Marrakech, Morocco
Thé à la menthe
Mint Tea. Mint! Tea! Encore.
Le Jardin, 32 Route Sidi Abdelaziz, Mouassine
We started the day at Jardin Marjorelle, a garden and home lovingly refurbished by Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé in the 1970s. The gardens include the happiest, most verdant cactus garden 🌵 you’ll ever see and bright, matte colors of blue, red, and yellow. Bryan remarked that it looked like Legoland: every twist and turn you have couples embracing and taking selfies, little kids bouncing off ramps and platforms, and long slow lines to see the few monuments in the garden.
The Berber Museum inside the gardens was tiny, but meticulous and thorough, brimming with traditional clothing and jewelry that would’ve made Yennie’s Patron Saint, Iris Apfel shit her pants. FYI: No pictures were allowed, so you’re just going to have to believe us.
After a nice break back at Dar Touyir, we ventured into the souk, in search of pointy shoes for Yennie. Yennie hates bargaining, but she also hates to overpay, so this was already a recipe for stress and anxiety. Lucky for her, she found a couple pairs right away and mustered enough angst to walk away with a “fair” price. Could she have paid less? Probably. 😑
Marrakech is Instagram Wonderland. Though we tried to research what to eat, see, and do in Marrakech in advance of getting here, its clear that US travel writers are getting a bit lazy - the same restaurants, the same sites. Instagram, as it turns out, is poppin’ with local lifestyle bloggers and hip French tourists. Search for #marrakech, and you have a ton to work with. Our mission then became, “Go to that cute place that serves that lentil salad.”
#marrakesh delivered us to NOMAD, a cripplingly hip rooftop “farm-to-table” restaurant near Jemaa el-Fnaa - the main market square in the medina. There, we had ultra cool servers, who ran up and down narrow flights of steps in Stan Smiths to deliver our courses and drinks. We took in the view of the hustle and bustle beneath us and tried to eavesdrop on French honeymooners and retirees. More mint tea and saffron gelato affirmed a well-spent day.
A Note on Stan Smiths: Everyone, yes everyone wears these shoes in Portugal, Spain, and Morocco. Sure enough, Google schooled us on why we’ve hit peak Stan Smith: thanks, Phoebe Philo. We found a fake pair of them for 230 MAD ($23), which was a total steal, but we couldn’t schelp ‘em around in our luggage. It was harder to resist the pair of fake Yeezy Boosts we found, too. #👟
N/A, “No/Alcohol”
