The LOCAtion

I smelled the orange blossoms before I saw a single wall. That’s the first thing that hits you on the drive in — not the architecture, not the gates, just this thick, sweet Moroccan smell hanging in the air, the kind you only get in March. By the time the car actually stopped, I’d already decided I liked this place.

It’s only about twelve minutes outside Marrakech, off the road to Ouarzazate, close enough to the airport that my private transfer took maybe fifteen minutes door to door. But you’d never guess how close it is once you’re inside. I’d just come off a full day in the medina — dust, noise, everyone trying to sell me something — and then suddenly I was through a few gates, the souks were gone, and three people were handing me tea before I’d even gotten my bag out of the car. The general manager introduced himself for about a minute, and then I was off to my room. It was eleven in the morning, the light was bright but not harsh, maybe seventy degrees, and I remember thinking: okay, this is going to be a good day.