Out of this world! Now with additional photos!

Here’s What An Eleven Hour Plane Ride Gets You: Walkers On Holiday REDUX

Spring Break for our brood began a little early, journeying to Palmilla in Cabo thanks to a bankers’ conference Al was attending. We got super lucky and were invited to stay as the only occupants at the palatial estate of some friends of ours in Caleta, an exclusive development within the Palmilla complex. Each room boasts terraces and breathtaking views of the ocean. Even though we experienced two unheard-of sequential days of soft warm rain in March, we thoroughly enjoyed ourselves relaxing in hammocks, beachcombing and eating loads of fresh salsa Mexicana.




The sun blasted out on the third day, and, despite Ev’s swollen bug-bitten eyelid and an up-chuck in the car (written off as carsickness, but maybe foretelling?), we grabbed our chance at a delightful catamaran ride (we=Steph+three, Al was attending conference meetings) that departed Club 96 and took us at a leisurely pace, surrounded by a school of dolphins, around to Chileno Bay. We spied two whales but they were truckin’ and didn’t linger or breach for us again. So we anchored and swam (Paige and Graham swimming dutifully with chelecas salvavidas on; I with wailing 2 ½ yr old on one arm, no life vest and about 30 feet of ocean below me) ashore, then made our snorkelly way over to the pools of BIG colorful fish. It was great. Soon a booze cruise arrived and we braved our way back to the caramaran. This time I instructed Ev to turtle on my back. She clung around me like some sort of endangered baby baboon, full burst “Mahhhhhhhhhhhhmmeeeeeeeeeeeee!” battle cry the whole way, while I tried not to hyperventilate in my snorkel and plowed my way head down til we were back on board. Lunch was a savory reward! The waters became choppy and Graham’s lunch came back to visit us. Oh well, decks were swabbed, he was snuggled and he was a sport. Once onshore, a second lunch soon took the place of the first and stayed down.

Our final day in Cabo ended with a lovely meal at Las Ventanas al Paraiso, the spot where we were married. Most of the staff has turned over in the past nine years, but we still love the peaceful zen feeling of the grounds, the magical lighting and knock-your-socks-off margaritas. Touching base with the quirks of the place – the Lady Primose Necture soap, the longtime resident lizards (one under the bridge, one in the rocks beside the wedding terrace) we swam in the dreamy ambiance as a family of five before heading back home late Tuesday. Lindsey flew in just an hour behind us, and luckily Grandad was able to pick her up.

Just one day to reload! Paige and Graham went off to school. We tried not to think too much of our sweet Lou at the kennel, since our hearts were tugging at us to get her. It was difficult! By five pm, we were back on board for our flight to London. Easy peasy overnight flight and waking up in London, the only hard part was the seemingly endless drive from Luton to The Berkeley. After a nice cuppa camoMILE tea, we indulged in a SHORT nap and then braved it at Harrod’s and Zara for a full afternoon of shopping!

That night, we dined at Marks with lovely new friends Chris and Emma and topped off the evening with dancing at Annabelle’s. What a thrilling way to adjust to the time change. I highly recommend it!

Friday was equally memorable. We slept in and hopped in our car in time to take in a pre-sale sold out exhibit at the Royal Academy of Arts: The Real Van Gogh, The Artist and his Letters. This was a stunning collection of both art and correspondence from Van Gogh to his brother who was an art dealer in Paris. After a short Q&A between one of the security guards and me, we learned how to circumvent the serpentine queue by becoming RA members and were inside in minutes! Even though Paige was suffering from a stomach bug and fever the night before, she completely rallied and joined in (thanks in no small part to Lindsey’s loving arms) for the viewing.

Next destination: Hampstead Heath. We had not seen Nick and Katie since the hopped back across the pond in December. I absolutely could not wait to meet their latest addition, Frederick Carlisle. Freddy is scrumptious, and I ate up every clucky moment I could spend with him. More lovely than he: the outpouring of maternal love between Katie and her new son – discretely but easily nursing him at the pub just down the block and sitting in her new swank kitchen showering Freddy with adoration, returning his miniature billygoat brays with tender mouth-to-baby-breathy-mouth kisses. Good stuff!!!!




