Maryam Montague: Marrakesh by Design

Los Angeles was injected with a exciting dose of exoticism last week.

Uberblogger Maryam Montague was in town for a whirlwind visit to promote her brand-new book Marrakesh by Design.

(Photo by Lisa Borgnes Giramonti)

I've been impatiently waiting for this book to come out ever since Maryam told me about it over dinner at her house in Marrakesh, back in December 2009.  It's absolutely everything I hoped it would be and more: a step-by-step distillation of Maryam's own Moroccan-inspired style and magical way of living. The photography is breathtakingly gorgeous and Maryam took all the photos herself -- is there anything the woman can't do?!

(Available HERE.)

Last Tuesday, I spent a lovely day driving Maryam around to a few of my favorite stores and then met her again at her book signing on Thursday. It was held at Downtown, one of LA's most stylish antique furniture shops, and it couldn't have been more perfect. Owners David Serrano and Robert Wilson went the extra aesthetic yard to make sure Maryam felt completely at home.

(Oy. I wish I had noticed that price tag when I took the photo.)

The space was brimming with gleaming mirrors and brass lanterns and colorful wares, not to mention a lovely traditional spread of Moroccan hors d'oeuvres and drinks.

Maryam had lots of fans there and they were all pretty fabulous. I had a great time chatting with Nicki Clendening and Callie Jenschke, the talented co-owners of Scout Design in NYC. They are sexy, bohemian girls after my own heart and their website is beyond.

(Vivaciousness x 2.)

And oh, Maryam's book! It's bursting with wonderful design ideas and projects for incorporating a little bit of Moroccan style into your life and adding beauty and versatility to your home.

(All Marrakesh by Design photographs by Maryam Montague.)

There are chapters on Moroccan architecture, color and pattern in which Maryam elegantly lays out the key elements of Moorish style. 

Once you've learned the basics, she takes you on a room-by-room tour of all of her favorite spaces and tells you everything you need to recreate the same feeling in your home. (Make a coffee table out of a Moroccan window! Create an Moroccan-inspired seating area!) 

The last section of the book focuses on where to shop (both in Morocco and online) and how to determine quality and expertise so that you can be confident with your purchases.

Below is a photo of us on the night we met sitting by the flower-laden fountain in her bewitching home/boutique hotel, Peacock Pavilions. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows stretches her olive grove and above it the impenetrable North African sky. It was after midnight and we were talking in rapid hushed tones, the way you do when you know the evening is winding down and you still have so many things to tell each other. 

(Me with Maryam. December 2009, Marrakesh.)

 Fingers crossed, she's planning on coming back to Los Angeles in the fall. If she does, I'm throwing her a dinner party.

(Maryam Montague and Lisa Borgnes Giramonti.

May 2012, Los Angeles.)

The Unbearable Beauty of Being Eighty

It arrived in an elegant brown paper package with no return address.

Question marks dotting my brain,

I opened it.

And...

gasped.

Luca came running in from the kitchen.

Piero heard me out by the pool and wondered what the wifey had gotten herself into this time.

The card inside revealed it was from dear Maryam of My Marrakesh.

(Photo via My Marrakesh)

My heart was racing.

I knew this dress.

It had been haunting my dreams for months,

ever since she had written so evocatively about it on her blog.

In Maryam's words...

"Simply the most beautiful dresses I have ever owned.

From Yemen.

Between 75-80 years old.

Every stitch made by a person with a needle and a needle alone.

Yemeni haute couture.

I have three, all purchased from the same dealer.

There were no others to be found.

Each different - each undoubtedly the only one exactly of its kind."

Below, you can see two of the dresses from Maryam's collection hanging in her home in Morocco.

(Photo via My Marrakesh)

Here she is wearing one of them.

I'll wait while you catch your breath.

(Photo courtesy of Maryam)

(I think even Anna Wintour would tremble upon seeing that photo, don't you? André Leon Talley would have to grab her before she collapsed in a dead faint.)

Its spirit reminded me of another special dress, one that exists only on faded celluloid, worn by celebrated author and romantic world traveller Lesley Blanch (1904-2007). These stills of her dancing on an Egyptian beach in the 1970's are embedded in my synapses.

(Photo via www.lesleyblanch.com)

Maryam photographed one of the dresses hanging from a star.

(Photo via My Marrakesh)

The one she sent me looks to be identical, don't you think?

(Dress in my dining room)

I held it carefully in my arms and tiptoed upstairs with it.

Would it fit?

I gently slipped it on.

Like a glove.

Immediately, I felt connected to 19th century Victorian adventuresses, to Yemeni tribeswomen, to fearless females from distant eras.

I was encased by delicate threads and stitches and patterns.

I was tattooed in textile.

What I love most about it is that it reveals its age.

Unashamedly.

Proudly.

Gloriously.

Yes, there are frayed ends.

And slight discolorations.

(Just like most of us, right?)

I revel in these imperfections.

(As we all should in ours.)

It is a survivor.

It has a (take your pick): delicate strength/rebellious fragility/unshakeable daintiness that is unweakened by the passage of time.

Aside from carefully mending one or two loose seams,

I will wear it just as is.

Pour Moi, Le Deluge

On Saturday, the torrential rains finally stopped...and I'm not altogether happy about it.

(Sunset over Hollywood, 1/22/10)

For six days, we had taken blissful refuge at home and reveled in the exotic weather.

Soups simmered.

Scones were baked.

Books were devoured.

Blazing fires went head-to-head with the fierce crescendo of midday thunderstorms.

Life became infinitely simple.

I knew at some point the sun would come out and we would all have to go outside and enjoy it, but until then, we remained happily indoors. Cooking was pure pleasure. During mealtimes, we lit candles and cranked open the kitchen windows to let the smell of fresh rain mix with the aromas being stirred to life on the Aga.

