After the buzz & noise of Casablanca I was ready to escape. Find a little peace & quiet to breath & read a little of my book.
Thankfully the next stop on our adventure was Jardin des Roses , a resort just outside Rabat. We arrived well after dark. I ran myself an enormous bubble bath and watched “300” from the tub (Gerard Butler seems to feature on every Moroccan channel… not that I’m complaining!), slathered myself in moisturiser, sunk into the middle of my huge bed & slipped into a deep sleep.
I woke early & padded out to the pool to enjoy a few chapters before breakfast.
The whole place was practically deserted.
I lay back & listened to the crickets sing as the water lapped at the edges of the enormous pool.
After a light breakfast of fruit & warm pains au chocolat, I went to explore the gardens.
The paths wind through the grounds & you have to duck into shady orange groves wound into tunnels.
One of my favourite things about Moroccan architecture is that there are fountains everywhere. I grew up close to The Alhambra in Spain & it’s given me some of my most vivid memories. My brother & I would play hide & seek in the gardens, build dams with our hands in the aqueducts & lounge like hot kittens as our parents recited history books & old Moroccan poetry to one & other. The power of the Granadan sun completely drowned out by the cool breeze blowing through the arches & the ice cold rivers of spring running across every surface.
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| Dress (sold out), similar print, similar shape |
Sadly, now I’m grown I can’t spend my day making dams or listening to my parents read. I have to make do with a quick splash & then get back to work. A gardener led me back to the pool and whispered the words I’d long to hear… “We have wifi.” Relieved to learn I wouldn’t have to go back inside, I set off to find my office for the day. On the way I passed Katie, who writes for The Guardian, had already settled down in hers.
A quiet, gently swinging hammock in the dappled shade of a tree was just what I was looking for.
I had my laptop, my phone & a pot of tea to keep me going.
I confess, I did stop once or twice to steal oranges from the grove. Ripped them open & ate them with sticky fingers & a wicked, childish smile on my face.
Places like this make me wonder why I live in England at all!
