EST. 2009

August 16, 2016

That Moroccan Miscellanea

I COULD HEAR THE WATER RUNNING DOWNSTAIRS. Where had that palm branch fallen from? The foliage looks just as lush. At the souks, we found ourselves under a hammam, where a worker paused to chant for us. He plucked a small string instrument, turning his head so that the tassel of his fez spun above it. I thought we would all go into a trance.

Zellige they're called: the enamel-coated terra cotta tilework setting little chips like jewels on the floor. Introduced by the Persians, they manage to be geometric and floral all at once. Our guide took my shoes and hid them in a bush. The Palmeraie was scorching and my camel was slightly unpredictable. Her name was Shakira. The other camel, Beyonce. I rode half an hour barefoot, thinking I had lost my shoes forever. How did he know which bush it was? They all looked the same.

The Bahia Palace was built for the wives and concubines of Ba Ahmed, grand vizier of Marrakech in the 1800s. It took fifteen years to complete, by craftsmen imported from Fez. Stretches of white, intricately dotted with greens, blues and yellows, covered its large courtyards and galleries, contrasting greatly with the strong salmon shades outside. The Saadian Tombs has its fair share of pink walls too, albeit less of a feature than the mausoleum's muqarnas made with pure gold.

We stayed at Riad Due in the Medina, where tall, nondescript walls conceal exquisite interiors. From the roof, you could see the Koutoubia Mosque, the largest Mosque in Marrakech, completed under the reign of the Berber Almohad Caliph Yaqub al-Mansur. Moroccan skies at sunset are on fire.

I'm not in fact intoxicated as I write this, though it might sound like I am. Marrakech was so saturated with heat, scent, sound and color, it was hypnotic. And my memory of it, episodic. As holidays take different forms, enriching its takers in different ways, this particular trip provided an escape from my life's new routines and requirements.

Dehydration may have contributed to the daze. One of our riad's hosts said sugar is good to help you stay hydrated though I did decline sugar in my mint tea a couple of times. I also survived what seemed to be the world's best carpet sales team, who dazzled us with layers upon unfurling layers of fine Berber handicraft. Women weavers from the Atlas Mountains design the carpets from imagination, crafting each one for up to decades at a time.

I've done a myriad of things in the past decades, though nothing nearly as precious as a handmade work of art. There are some whose lifetimes fortunately revolve around something so exquisite and singular. For the rest of us, it's a matter of finding gems in the miscellanea.

Bahia Palace, Palmeraie, Saadian Tombs, the Medina and Riad Due, Marrakech. Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.



August 1, 2016

That Villa Oasis

WITH STILL OVER A YEAR TO GO UNTIL THE NEW MUSÉE YVES SAINT LAURENT opens in Marrakech, there's still over a year to wait until we can personally glimpse such creations as Catherine Deneuve's Belle de Jour dress or Naomi Campbell's Vincent van Gogh jacket. Until then, the neighboring Jardin Majorelle should more than satisfy.

Two distinct chapters comprise the garden's history. It was first the project of artist Jacques Majorelle, who cultivated what was originally a four-acre plot of land. A "passionate amateur botanist", he introduced cacti, palm trees, jasmine, weeping willows, bamboo, agaves, cypress, bougainvilleas and ferns, among other plant varieties from different continents, all around a villa he painted in vivid hues. His distinct ultramarine is today referred to as "Majorelle blue".

Following Majorelle's death in 1962, the garden fell to disrepair, set to be converted into a hotel complex. Yves Saint Laurent and Pierre Bergé were on their first visit to Marrakech when they discovered it. "We were seduced by this oasis where colours used by Matisse were mixed with those of nature." wrote Bergé in Une passion marocaine. "When we heard that the garden was to be sold and replaced by a hotel, we did everything we could to stop that project from happening. This is how we eventually became owners of the garden and of the villa."

The pair named the site Villa Oasis, appropriately for the inspiration it would provide Saint Laurent for the rest of his life. And while it in fact sits on the border of a palm oasis, there's a lot of artistry sown into the garden and grounds, painting it not only with color but with shadows, sunshine, abundance and escape.

