Ravishing and regal, La Mamounia hotel is set in royal gardens, styled with Moorish opulence, and as sensuous as a seraglio. Aware that its guests (Winston Churchill was a fan) expect the best, the legendary den of decadence recruited luxury-lifestyle luminaries including Jacques Garcia and Olivia Giacobetti for its recent refurbishment, and world-class chefs to captain its restaurants.
Unabashed Moroccan decadence that’s fit for a film star
Four enticing restaurants and four buzzing bars
Central location near Koutoubia Mosque and Djemaa el Fna
Free airport transfers from Marrakech airport.
In the know
Also need to know:
Deluxe rooms (and all higher categories) have a private terrace, meaning smokers can light up outside. Book a Suite or the Riad and enjoy additional in-room treats: fresh flowers, fruit, pastries, Moroccan wine and champagne.La Mamounia’s immaculate marble and mosaic spa is an opulent setting for a treatment, all ornate ceilings and arched columns. Shiseido products sit alongside the hotel’s signature unguents: black soap, Ghassoul clay, Argan oil, rose water and orange blossom water. Pick from three hammams, nine treatment rooms, six outdoor massage cabins, an indoor pool, and a hair salon headed up by Jean-Michel Faretra.
Kaftans, Cavalli and couture.
Beach glam (denim and silks will do) for Le Pavillon de la Piscine – of course, if you’d rather don something fabulous, you’ll be in good company. When it comes to the remaining restaurants, ‘glamour, glamour, glamour’ is the mantra.
Mr and Mrs Smith reviews
Sitting pretty upon grand leather sofas in Mamounia’s candlelit Jacques Garcia-designed lobby, sipping cool glasses of almond milk and nibbling dates, I rather wished all hotel check-in experiences could be so otherworldly. As Mr Smith passed on details about how I, Mrs Smith, would like the next morning’s Royal Hamman spa treatment, my suitcases vamooshed by a troop of robed fez-wearing bellboys, I lounged in a pleasant fug (Mamounia’s signature scent was created by world-renowned perfumier, Olivia Giacobetti), watching European high-society meander past and idly speculating whether the bijoux Gucci outlet did those pumps in their size.
Marble pillars, bold red and white lanterns, vases laden with fresh flowers and a water fountain sprinkled with petals… A weekend spent in the lobby with just a Moroccan throw to snuggle, waiter-service Moroccan-rose deliveries from the nearby Churchill Bar would have been a sublime holiday on its own. Mr Smith, ever orthodox, insisted we explore the rooms.
In the Moorish-style boudoirs, you can't help but want to touch the furnishings: studded leather headboards in orange, purple and beige, hand-painted wooden doors, thick rugs and throws from the Atlas Mountains. We stayed on Mamounia’s first floor in a room luxurious, ornate and passionately Moroccan, hand-crafted mashrabiya shutters, cool white linen, stucco’d bathroom, vivid, lovingly laid tilework.
As Mr Smith ran a deep bath, availing himself of the sumptuous booty of Mamounia toiletries, I dealt with the diligent squad of housekeeping staff determined to bring gifts. My first instinct was to flip the Do Not Disturb sign, but after the fresh cherries, the still-warm cupcakes and the windblown peaches, I made an executive decision that being ‘bothered’ was rather lovely.
Now, as Mr Smith bathed, I retired to our large balcony overlooking neatly pruned gardens with a copy of Vogue and a large G&T. Distant call-to-prayer cries and the whispery buzz mopeds reminded me that Friday night medina in Marrakech was within strolling distance. After darkness we drifted down to Le Bar Italien and installed ourselves on the decadent saffron-velvet chairs, squeaking with delight that not only were we allowed to smoke a cigarette indoors, like back in the olden days when the pair of us met, but the staff were delighted to fetch packets on a silver tray.
Several wholly elegant flutes of champagne and half a dozen lobby-pianist cover-songs later, we slinked into Mamounia’s Baroque interior Italian restaurant for a pricey yet perfect feast of spaghetti don alfonso, langoustines, zucchini ravioli and slices of sweet chocolate pizza. A word of warning: don’t visit Mamounia with someone you’re ‘quite fond of’ if you don’t want to fall in love. There’s something in the signature scented air here that makes it rather unavoidable…
Do, however, go with someone who loves you for your curves – the poolside breakfast buffet is dreamlike in its scope and setting. We took a table at 9am, surrounded by resting European footballers and WAGs, plump diplomats and well-heeled families, then let the squadron of staff bring coffee, newspapers and iced water. We ate porridge with fresh pomegranate, freshly cooked eggs Florentine from the walk-up kitchen, too many pastries and fruit from the gardens near to where we sat.
