Dar Darma

On a cool and sunny April morning, Mrs Smith and I made our way through the Marrakech souks to Dar Darma. We decided not to use our phones and follow our intuition through the ochre corridors, dodging fellow tourists and the occasional moped driver. One of the pleasures of being within the Medina walls is walking in a general direction and seeing what you come across. That morning we found ourselves in the Souk Haddadine, one of the most atmospheric and beguiling, as cut-brass lanterns hung over dimly lit walkways, an allure most tourists can’t resist capturing with their phones. On the corner of Rue Azbetz, we noted food vendors capturing the attention of hungry locals, before finally orienting ourselves in the right direction. After navigating the squeeze of visitors outside the Madrassa Ben Youssef, the streets broadened until we reached the imposing black cedar door of Dar Darma.  

When you read about the hundreds of riads in Marrakech, there’s a well-worn cliché that these former homes of the city’s elite provide calm and serenity for tourists after the sensory overload of the modern-day Medina. Often with clichés, there’s something to them, but on entering Dar Darma, it’s another sensory experience that greets you. There is calm, but there is also a feeling of romantic glamour as the smell of orange blossom and argan oil greets us. Mohammed, a kindly member of staff, shows us to one of the plush salons and serves us some of the best mint tea we’ll have in the city.

As we sip our tea, we can’t help but look upwards, where the ink-washed tadelakt walls meet carved wooden panels and high ceilings. The interiors have a subtle opulence, with a touch of bohemian drama that doesn’t slip into the kitsch. The drama doesn’t abate when we are shown to our room, the Suite of Mirrors, off the riad’s beautiful central courtyard. The clean white arches frame a square of clear blue sky above — a tranquil setting to be greeted with every time we left our room. Inside, the visual splendour continues, with chequerboard floor tiles, deep ochre arches, a pool and a four-poster bed whose headboard is a ceiling-high wall of mirrors. It’s dramatic but also deeply comfortable and cosy.

After unpacking and catching our breath, we headed out into the city to see the sun set over the main square. Djemaa el Fna is the epicentre of the city’s drama. It is overlooked on all sides by restaurants and cafés with terraces, giving it the quality of an amphitheatre. Sunset is when the show starts, and as we emerged from the souk, we were met with a cacophony of music and human activity. We headed to the second-floor terrace of Le Grand Balcon du Café Glacier to get a spectator’s view and take in the scene as the sun goes down. As the sun dipped below the city’s western reaches, Mrs Smith and I headed down into the square to wander between the food stalls. Most of the city’s restaurants cater to tourists and require advance booking. We’re too disorganised for this, so we happily settled on stand number 14, Chez Kitrine, sitting down with locals for excellent fried prawns and salad, before heading back through the souk to Dar Darma. 

The following day, we had breakfast on the terrace. The hotel rooftop is enclosed by terracotta walls adorned with a spectrum of fragrant bougainvillaea. It was our favourite part of the riad and each time of the day offered something different. That morning, we ate buttery msemmen pancakes and eggs, and watched the swifts flit in and out of the flowers. We then lazed by the rooftop pool, reading books and marvelling at the quiet above the city. We decided we’d better haul ourselves from our sunbeds and investigate the eateries we’d come across on the corner of Rue Azbetz for lunch. It’s an intoxicating part of the souk, the smell of leather goods mingling with kebab skewers cooking over hot coals. We settle on Monsieur Fromage, perhaps because of the name, but mainly because of the smiling staff and abundance of locals. It’s a spit-and-sawdust type of place, with actual sawdust covering the floor, but this shouldn’t put anyone off. We eat the best couscous we’ll have in Marrakech on its terrace.

Sated, we headed back to the pool for the rest of the afternoon. That evening, we decided to have dinner in the riad. Hisham and Mohammed, two of the friendliest hospitality professionals you will ever meet, prepared us a table worthy of a silver-service reception.  As we sat down, we felt very fortunate. The swifts were out again, making merry as the sun set and the Maghrib prayer rippled out in a wave from the minarets, seemingly getting closer. It’s a moving sound wherever you hear it, but especially so that evening, when it was accompanied by a haze of pastel light across the rooftops. We had a delicious pumpkin soup and vegetable tagine, and talked too much about how comfortable our bed is before heading down for an early night. 

On our final morning, we repeated the wonderful breakfast we had the day before and settled by the pool for a few hours. The staff, who had been incredible to us for two days, allowed us to stay poolside all day despite having checked out. It was the hottest day of our trip, and as I was reading the Paul Bowles novel Let It Come Down, a line in the book struck me as perfectly reflective of how it feels to stay at Dar Darma: 'He lay a while, intensely conscious of the welcome heat, in a state of self-induced voluptuousness.'