That night we dined at Cicconi’s with a business associate of Al’s and his wife. It was fascinating to hear a London perspective on schooling, as this woman was preparing to send her boy/girl twin children off to boarding schools (Eton and St. Mary’s) because it was the best option AND the children were keen to do it. Made me do a lot of reflecting, with pondering questions like: if you had access to the best away schools with the very best education available, would you? I always thought no, but you never know what choices you will make when it comes to navigating the waters of raising your children, really, until you are in the position to make them.

Saturday morning was the big departure for the short flight down to a new continent! Unfortunately by this point, Graham had Paige’s bug and the next day Lindsey caught Al’s sinus infection. Apparently I have either an iron immune system or should be renamed Typhoid Mommy. In either case, we have medicated and convalesced many a traveler on this trip!

How amazing to explore in such a foreign unfamiliar land as Morocco. The Marrakech airport welcomed us with both bold architecture and quirky colorful tiles. There has never been a car ride I have enjoyed more than the ones in this city. So many bizarre sights to see such as heavily laden donkeys, wares of all sorts, men with overflowing wheelbarrows, mopeds with man+one or two children and stuffed plastic bags flanking them, palm trees, red stucco everywhere, Arabic writing on all the signs, high pock-marked walls around the Medinas, sculpted orange trees and jelabas of every color and pattern.









Our first home in Marrekech was outside town in the palmeraie area at a 9 yr-old resort called Ksar Char-Bagh (pronounced roughly as “shar, tshar bahj”). Inside its intimidating gates, we were welcomed by a resident hawk, walked the palm-canopied path to the grand entrance, through another heavy metal-clad double doorway into the cool dark lobby with its seashell shaped stairwell. One of our harims was just inside the fountain courtyard and the other was a rooftop apartment on the second floor.

We lounged around for that first day and the next, while Graham recouperated, delaying camel-riding adventures until we had a fully healthy crew. Monday we journeyed out to La Pause for an unforgettable day of desert hospitality. We dined in an airy tent atop the hillside, camel lip-flapping and donkey-braying in the breeze our only music. The vegetable pizzette, roasted aubergines, tomato and cucumber salad and fresh-baked loaves with local olive oil dazzled us – and next came an unforgettable tagine of meat and prunes with marcona almonds and not one but two savory couscous side dishes. Still more – sliced strawberries and gateau with coffee sufficiently satiated us into a dozy stupor. The proprietor Frederic, kindly offered a twin bed in a dark, cool thick mud-walled room of his self-sustaining compound for Evelyn’s nap.








Lounging, playing peacefully, fully at one with the whole experience, we became just a part of the tapestry of the place, barefooted on the soft colorful rugs. We were adopted by one of the dogs and made friends with the young, docile resident female donkey, aptly named Van Goghette, having been born with a defective truncated ear. Who knew there would be an Impressionist link between our travels to London and Morocco? We watched a group of German business people whisked in and out by their guide, barely taking “la Pause” before they were off again to whatever was next. Lucky us; we lounged on. A few nice afternoon clouds beckoned us to muster up the energy for a ride, so we were soon giddy and The Beep was refreshed from her nippy (nap). The camel ride was shorter than expected but nothing short of shocking when the beasties move from the seated to the standing position! Hold on to your babies because it is a huge rock back and then a bigger one forward before you are riding high in the camel saddle. Loved it. Wanted more.

We cooed at the horses and Van Goghette followed us around some more. Noone wanted to part ways as we walked back to the van for the 1 ½ hr ride back to civilization. That night we dined on Ksar Char-Bagh’s scrumptious garden offerings.