After breakfast, Mr Smith and I made a half-hearted nod towards exercise by wandering in the grounds through orange trees, watching tennis matches being elegantly slugged out by residents far more energetic than us. We also got to the bottom of where our vegetables had been sourced from the night before, with a whirl around Mamounia’s private gardens. Jannah, the Islamic concept of paradise, starts with a garden, and so did La Mamounia, which began life as royal flower-filled grounds; a gorgeous gift from a sultan to his son. Today this eight-hectare haven is planted with 700-year-old olive and fruit trees and vivid, perfumed blooms, tended to daily by 30 gardeners.
Fringed by palm trees, the turquoise pool is as regal as the rest, decorated with shimmering fish-scale tiles, surrounded by a neat cavalry of spotless white sun loungers. Exquisitely kept, the pool area is soothingly silent with a discreet army of staff who will check your expression for evidence of ‘want’. While Mr Smith front-crawled off some of the past-24 hours excesses, I curled up on a white lounger with a novel, preparing myself for my afternoon hamman purge in the world-class spa.
Mr Smith and I signed up to take our steam-and-scrub together, fighting off fits of giggles as we were handed small paper pants and each enlisted a masseur and whisked off to separate saunas. My masseuse was a glorious small, squashy Moroccan lady clad in an all in one black swimming costume and flip flops then scrubbed every inch of me, forehead to toes, then moisturised before returning me to Mr Smith for massages.
Giddy and slightly reborn post-hammam, Mr Smith and I left Mamounia for a whirlwind Saturday night in the ancient medina featuring strong coffee, snakes, some dancing and meetings with various local eccentrics, with the obligatory Cafe Arabe stop-off. Our final day was spent restoratively by the pool, drinking mint tea and eating baklava waiting for one of Mamounia’s Jaguars to take us to Menara airport. Mamounia has its own private room in Menara, for those who find meeting the public frightful. It certainly was a drag leaving Marrakech, but this Mr and Mrs Smith know that one day they’ll be back. After all, after opening in 1923, it was soon Churchill’s stay of choice; he called it ‘the most beautiful place in the world’. Who are we to argue?
Avenue Bab J'did, Marrakech, Morocco, 40 040
2.3 mi / 3.7 km from city centre
- Valet parking
- Aerobics instruction
- Exercise gym
- Internet services
- Tennis court
- On-Site parking
- Complimentary in-room coffee or tea
- Room service
- Onsite laundry
La Mamounia has four acclaimed restaurants. Le Français is slightly more formal: marble columns, oversized lampshades and swathes of heavy fabric. L’Italien is moodier, with low lighting and rich ruby, claret and aubergine hues. Alternatively, crunch along the soft gravel path that leads to Le Marocain, where local cuisine is served to the tune of live Moroccan music, or feast on shared platters poolside at the laid-back Le Pavillon de la Piscine. Sweet-tooths will love Le Menzeh, a little hut in the gardens that serves up sugary delicacies such as macaroons and homemade ice-cream cornets.
Eat out on L’Italien’s terrace by candlelight. On chiller nights at Le Français, tables close to the window are ideal. Grab a table with a full Atlas Mountain vista at Le Marocain; as close to the pool as possible at Le Pav
Dinner is dished up between 7pm and 11pm; drinks are served at the bar from 11am–1am.
The 24-hour room service includes options from the restaurant menus.
Each restaurant has a bar area to match: Le Bar Italien is a stylish setting for martinis, Le Bar Pavillon de la Piscine is a shaded spot with the pool in reach and Le Bar Marocain comes into its own at night – sit on the rooftop with a pre-dinner cocktail and admire the Atlas Mountains. Then there’s the tiled courtyard, where mint tea and cognac can be enjoyed with the sound of the water fountains trickling in the background (and, if you’re lucky, the thrum of the Moroccan guitar).