Ksar Fawz & Spa

To be Marrakshi is to be a master of dexterity. In a city famed for its narrow corridors, wiggling, mind-bending lanes and crush of people, the locals never bump into you. Even in the scurry and chaos of the souks, where everyone wants to sell you something, there is never any shoulder jarring. The Marrakshis weave their way through crowds whether on foot or on scooter with the litheness of a prima ballerina. The swerving of tuk-tuks, donkey carts and mopeds is enough to test the nerves of the hardiest tourist, but those driving look utterly, bafflingly calm.

This dexterity, this nimbleness, is a running thread of Marrakech. Amid the chaos, noise and intensity, there is an eye for such exacting detail, craftsmanship and beauty that it’s easy to become blithe to it. Intricate stone and wood carvings wrap themselves around buildings, staine- glass windows make riads and restaurants look like ethereal disco balls and meticulously placed, colourful tiles create artworks out of the ordinary. Steps, doorways, halls, ceilings and fireplaces are elevated with such ubiquity you’d think these painstaking pieces had simply been sprayed on.

We arrived in mid-January, when sunshine and warmth is never more appreciated by those visiting from northern countries. It feels terribly British to mention the weather, but it was such a balm for the soul that it feels remiss not to. By day, temperatures reached 24 degrees – we stripped down to shorts and T-shirts. As soon as the sun set, it was a different story, and we would change into coats and trousers before heading out to eat. The other thing that makes Marrakech such an enticing proposition in the winter months is the colour. We left the grey of Gatwick, and in less than four hours, landed to find ourselves surrounded by dusky pinks and sun-faded orange.

It isn’t called the Red City without reason, but the earthy tones are broken up by jolts of primary shades. Of course, there’s the energising cobalt blue of the Majorelle Gardens, created by French painter Jacque Majorelle after finding himself inspired by the intense shade he saw in traditional Moroccan tiles. Sacks of spices come in tones of purple, orange and blue. Palm trees and zellige tiles offer varying shades of green. Vibrant dyed wools and silks hang to dry over the narrow souk lanes. Slippers, ceramics and berber rugs all come in eye-popping hues. This is, of course, the city that taught Yves Saint Laurent colour, after he first visited as a tourist in 1966 and left having bought his first home in the Medina. You could never lose Marrakech in a crowd. 

The real trick to not becoming overwhelmed by Marrakech is finding well-situated accommodation that offers an oasis away from the chaos. Ideally, it would be a riad – a traditional townhouse built around a central courtyard garden. There should be a pool to help you cool down and, if you’re lucky, a rooftop from which to watch the sunset. Enter Ksar Fawz & Spa, a stylish, unpretentious riad in the Medina.

Despite being just minutes from some of the city’s biggest attractions (the Saadian Tombs, Koutoubia Mosque and Bahia Palace included), it occupies a discreet address on a quiet lane in the ancient Jewish Quarter. Mr Smith and I nearly missed the hotel’s subtle signage, which of course makes it feel more of a secret. The city’s accommodation runs the full gamut of being a little too rustic and then overly ostentatious – Ksar Fawz & Spa is the perfect middle ground. It is chic, but relaxed. The staff are attentive but not overbearing. The rooftop views are sublime and best enjoyed with a cold beer or glass of wine from the riad menu.

The food is excellent, and among the best we tried during our trip: fresh, home-made and varied. Don’t skimp on breakfast, which is served on the rooftop terrace. Chef Layla’s fluffy pancakes and fruit bowls are second to none. Sun-loungers come with embroidered straw hats to ensure the intense Moroccan sunshine doesn’t get too much.

The spa is small, but perfectly formed. I left my hammam feeling cleansed, relaxed and ready to spend the evening in one of the riad’s fluffy bathrobes and slippers. Our room was spacious with rattan furnishings, macrame wall hangings and beautiful stained-glass windows that streaked the space in rainbow colours. Photos didn’t do it justice. Even the floors are a solid eyeful, made of beautiful, exotic marble that glints in the sun.

We left the riad to get lost in the souks, gradually acclimatising to the haggling and hustle. We headed towards Jemaa el-Fnaa, the city square a 15-minute walk from Ksar Fawz, which is where you’ll find the bulk of the snake charmers, street performers and henna artists. Don’t hover unless you’re willing to pay for whatever it is you’re looking at. Jemaa is surrounded by restaurants and rooftop cafes, which is where to go for the best views, particularly at sunset.

We spent the afternoon at the Secret Garden – a destination so secret that a queue had formed outside. It’s worth visiting regardless; a beautiful former 19th-century palace with a traditional Islamic garden and cafe perfect for enjoying a quiet beer or spot of lunch. It is also, conveniently, surrounded by some of the more elevated Marrakshi stores, where shopkeepers were less bullish in their selling techniques. We picked up some of the best souvenirs here: embroidered cushions, hand-woven rattan slippers and brightly-painted bowls.

Another highlight came via a recommendation from the Ksar Fawz staff: dinner at Plus61, a laid-back restaurant in  the Gueliz district. Here, produce from local bio-organic farms are used to create simple, modern and delicious dishes well worth the short private transfer outside the Medina. 

There can’t be many places as accessible as Marrakech (from Europe and the UK at least) that feels so completely different: monkeys, camels and donkeys vye for space, the air smells like a mix of spices, smoke and blossom-infused argan oil and the city is soundtracked by scooter engines, tbilat drums and the regular calls to prayer that echo across the rooftops. It’s an intense place, but of all the destinations to miss out on because of trepidation, claustrophobia or squeamishness, don’t let it be Marrakech.