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Many Moorish trading families emigrated from Marrakeshto Britain in the early lgth century. Simon Sebag Montefiorefinds mayhem - and tranquility - in his ancestral city.

here has always been somethingdebauched and glamorously infer-nal about Marrakesh: everyonewho goes there wants to go back.It comes in and out of fashion but

the wonderfirl thing about this hedonis-tic, manic royal city is that, apart fromgetting more expensive, it never changes.

No journalist or torr guide can resistdescribing Marrakesh as mysterious orsecretive. Both are nonsense: it is just thatthe city has an exaggerated sense of thedifference between private and public life.The cool delicacy of life behind the wallscontrasts with the wild-eyed frenzy of thestreets. This cliscretion is the cin-i genius.

But tlespite the trishiorr magazines lndinterior decorators rvho tn- ro rurnMorocco into an exoticversion of the Hamptons,Marrakesh is desperatelypoor, dusty, chaotic andunhinged; the food is hotand spicy, the souks arecrazy and aggressive - andif you don't like flies, sweat,spices, donkeys or tagines,then go to the Cöte d'Azur.

Nothing prepares youfor the lamous medina:place Djemaa el-Fna is asz ny as A Thousand andOne Nighrs meets Iggy Popin a film by Fellini. Withall the savage glory theboundless energy, the darkimagination, the anger, love and hatredof a once-great slaving capital, it remainsa cauldron ofpassion, greed, poverty andhash-driven abandon. The city sitsastride the slave routes from West Africaand the royal road heading north toRabat, the route east to the mountains ofthe High Atlas and the trading road tothe Adantic ports - on the very bordersof a forgotten empire. Yet for all itsgrandeur, it is still a frontiers town.

Djemaa el-Fna is an ordinary souk byday, but when the air cools and darknessfalls, it is where the people come out indroves, to dance, sell, fight and dream -light-skinned Berbers from the Atlas,black descendants of slaves sold here,Rehemna Arabs from the plains, beggars,wrestlers and hustlers, monkey men,snake-charmers, fortune-tellers, hagspainting henna on the sandalled feet of

Abclve: this early 1900scourtyard is unlikely to havechanged in I00 years. frlg§rt:the Koutoubia mosque in 1897.

ageing hippies and German backpackers.The souks are filled with tourist tat, yetthis markeplace is not for tourists; it washere long before they came and is still thesame. The sounds deafen but inspire -drums beating, voices chanting, cartsheaving, horses neighing, snakes hissing,apes chattering, qrmbals clashing, motor-rycles rewing, torches buming. This is thepeople's Marrakesh, as unbounded as thecity's private life is tucked away.

The southern capital of the kingdom ofMorocco, Marrakesh was always a royaTcity - even today the young king is build-ing a palace here. Founded in 1061 lx the§rnoravid sultans, its old pink walls are,,rnchanged ll the 'r-crrs. Bv the late 19thcenrun; *re cin' canrc uirJ.r; r..- :,,...,: -i

the Glaoua *'arlords, rvhoreached their apogee underThami el-Glaoui, pashaof Marrakesh who ownedmuch of Morocco; in oldage this rich and culturedcut-throat came as a guestof Winston Churchill toQueen Elizabeth II's coro-nation, not long after he hadhad the heads of enemiesimpaled on his palace gates.

The city first becamefashionable in the westduring the virile youth ofel-Glaoui, thanks to thewonderful writings of thewealthy eccentric Walter

Harris, the Morocco correspondent forTbe Tim.es who befriended three sultansbesides el-Glaoui himself. Harris died in1933, el-Glaoui in 1956.It was not untilthe late Sixties that the city fascinatedonce more and Jimi Hendrix wrote songshere. Men of taste, Yves Saint Laurentand interior designer Christopher Gibbsamong them, still have houses in the city.Gibbs more than anyone brought the cul-ture, robes and decoration of Marrakeshinto the mansions of rock stars in Chelseaand Gloucestershire, Now the city isenjoying renewed popularity: the medinais currently being renovated; designerEmmanuel lJngaro launched his latestperfume here in a two-day fiesta, and theAmanjena hotel has opened, as magnifi-cent as el-Glaoui's palace.

But fashions come and go: Mamakeshfascinates because it seethes not for

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bec:use J am rlrrsl oDe oi them- I harea special rseson tor loring the cin': theSebaes. mr temih. lired in the city forhundreds of vears, sening as merchantsand adrisors to the Alaouite kings, whilerading in slares and spices in the famousDjemaa el-Fna. In the 18th centurya part of the Sebag family helpedfinance the construction of a 'port' forMarrakesh, the city of Essaouira (for-merly Mogador) on the Atlantic coast afew hours' drive away. Then the Sebagscame to London along with the d'Israelis(Benjamin Disraeli's father was born inMarrakesh) and the Hore-Belisha family(one of whom was the defence sec-retary who gave his name toBelisha beacons). I was longing tovisit Marrakesh, and since my wifehad married into a pardy Moorishfamily, she agreed to come. Hereand there we ask in the souks ifthey know the name and theyalways reply, "Once there weremany Sebags here...".

