People talk about self-care. Being kind to yourself. ‘Me time’. But how many of us actually practise it? This year, with storms raging in London and my energy levels hovering around the 10 per cent mark, I booked a last-minute flight to Marrakech. Home of the hammam, argan oil and brilliant blue skies, I was hoping to find the antidote.
Swerving the medina (too hectic), I booked a room at the Fairmont Royal Palm, 25 minutes outside the city. I liked the look of its Mauritian-style architecture (wooden bridges over water, soaring palms and opulent decor), brand-new Padel courts and best of all, 500 acres of green space surrounding it. It’s popular with golfers. Amanda Holden is a fan.
Waking up the first morning and opening my doors to gardens bursting with olive and orange trees, I knew I’d made the right decision. I stretched out next to the pool (the biggest in Marrakech) and stayed horizontal for the rest of the day. Countless scientific studies show that vitamin D does you good: boosts immunity, reduces inflammation, helps combat depression etc. But it feels good too.
Trying something new
“You’re perfect!” aren’t words this Londoner hears often but on day two, with the sun shining, palm trees swaying and my brand-new Skechers bouncing me across the Padel court, I have to admit, things did feel pretty perfect. Ex-tennis pro Mehdi Berrada who counts Peter Morgan, creator of The Crown, among his clients was my coach. As well as stroking my ego, he managed to get me hitting the ball off the back glass, which has always been my weak spot.
Later, I dragged my aching body to a group Hatha Yoga class. The gentle yogic stretching combined with breathwork did wonders for this working mum’s neurone-frazzled mind and it didn’t hurt that Dan, the instructor, looked like Kit Harington from Game of Thrones.
Food-wise, there’s something to suit all. Chef Guillaume Galvez, poached from Necker Island, oversees four restaurants. There’s Mediterranean, Moroccan, formal, relaxed, indulgent, super-healthy, take your pick. Warning: the freshly griddled Msemen (fried square pancakes) at breakfast are irresistible, as is the French vanilla flan at al-fresco Le Sabra on the golf course. However, Al Ain, with its sultry vibes, enormous menu of Lebanese/Moroccan dishes and live darbouka music had to be my favourite.
Feeling energised
By day three, my energy levels were sufficiently restored to venture beyond the gates of the hotel – amazing! – so I took the free shuttle to the medina to stock up on argan oil, ceramics and cashmere. Then, on the advice of the concierge, I headed to Beni Rugs, a local rug factory. Well, I say ‘rug factory’ but it was more of a chichi salon-cum-boutique the likes of which you’d see in the pages of Architectural Digest.
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Coffee-in-hand, I was shown all the different stages of the weaving process (traditional looms, spindles, yarn etc) right down to the final touch: flame-casting the luxuriant rugs to remove any uneven tufts of fluff (God forbid!). I even had a go at weaving myself using a small handheld frame which I got to take home. The real surprise was how meditative I found the whole experience. Sitting there, chatting and weaving with the Moroccan ladies (not a phone in sight) was a real privilege and it felt really good to use my brain in a completely new way.
Spa time
I was so zen when I got back to the hotel, I nearly cancelled my spa appointment. Pah! Who am I kidding? Moroccan massage is among the best in the world and Loubna, my firm-handed therapist, did an amazing job with her mineral-rich globs of Ghassoul clay and warming organic oils. Emerging from the treatment room in a cloud of orange spritz 60 minutes later, I could’ve sworn my arms and legs were a few centimetres longer.
By day four, I was feeling so good I arranged to meet up with a fashion designer friend in Marrakech for work. Cocktails and sushi at Rooftop Garden by Nobu (the city’s newest hotspot) was her suggestion. Who was I to disagree? Owned by Robert DeNiro and featuring live DJs, hookah and bikini-clad clientele, it was the polar opposite of the scene at the Fairmont but hey, I was vibrating on an entirely new frequency and by the end of the night was dancing with a six-foot flame-torch-twiddling belly dancer. What happens in Marrakech...
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Everyone’s idea of self-care looks different. For me, it was watching the sun rise over the Atlas mountains from the comfort of an enormous billowy bed. It was thrashing around the Padel court until I was beetroot in the face. It was drinking Palomas with an old friend watching the sky turn Marrakech pink. Above all, it was having time to myself.
We all have busy schedules… Taking a break to do the things that restore us isn’t selfish. It’s essential.
Find out more about the Fairmont Royal Palm Marrakech