Tuesday, despite feeling iffy, Lindsey plowed through and joined us for yet another adventure, this time we visited The Ourika Valley. Nestled amongst the red cliffs, this verdant valley was another pleasurable drive into a land unknown. The road runs beside a rapidly flowing river and is dotted with little primative villages home to many textile-workers and laborers. Many homes and cafes lining the river are accessible only by scantily-planked homemade bridges, some suspension and some merely feld trunks held in place by boulders. Our first stop was a Berber home. Here we saw how the Berber people live, even if this particular family has turned it’s home into a bit of a sideshow with Brits, Germans and us traipsing around in it. The older children pester you for money as you walk up the stairs and into the first rooms, where the adults must duck down to get into a small hammam (steam room) in the corner, crafted from mud and straw and only slightly larger than a big dog kennel. The family cows reside just around the corner in a ROOM within the house, and up three stairs to the left is the kitchen! Flies and smells abound. We were invited to sit and take in the tea service, with pageantry and flair performed by the young mother of the house, Fatima, while her two-year-old daughter Raja and Evie marveled at their similarities and differences. Next stop: the herbaliste aromatic gardens with their cure-all potions and UNESCO protected argan oil production. We enjoyed the show and purchased a few things, but not the jars labeled HERPES or HEMERROIDS. We invited our driver, Toufik, to join us for lunch at the Kasbah. This restaurant wouldn’t be our normal pick but despite the ominous looks of it’s cavernous, underpopulated triple decker dining rooms, it was decent food and had great views of the valley with the snow-capped Atlas Mountains in the distance.





On we drove until we reached the falls. I pooh-poohed Toufik’s insistance that we have a guide, but once accompanied by one, I sure was glad to have him along. Al stayed behind with napping Ev while Lindsey, Paige, Graham and I all trekked up the rocky river, rickety bridges and all to reach the spectacular third fall. There are more but we’d had a real work-out to get that far – to say nothing of the workout our guide got as he potato-sacked a 50-lb twin under each arm for the most precarious parts! It was a great boot camp for one previously sullen-acting little boy; we all came down the hillside revitalized from the exertion. We’d like to go back there someday and lounge in the colorful bars that flank the riverbanks, some with tables and chairs planted right in the icy glacier water! I imagine this is a heaven-sent if crowded retreat for Moroccans in the peak of their hot summers.

Wednesday was a transition day, and Lindsey’s battle with the cough/cold raged on, so we left her to rest at the resort while Al took a conference call. My trio and I must have looked a sight to the locals as we craned our necks around ever bend entering the old Medina. The car could only take us so far; we had to walk the last few alleyways with a cart streetworker hauling our luggage. The hotel staff escorted us down the dusty, narrow cobbled way until we reached our riad: Dar Darhma. Big black laquered door. Cool dark interior. Narrow steep steps. Enter another world! I kept saying (surely to the annoyance of my traveling companions) that this is like Alice in Wonderland. I truly felt we were down a magical rabbit hole and the language barrier did add to the non-sensicalness of it. With my spotty French and their spotty English and plenty of Salam Alecoom/Allecoom Salam-ing we made it all work. Our rooms at Dar Darhma cannot be explained or replicated. What a sensory experience. The staff was attentive and eager to please and once Al and Linds joined us, we lounged poolside on the rooftop terrace to while away the afternoon.

We decided to take another plunge – this time into the heart of the big marketplace. All the little side-souk-filled-alleys converge on the large square. Here the hawkers of all wares and performers fill the exhaust-fume air. Orange carts, sizzling food carts, monkeys, snake charmers and more. It was overwhelming. We attempted to dine on a restaurant terrace, but the food was mediocre and we opted to share a couple of pizzas (which got lukewarm reviews) and head back. It was a team effort remembering all the visual clues to get back to our riad, and the whole team pitched in “oh there’s the shoes” “I remember that archway” “this way is right, I remember these doors” and finally “there guys! That’s the moped by our door” courtesy of Paige. We felt triumphiant but dirty. We begged for dinner from the house-chef and were treated to a late but abundant meal.

We decided to call upon our friend Toufik for guidance through the shopping labyrinth that is Marrekech rather than be worn down to a nub in the souks all day. Good idea, Al! We requested “vraiment artistes artisanale” with our broken French and really got more than we bargained for. He took us into the new Medina. We saw amazing quality relics and museum worthy antiques and each of us managed to find something slightly indulgent and entirely amazing to take back pour souvenir. The only regret I have is not finding a good coffee shop near our riad like the Lavazza ones in the new Medina.

We ended our last day with a couple of jaunts into the souks closest to our hotel for last little items and a few more photographs to capture the pace of life in the old Medina. Consumed: One last in-suite tagine dinner. Overheard: One last middle of the night call to prayer. And we left our mysterious, fantastic surreal world, traveling back through the narrow streets and departing for home. The ironic song of choice sung throughout the journey spanning three countries on three continents by our Annie-loving Ev this entire trip has been “It’s A Hard-Knock Life”!