In Morocco you drop Kennedy and become Onassis

No more perm, no more tweed

White silk dresses

And then,

Kiss me

I know a little about life

A little about love 

Death, and then how to make breakfast

It’s a beautiful day to fly away and have dinner in Morocco.

We arrive just before the twilight of Marrakesh that must by nature be another twilight than that of Europe, where the Atlas Mountains must be another pink and pink must also be the dust, the spice sprinkled on couscous and the perfume of twilight if ever twilight were a perfume.

Every road leads to Rome and in Marrakesh they lead to El Fenn.

Bought in 2002 by Vanessa Branson and Howell Hames as a ruined Riad they transformed the property into a hotel beyond any expectation.

El Fenn is art deco.

It’s Colonial.

It´s modern and fun- so fun its extravagant and especially because it´s in the heart of Marrakech. 

It is only natural, polite and correct to choose El Fenn for dinner tonight.

The Restaurant of El Fenn offers both traditional Moroccan and European dishes. Decorated in the darker shade of night, the piano is more likely to play the Blues rather than a serenade.

Mojito by the bar shaken or twisted, Sea bass or Lamb on white plates under a chandelier created by Francis Upritchard, (apart from the restaurant the terrace of El Fenn offers both a spectacular view over the Atlas mountains and a menu of seasonal specialties, in the main courtyard Afternoon tea begins at 4pm serving fresh delicacies.)

After dinner we sit by the fire and look at heaven through a porthole of palm trees, the keyhole to heaven, to a starry abyss.

An oasis where Van Gogh is the altar and walls stand like galleries of Arabic art.