Jardin Majorelle, Rue Yves Saint Laurent, Marrakech. Photos by Lady San Pedro.



July 14, 2016

That Brighton Affair

A BEACH FROLIC, A PARK RIDE, A CLIMACTIC NIGHT. Brighton is where lovers Sarah Miles and Maurice Bendrix escape to before the end of their affair. Adapted from Graham Greene's 1951 novel of the same name, The End of the Affair follows the tormenting entanglement between a passionate writer and a discontented wife in wartime London.

Caught in the Blitz, "Bendrix" and Sarah's relationship is as tumultuous as their times. They are not only neighbors to begin with. Sarah's husband Henry Miles, a civil servant, was to be the subject of Bendrix's research. Intending to learn about his habits, "what he drinks at bedtime and when", Bendrix ends up discovering more than what he initially came for.

The affair carries on with strain and squabbles spurred by Bendrix's jealousy. Having been written by Greene however, it transcends romance, subtly dipping into faith and disbelief. While Greene considered himself an agnostic, even an atheist, Catholic religious themes ground much of his writing, particularly in his four major Catholic novels: Brighton Rock, The Power and the Glory, The Heart of the Matter and The End of the Affair. They are regarded as the "gold standard" of the genre.

The film takes place mostly in London, depicted with heavy rains and World War II bombing raids. Brighton provides the setting for contrast; sea air and sunshine for momentary joy and calm. Once back in London, their stories carry on.

Wish I could say the same for myself as we approach a full season of living in Brighton. With its seaside pace and summertime attractions, living here still only feels temporary. It's as if elsewhere, my story longs to carry on. But as I'm not involved in any sort of revelatory, soul-shattering tryst, only time will determine the end of this Brighton affair. For now, London is a train ride away.

Julianne Moore and Ralph Fiennes in The End of the Affair, 1999. Directed by Neil Jordan.

June 9, 2016

That Golden Cure

IT WAS COMPOSER KARLHEINZ STOCKHAUSEN that suggested repetition as being "based on body rhythms, so we identify with the heartbeat, or with walking, or with breathing." Usually thought monotonous or irritating, repetition can in fact be very soothing in its continuity.

Bath's architecture is a testament to this. Uniform façades, crowned with equally duplicating roofs and chimneys, offer a repeating vision of classical proportions. Identical, alternating columns and windows line rows of buildings in gold-tone Bath stone. While visited widely for its spas, and said in legend to have cured King Lear's leprous father with its waters, the city's Georgian structures prove just as therapeutic to any visiting aesthete.

The Circus is a visual experience. Inspired by the Colosseum in Rome, it comprises three curved terraces forming a circle, with the entire circumferential façade growing progressively more ornate as the building rises: Doric on the ground floor, Composite on the piano nobile, and Corinthian on the top floor. Also impressive is the Royal Crescent, lined with 114 Ionic columns across 538 feet of terraced house façades. Even the weir by Pulteney Bridge consists of three concentric arches, juxtaposed with the bridge's own three arches. Bath's famed fudge, the making of which is demonstrated in-store, employs repeated, rhythmic folding to achieve a distinct creamy texture.

Leading to the Holburne Museum in Bathwick, which adjoins Bath, Great Pulteney Street is over 1,000 feet long and 100 feet wide, lined on each side by identical honey-hued buildings and street lamps. The thoroughfare is the grandest in Bath, although non-landmark streets don't really fall too far behind in appearance.

We did not bathe in the spas of Bath during our visit, though we did try drinking its spring water. We indulged in other liquids after that. At the height of our first full English winter, I found myself seasonally affected and was seeking some sort of cure. Waters did it for King Lear's father. Mine came in the form of a beautifully repetitive backdrop, for spending an uninterrupted weekend with the one whose life I share.

Thrice removed now from the places we've called home, I acknowledge the comfort imparted by repetition. Karlheinz Stockhausen associated it with such things as heartbeats, walking and breathing. Can anything be more essential?

The Circus, Pulteney Bridge, Fudge Kitchen, Roman Baths, Bath Abbey, The Queensberry Hotel and Royal Crescent, Bath. Photos by Lady San Pedro and Jaime Sese.