If there was a recurring theme to our meals, it was that they be largely composed of steaming liquids. One particular seafood stew called "Cioppino" made so many repeat appearances at our house this past week that I was almost afraid it would start asking for royalties. (This is Hollywood, after all). We served it at a dinner party last week, ate the leftovers the following day and I still can't get enough of it. Hearty, fresh and not heavy at all, it's my new favorite winter meal.*

Saturday night's rendition was ladled generously into big bowls, each serving plentiful with of chunks of fresh cod, mussels and scallops. For a grace note, we sprinkled it with fresh chopped parsley. Earth meets sea.

(Cioppino stew, Saturday, 1/23/10)

Sunday morning, Piero caught glimpse of the fresh snowy peaks of the San Gabriel Mountains and decided it was going to be a ski day. For breakfast, he added some linguini to the cioppino and transformed it into a stick-to-your-ribs mountaineering meal. Suitably fortified, he and Luca were out the door 25 minutes later.

(Cioppino and pasta, 1/24/10)

Now the house is quiet, the tea is brewing and I have time to write, sew and think. If it was just raining outside, it would be a perfect day.

P.S. My friend Maryam from "My Marrakech" is a finalist in the Bloggies for "Best African Blog." If you've ever been on her site, then you know how deserving she is of the award. Her stirring prose and soulful photos not only transport her readers to the furthest reaches of the globe, they are a poetic sanctuary from hectic times. Please click HERE to vote for her (and scroll to the right to see the categories). Thank you.

*Note: Unfortunately, I don't have a recipe for the cioppino because Piero is an improvisateur and never writes anything down. But I'll ask him again....

The London/Marrakech Express, Part Six

It was late morning. We sat in the horned chairs outside our room and pondered our plan for the day.

Luca wanted to explore the hotel again, so while Piero made some calls, we crept through the exquisitely detailed hallways and corridors and courtyards (all five of them).

One...

...two...

...three...

...four...

...and five.

After peering into every nook and cranny, Piero reappeared and we headed for a repeat visit to the souk. We tried to assume the insouciance of locals, but our efforts proved hopeless as everything was so enchanting it required a second glance...

...and sometimes a third.

Caution: Becoming oblivious to your surroundings may result in a real-life game of Donkey Kong.

After my harsh jolt back to reality, we repaired to the safety of a cafe where Luca ordered his favorite new elixir: sparkling water and mint syrup. It tasted exactly like fizzy mouthwash, but Piero and I kept that to ourselves.

Lastly, there was a freshly-drawn henna scorpion to make the outing truly indelible.

Back at La Sultana, Luca discovered the pool had a secret viewing window...

...which could be seen from the underground "Jules Verne" bar.

The waiter said we were the only ones to want to take a photo like this.

But why not?

The afternoon was spent at Les Jardins de Majorelle, the resting place for Yves Saint Laurent.

Formerly owned by French artist Jacques Majorelle (1886-1962), it was purchased by Yves Saint Laurent and his partner Pierre Bergé in 1980. The main residence, designed to emulate a Moroccan palace, sits in the midst of a paradise of lush vegetation.

The palette of red, blue, yellow and green is based on Majorelle's fascination with Fauvism.

When Saint Laurent died, he requested that his ashes be buried here.

Sssshh.

Later that night, we prepared for our stealth mission.

(Note: For very important reasons which I will explain later, there are no photos in this section.)

The Plan:

Famed blogger Maryam of My Marrakesh had invited us over for dinner. When I spoke to her that afternoon, she gently nixed our plans to take a cab to her house because, in her words, "we live in a very remote village. Even the taxi drivers can't find it."

The Pick-Up:

At 8pm we had our driver deposit us in front of a giant supermarket about twenty kilometers outside of Marrakech. Imagine Costco meets Home Depot with djellabas, dust and donkeys and you're halfway there. A few minutes later, a black car glided into the parking lot and the window rolled down a crack.

"Are you Lisa?" asked a deep voice.

I nodded.

"Maryam has sent me. Please to get in."

Inside the car, we found the delightful Jaime and David, two honeymooning New Yorkers who had also been invited to dinner and who also had not yet met Maryam. It was turning into a Graham Greene novel. We bounced on unpaved roads deeper and deeper into darkness, through teeny villages (that I swear are not on any Google map) and finally up to an immense gate. In the distance, through a grove of olive trees, a white pavilion beckoned. As we drove up the long drive, we saw two elegant figures standing in the doorway, silhouetted by soft golden light. This was our first glimpse of Maryam and Chris, her husband. It only got better from then on.

The Night:

My memories, in no particular order:

1. Children playing hide-and-seek in a magical outdoor grotto.

2. Plates piled high with Moroccan delicacies.

3. Touring the jaw-dropping, not-to-be-believed main house and grounds.

4. Being serenaded with an impromptu violin concert by two little girls.

5. Laughter. Lots of it.

6. Luca inside a huge Berber tent whispering with four new confidantes.

7. Moroccan wine (surprisingly good).

8. Discussing embroidery with Maryam, a fellow textile obsessive.

9. Spiky, the huge spiked pet lizard, running down an endless hallway.

10. Saying our goodbyes and hearing, "We met with a handshake. We leave with a hug."

The reason I can't show you any of my photos of the night is for a very exciting reason: Maryam is writing a book about her life in Morocco, due out next year on Artisan Books. Well-known editor Ingrid Abramovitch (author of the just-published "Restoring a House in the City") is helming the project, so it's bound to be fabulous...and of course, mum's the word until then.

I did get clearance on this one, however.

(LBG with Maryam of My Marrakesh. Photograph by Anna Wong)