Marrakech

Start before Marrakech is fully awake. On Riad Zitoun el Kdim, Pronto Caffè fits into almost nothing: a wooden counter, an espresso machine, a few square meters. Have a coffee — the spiced cortado is a good idea — then ask the barista where he'd go for lunch. People who make good coffee usually know other people who make good things.

Now, get lost. Not metaphorically: actually put your phone away for an hour. The streets of Marrakech have this strange ability to take you, in a few meters, from a crowded souk to a perfectly silent alley. If Google Maps says right and a street on the left looks more interesting — go left.

Somewhere behind Rahba Lakdima hides the riad-gallery of artist Hassan Hajjaj. Photography, furniture made from salvaged signs, saturated colors, Moroccan popular culture: his universe takes over the entire house. The entrance looks like that of a private home — go in, go up, have a tea. If you feel like you've got the wrong address, you're probably almost there.

Don't trust the facade. Behind 144 Arset Aouzal: stacked rugs, lanterns, tables, antiques, glassware, baskets. Less a shop than a place you dig through. Don't come with a list — ask to see what's hidden in the back.

Time to stop with the beautiful addresses. Look for Chez Omar and the little snack stands around it: a hot plate, bread, harira, plastic stools. Order whatever goes fastest — the mixed sandwich is a good option. Don't check whether the place is in a guide. Look instead at who's eating next to you.

You'll pass dozens of them: a counter, hanging bananas, oranges, a blender that has seen a few million fruits go by. Orange if you want to keep it simple, avocado-banana if a drink can reasonably replace lunch. A few dirhams later, move on. No pin, no reservation, no Instagram. That's a city guide too.

For a much slower lunch, save La Famille for another day. A discreet door on Derb Jdid hides a luminous garden and a mostly vegetarian kitchen, simple and seasonal. You walk in with the noise of the medina in your head and, five minutes later, everything has slowed down. Don't plan anything right after.

Near the Medersa Ben Youssef, push open the door: a riad, turquoise zellige, a patio, a house built around Moroccan tea. The menu explores regional traditions — mint, herbs, rose. Choose the one whose composition you understand the least. It's often a good method when traveling.

A foundouk was once a place where merchants, goods and animals stopped along the way. This one keeps something of that idea of refuge: a courtyard, a big tree, art, something to drink. Not a place to “do something” — a place to do nothing for an hour. Rare enough to earn its spot here.

Don't worry, it's not a butcher shop — that's exactly the point. A concept store that reworks Moroccan codes into T-shirts, illustrations and graphic objects. The place to bring back something from Marrakech that doesn't look like a Marrakech souvenir.

Take a taxi. The transition is deliberately abrupt: you leave the pink walls and alleys for an industrial zone full of garages and warehouses. And that's precisely where part of contemporary creative Marrakech has settled.

Ceramics, textiles, painting, furniture, clothing — made in Marrakech with local artisans, but in a completely contemporary vocabulary. Not a nostalgic reproduction of Moroccan craft: a continuation. Look especially at the ceramics and textiles.

A few streets away, find Hassan Hajjaj again — Jajjah, his name almost reversed. Café, tea, restaurant, gallery and shop in an instantly recognizable Moroccan pop universe. Have a tea, look at the exhibition, and above all notice the contrast with the Marrakech of the morning. It's the same city.

In Al Maaden, the Al Maaden Museum of African Contemporary Art gathers painting, photography, sculpture and contemporary creation from Africa and its diaspora. The space is calm, far from the energy of the medina. Take your time, then stay for the café or the garden before heading back.

Don't go straight to the roof: the route passes through an exhibition space and a concept store before reaching the rooftop. That's what makes the address interesting. Then order something and let Marrakech do the rest — at that hour, the walls change color every ten minutes.

Climb to the terrace just before dark. Below, Jemaa el-Fna begins its second seating: the stalls appear, the lights come on, the smoke rises, the crowd changes. Don't come just for dinner. Come watch the square become Jemaa el-Fna.

There are views you photograph, and others that make you put the phone down. From the terraces, Marrakech turns almost monochrome: earth, orange, dust, then blue. The secret isn't the sunset — it's the twenty minutes just before.

End in Guéliz. Behind a discreet facade, a night laboratory: glassware, bottles, low light and cocktails built with far more precision than you'd expect from a last drink. Sit at the bar, watch them work, order something you would never have chosen. Then forget the time.

The next morning, Marrakech can wait. In Guéliz, a new generation of addresses: specialty coffee, minimalist lines, art, vinyl — and no desire to artificially recreate a medina indoors. Order a filter coffee, choose a record, stay.

When Marrakech gets too full, take the road to Amizmiz. A kasbah set between the Atlas and the Agafay desert — stone, earth, craft, silence. Go for a night or just for lunch facing the void, and come back to the medina as if washed clean. Our absolute favorite.

Marrakech can sometimes feel like it's been turned into a set. The perfect riads, the pools, the rooftops, the baskets, the terracotta walls. They exist, and some are magnificent. But the city becomes far more interesting when you start looking between the addresses. The juice seller. The guy fixing a scooter. The bread coming out of the communal oven. The café where no one speaks English. The door with no sign. The twelve-dirham sandwich after a contemporary art gallery. That's where the two Marrakechs begin to blend — and that's usually where the journey really begins.