A love letter to Marrakech
Traveling to Marrakech feels like stepping through a secret door. Just two hours from Spain, and yet you arrive to a completely different world. The smells, the light, the rhythm. Everything changes. Everything wraps around you.
For me, Marrakech isn't just a destination. It’s a recurring memory, a grounding need. Every year I return, like chasing a feeling I can’t find anywhere else.
My ritual is getting lost in the Medina, hearing the call to prayer echo through narrow alleys, stroking a cat asleep on a tapestry, sipping freshly squeezed pomegranate juice while watching the world go by in the souk, and sitting in silence in front of a dish that smells of spices and time.
What I love the most—if I had to choose—are the colors. Deep, vivid, impossible. Marrakech is not something you just see; you feel it through its palette. The red of the city walls, the blues of Majorelle, the orange of the sunsets, the golden glow of lanterns lit at dusk. There’s a magic in how everything fits together, as if the chaos were secretly designed.
.jpg)
Marrakech is also contrast. Modest on the outside, sumptuous on the inside. Simple facades that hide courtyards with fountains, carved tiles, upholstery like paintings, light filtered through latticework. Every closed door feels like a promise. And often, it is.
.jpg)
There are hidden gems everywhere. Small restaurants where couscous tastes like home, terraces where mint tea becomes a ritual, streets where time dissolves. And cats. Always cats. Silent, curious, free.
.jpg)
Flavors also tell stories. The orange blossom water in desserts, the sweetness of dates, the freshness of mint, the tenderness of lamb, the warmth of spices, the smell of fresh bread. Eating in Marrakech is pure feeling.
And if you’re up for it, the hammam. A deep, quiet pause that cleanses more than just the body.
I don’t go to Marrakech to check boxes off a list. I go to let everything else fade, and be reminded of what still feels like life — Marrakech. To walk into a fairytale. To remember what it’s like to see with fresh eyes.
Marrakech — you, and all that you are, all that you hold. In all your layers and all your lights You stay with me.
Book recommendation: Hideous Kinky by Esther Freud. An intimate portrait of 1970s Marrakech through the eyes of a child. A tender, sensory story—just like the city itself.
