Foothills Of The Atlas Mountains, Morocco: It's our final morning at the Riad, and due to the confined space within our small room - and Coman's fractured sleep - we're happy to be moving on to our next destination, a somewhat more luxurious affair than Ambre et Epices. As a result we've brought forward our transfer to mid-morning rather than late afternoon but it means we only have an hour or so to seek out some further souvenirs.
A pool in Paradise
Inspired by the lights that illuminated our meal at Lotus Privilege last night, we head back to the souks and show various sellers a photo of them until one produces a very similar lamp shade, quoting 1450 for one! Considering we're after five of them for the hall and landings we haggle hard and manage to secure four for the 1600 dirhams we have strapped in a money belt around my waist.
Stuffing the lanterns into bin bags we race back to the riad to make our pick up time, but upon checking out we discover that their card machine isn't working. Mohammed arranges for a porter to wheel our luggage through the winding passages to our designated pick up point and then he takes me to a cashpoint where I take out the maximum daily allowance to settle our bill. Shortly afterwards a swanky black people carrier hoves into view. We load our bags into the back and clamber inside to a beautifully air-conditioned space. The driver turns around and grins, assuring us we are in for a treat. "Ah, Le Palais Paysan," he says. "C'est le plus tranquil de Marrakech. Tres calme." We can't wait!
We leave the bustle of the city and head south on a long straight road towards Tahanaoute, turning off after about 30 minutes to venture cross country via bumpy dirt tracks towards the looming Atlas Mountains ahead of us. On we go, further into the rugged, desert-like countryside ahead of us, up winding roads and through crumbling, medieval villages, deeper into the heart of nowhere. Our driver turns to us with another grin, "Il y a rien!" he exclaims, pointing out wilderness as far as the eye can see.
Outside our rooms
And then like a mirage Le Palais Paysan appears before us. We sweep in through its gates and disembark outside a brutalist orange building, the entrance to paradise. A boutique hotel with just 16 suites, set in beautifully manicured gardens and possessing truly jaw dropping views of the mountains, it is a wonderfully tranquil oasis in a barren landscape.
With our luggage miraculously whisked away we are ushered through to a spectacular verandah where mint tea and petit fours are produced, and then left unattended for 20 minutes or so, wondering what happens next. We drink in the surroundings and find ourselves relaxing immediately, the craziness of Marrakech starting to seem a million miles away.
The grounds
After a while Mustapha, the tall, bespectacled manager introduces himself and Hamada and Khalid, the two receptionists greet us, and we're shown to our room; a first floor suite with two balconies, both perfect for watching the glorious sunsets we take in every night.
Revelling in the space we have compared to the riad we unpack and once sorted walk back to the earlier verandah, where we have a deliciously relaxed lunch before spending the afternoon chilling by the deserted pool. There's hardly any other guests and we're the only English speakers so we have a wonderfully peaceful time.
It sets the tone for the next three days - a mixture of pool, massage, hammam, runs, yoga, reading, meditation, food and total peace and quiet. Sadly Coman's cough turns into a chest infection, meaning that our intended exploration of the Atlas Mountains gets ditched in favour of staying put in this beautiful idyll... but there are worse places to spend a few days not doing very much and he's back to (almost) full strength by the end of our stay.
Mountain view
We're also blessed with incredible weather, with pure sunshine and blue skies, plus temperatures well above average, for the length of our stay. On our final night however a storm blows in and keeps us awake, rising at 7am to rain-lashed views and strong, howling winds. Our blast of summer has come to an end, just before we leave!
The transfer back to the airport is blustery and wet, preparing us for London in January. Seated on the plane, with a dishevelled Piers Morgan just behind us and Prince & Princess Michael of Kent in front of us, we travel back to grey skies and reality. Oh, for the joys of Le Palais Paysan to have continued for just one more day...