The holy frenzy of this city isincomprehensible without experi-encing the serenity of courtyards.Our cases carried for us, we makeour way through the infernal dance ofthe big square, heading down a streetalive with sellers, traders, old men, blindmen, motorcycles and donkeys, beforeturning into a long, empty winding laneto a wooden door marked number 87.We enter the delicate, aristocratic andinsolentlv pror.rd world of *re riad, one of:".i::'. - :'.\ i:':((l to$ nhouses. 'l'hese are--- .--.. ..:. ' ' -". :..Jienant läll^t-lies like mine uoultl nare lived and donebusiness. Ours, the Riad el-Cadi in themedina, is three houses combined by aformer German ambassador into anexquisite labyrinth of rooms filled withMoorish antiques, tiles and lamps, setaround courtyards of tinkling fountains,turquoise pools and orange trees.

This was like staying in a museum: thewhole pleasure was its air of studied lan-g'uor, a heavenly sanctuary from the heatand madness. It is not for the service orspas that one stays at a riad - they are

seeing those high hauntinS I*p: the saddle-tloth.maker's

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the ord-äshioned,,J;; Ilt'jffil'#:ll xlHxl,Roseraie. An hour's drive a letter--writer in tgzg.from Marrakesh in thefoothills of the Atlas, it is the kind ofplace for those who enjoy the faded glo-ries of old legends; it is lost, not to sayshiprvreckctl. irr tirnc. s-ith its doz.r' ser-,..r .r:'.1 1....ri'. Irlneh lixrJ. susf)crlrl.tlforever in the n'orld betbre rravellers'standards rose so high. But it remains thebest place to stay as a rose-petalled basefrom which to see the red-stone, henna-skinned people and thin, cool air of theAtlas. The hotel is a calm and restfulplace: in the early morning, ride onhorseback or walk up the hills alongwinding paths to sun-baked villagesclinging onto precipices that have notchanged for a thousand years.

The Moorish splendour that is asmuch a part of Marrakesh as the souks is

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palatial bed and breakfasts. The food wassimple but good; the boy in charge, whoserved as waiter, concierge, doorman andtelephonist, was cheerfully distrait andquaindy bewildered. When we staggeredin from the sweltering souks, we spentthe happiest afternoon lazingby the poolin a courtyard that belonged in thepeaceful seraglio of some ancient sultan.

At night, we walked back across thesquare, dodging the burning torches,dancing serpents and marauding motor-cr-clists, to enter another sanctuary of\r,r-r'rkesh. a restaurant in an old Glaoui' .,1 Fl Baraka, a triumph of

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, ,^, alr* -rl ,,nn: li l , Ci' ' r\r - iJ# "l :,"'ill-.to be found at the edge of the city in theAmanjena, the latest golden child ofAmanresorts which has been built fromscratch around a huge, beautiful lake.With flawless taste and the highest stan-dards of service, class, cuisine andeverything else, this sumptuous hotelcombines the exquisite culture ofMorocco with the excellence of theworld's top hotels. Its luxury is whatluxury should be; everything has beenthought of, yet with a delicate touch.

Indeed the Amanjena is the best, mostspoiling, most luxurious hotel betweenParis and Cape Town. Around its lake liesa village of 34 miniature Moroccanpalaces or pavilions built in plain pinkAtlas stone; each has a domed bedroom,

So immaculately run and cleverly built arethese pavilions and villas (with two storeysand four rooms for a family) that somegrandees never emerge at all.

There is a golf course and a spa ofdizzy,rng comfort. The place echoes withhaunting Moorish and Berber musicians.There is delicious international food -French, Italian, Thai and American - atone high-ceilinged restaurant, but thebest cuisine is in the palace where theskills and traditions of Moroccan cooks

prepare authentic Moorishdishes. So imaginatively andgrandly is this hotel con-ceived, so well-trained thestaff, that tlere is no check-in desk, no registration and

no signing for one's meals: one is simplywhisked straight from the lobby to thediscreet world of one's own pavilion.

The arrival of the Amanjena has revo-lrrit,nir.-cl the concept of luxurv in-\larrakesh. l n.r. :: - ....,>, .'. h,, -.,. .: :,.

not.Nloroccan enough, or vou or*ä, ,aaenough of the Adas mountains, or eventhat it is too perfecg those critics can goback to the tawdry French d6cor, bad ser-vice, faded grandeur, sewage smell andfly-spotted mess of the city's more famoushotels which it makes seem clumsy andold hat. The Amanjena is the country'scharm and magnificence personified -with its cuisine but without the donkeys,flies and incompetence. That is preciselywhat we wanted and what we paid for.

More than that, this is the ideal thirdhotel to stay at: after the immaculate riadof the medina and solid comfort in theAtlas mountains, Amanjena is theMarrakesh of the Alaouites and el-Glaoui himself, an almost private palaceof pleasure, taste and magnificence. Nowonder the Learjets line up at the airportto deliver moguls and their families forweekends at this Shangri-La. No wonderHarrison Ford and Sting are recent visi-tors. We feasted on the charm andIuxury, enjoyed the Moroccan food, andeven today I miss the delicate taste of theIemon-marinated whole chicken cookedin a tagine. This is among the one or twobest hotels we have ever stayed in; wespent days in our room, writing andrelaxing. Yet another irresistible reasonto come back to the ancestral home. *Sim.on Sebag Montefrore u,aoelled toMan akesh witb Scott Dann World (020- I 6 8 25010, wwwscoudunn.com). Tuo nights atRiad el-Cadi, three nigbts at La Roseraie(002 1 244-4 3 9 1 2 8, uuw. cybernet.n et tno /.D8. ier-<L--: -. in lrethrooms for couples, a walled

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