St. Valentine’s Day 2015 I climbed with friends to a riad rooftop supported by 300-year-old walls. New chums encircled by the snowy Atlas Mountains, we sat sleeveless on a sunny summit above the Marrakech Medina. Good company, fabulous food, pure peace.
My friend, Kate, was our hostess for lunch at Riad Mur Akush which she manages. New to Morocco, too, she moved here from Melbourne. I met her and Maria, the English owner, at an InterNations mixer last fall. Kate had flown from an empty nest and we meet regularly to share stories of our second acts. This time, rather than meeting for dinner at a restaurant in our neighborhood, I asked if we could do lunch at her workplace. I love riads–traditional Moroccan houses or palaces. For privacy, rooms open to interior gardens or courtyards with flowing fountains or tiled pools. Most of the riads serve meals only to guests, so I knew friends would love to spend an afternoon in such a pretty place.
Always about beauty breaks and exploration, I added: “Maybe we could visit other riads, too?”
She loved the idea and made it happen. “We could do a Riad Crawl like the pub crawls in Australia! I’ll speak to our cook and get back with you on a menu.”
And with that, what we hope to make a new tradition began. Since she had a full house for the holiday, she said we’d start small on the roof. Later when too hot to be up there, we’d move downstairs to accommodate more.
I’ll be interviewing Kate soon on her reinvention and our meal—a fusion of Moroccan and Australian cuisine. Some left with plans to book family who visit; some to take a stay-cation there themselves. All needed Cupid’s wings because we were too full to walk home. But we had a second stop, Le Maison Arabe, the oldest and largest riad/boutique hotel in the Medina where Kate had arranged for us a tour and coffee.
We were greeted by their friendly staff, the sounds of fountains draining into the pool, the smell of cedar, and the feel of a 1940s jazz club. Some plan to try their cooking classes and others their spa which, unlike wellness centers in many riads, is open to the public.
Thanks, Kate, Riad Mur Akush, and La Maison Arabe for sharing the love on February 14th with seven newcomers to Marrakech.
Zakia, Riad Mur Akush’s Amazing Cook
(from left) Laurie, Jasna, Rachel, Eliza, Jon, Sylvie
Kate Woods, Manager of Riad Mur Akush
Moroccan Salads
Mohamed, best waiter ever
Chicken, olives, and preserved lemons in a tagine
Kate’s Apple Crisp served with fresh cream and cinnamon
Next stop…La Maison Arabe.
La Maison Arabe
Cedar
Cindy McCain 
