Maison Brummell Majorelle

The early May bank holiday was fast approaching, and Mr Smith and I were in the midst of plotting how to finally make a start on our bathroom renovation when it dawned on me: I hadn’t taken a single day off work since Christmas. Something had to change. So, on a whim, we decided to shelve the spreadsheets and book a long weekend away. Tiles and taps would have to wait. 

I had two simple requirements: guaranteed sunshine and a quiet pool. Mr Smith just wanted somewhere in a walkable location, which immediately ruled out any sprawling, middle-of-nowhere resorts. After a brief deliberation, we landed on Marrakech and booked ourselves into Maison Brummell Majorelle for the long weekend. With no itinerary (very unlike me) beyond a Google map a colleague had shared with me, we arrived to a perfectly balmy 29 degrees. I knew, even before we’d found our cab driver, that we’d made the right call.

Turning off the main road, we were driven down a residential street in the Majorelle quarter. It was lined with bougainvillea, their magenta and peach petals prettily scattered along the pavement. An inconspicuous black arched door opened up to reveal the hotel. From the street, you might miss it entirely. But inside, it feels like a whole world away from the buzz of the city. A shallow, mirror-like pool sat by the entrance — not made for swimming, but for atmosphere — and was framed by tall, slender palms.

The lobby was open, with a mini boutique selling local crafts, and a series of airy, arched spaces inviting the sunlight in. The welcome was relaxed but made us feel instantly at home, the kind of genuine hospitality that comes from instinct, not training. Moroccans are, after all, famously generous hosts. We were handed a printed pocket guide brimming with restaurant and shopping suggestions, plus a beautifully illustrated three-day Marrakech map. And that was it. Sidestepping the usual arrival sensory overload, we were handed our key and directed to our room. 

Inside, more polished concrete, soft-toned linens and handcrafted accents gave the room a sense of place, without feeling heavy-handed or veering into cliché as is often the case. The hotel has only eight rooms, each cleverly private. Ours opened out onto a lush little garden filled with tropical foliage and a stone bath. We went downstairs to check out the pool, garden and kitchen. It didn’t take long before we were handed mint tea and homemade petit fours; buttery little bites served with some dried apricots and dates. 

The communal areas are compact, but with only seven other rooms to share them with, space wasn’t an issue. A long, shaded table was where meals were served. A glass-walled lounge consisted of a fireplace (more decorative than functional in 30-degree heat) and low-slung sofas. Coffee-table books were peppered about the place, as well as an array of board games. Mr Smith and I entertained ourselves with backgammon, draughts, Connect Four and a short-lived attempt at him teaching me how to play chess. 

Mostly, though, we lingered by the pool, reading, sunbathing and taking intermittent dips to cool off. In the open kitchen, an honesty bar let us help ourselves to drinks, snacks, homemade cake and ice lollies throughout the day. I was as happy as a clam, having got exactly what I wanted from the trip, and not one bit guilty about putting the bathroom plans on ice. That being said, the Medina was never far. We dipped in and out of the bustle to explore a café or restaurant, shop for ceramics, hand-stitched linens and cactus-silk cushions, or simply meander. There was always a deep exhale once we got back to Maison Brummell Majorelle, though.

It would’ve felt remiss not to visit the Jardin Majorelle while staying just around the corner, so we booked the 8am slot on our final morning and treated it like a pre-breakfast stroll. Back at the hotel, our last breakfast was enjoyed at the only pace holiday breakfasts should be: unhurried and bookended with coffee. The spread was light and lovely, consisting of market-fresh eggs, cheese, fresh fruit, avocado and pastries. It varied daily but was always presented on a charming three-tier stand. 

When it was time to check out, the team kindly booked us a cab and we packed up slowly, not quite ready to trade the stillness of Maison Brummelle Majorelle for our home-improvement spreadsheets. In just three days, we’d managed to properly reset, without missing out on the colour and energy that makes Marrakech so special.