Buying a Home in Morocco
Some of my earliest memories are as a young child, following my father through the dark labyrinth of winding passages that make up the ancient Medina of Marrakech. The smell of paprika, cardamom, rose water, of freshly tanned leather; the clamour of donkeys braying, and the shrill echo of the call to prayer ringing over the high flat roofs, are seared into my memory. In a childhood of conventional English life, the journeys to Morocco were a time to escape, to dream, and to slip into the Arabian Nights.
Three decades passed and I found myself living in a microscopic London flat, with a toddler and an expectant wife. There wasn’t enough space to swing a gerbil, let alone a cat, and outside the sky was grey and low. I felt deceived, bitter at myself for not achieving more, and then I remembered Morocco. I thought back to the scent of spices, to the blazing light, to the intoxicating blend of cultural colour. In a moment of high drama, I stood on a chair, punched the air, and yelled: ‘We’re moving to Morocco!’
Sometimes the best way to realise your dream is to go at it headlong, without thinking about it very much. That was my approach to buying a riad, a traditional home, in Morocco. I knew that if I listened too much to my family or friends, the inertia would be lost and I would never break free. I had heard that Marrakech was the place to go, and so I flew down and took a look. It seemed that Moroccan living in the old city had the same ambition – to sell their ancestral home and to move to the new town. I could find no formal estate agents, but every second barber’s shop and fruit stall seemed to double as an makeshift one. This was three years ago, and things have changed slightly. There are now several small offices in the Medina, largely run by foreigners, offering traditional riads to other foreigners. And there are internet sites, too. The advantage is that they will guide you through the twists and turns of local bureaucracy, and advise on how to deal with the notaire.
My advice to anyone searching for a Moroccan dream home is firstly to look at dozens of houses. That way you get a feeling for what is good and what is questionable or bad. And look at houses that have been renovated as well, as they’ll boost your morale. Second, talk to people who have bought and renovated homes of their own. Learn from the communal melting pot of mistakes. Living in the Medina is like living in the corner of a great sprawling honeycomb. So when you look at a house, you must take into account what else is around it. Is there an abattoir uncomfortably near, or a leather tannery (both of which stink in the summer heat), or is the local mosque’s loudspeaker poking into your bedroom window? How far is the house from a road which is accessible by car? It can be expensive to cart rubble and bricks to and from a main road. A smaller downer is that a riad four centuries old may have its walls inside covered with modern factory-made tiles, or its floor concealed in lino. It can make for a depressing sight. But the great joy of Morocco is that the same work is being done today as it was five hundred years ago – which means you can renovate (and affordably so) with the very finest crafts. Better still is that the current boom in restoration has kick-started and strengthened workshops producing exquisite mosaic, terracotta tiles, carved plaster and wood.
Early on my quest for a Moroccan home I was fortunate to meet a local businessman named Abel Damoussi, who had spent twenty years in London, before returning to his native Marrakech. His dream was to buy and then restore a kasbah, a fortress home, outside the city. Looking back at the ‘before’ photos of his now magnificent luxury hotel Kasbah Agafay, you can only admire the man. The fortress was being used as a barn for livestock when he found it. To look beyond what was a derelict building, took indefatigable willpower and the ability to dream. For me, Abel was a fountain of advice. He told me to look beyond what was obviously apparent and to concentrate on what you could not see. ‘When you buy a place in the Medina,’ he said, ‘you have to ask yourself first what shape the houses around you are in – they’re more then just neighbours. Their houses are a part of your home. Look after their houses before you even think about your own.’ Abel’s shrewdest advice was on the subject of sewers. ‘Don’t start working on the house itself,’ he warned, ‘until you’ve opened up the sewers and shored them up.’ Traditionally, most riads had a single toilet, if they had one at all. The modern craze of renovating Medina homes has meant that luxury-hungry foreigners want each bedroom to have an en suite bathroom. The sheer number of toilets and baths, coupled with the fact that Marrakech’s sewers were designed before the invention of toilet paper, can lead to an overwhelming stench, especially in the blazing summer heat.
On my own quest for a home in Morocco, I started by looking at about 70 Marrakech riads – some no more than a crumbling shell, others palatial, and way beyond my budget. And I toured houses which had been restored to a high standard, to get an idea of what work could be done. Prices in the Medina there have risen sharply over the last three years and well exceed traditional homes elsewhere in the country. A nice four-bedroom riad in Marrakech before renovation could cost you about £250,000, with a quarter of that again to restore it, depending on its distance from the central square. But then you can rent it out for as much as £2000 a week, to foreigners searching for their own holiday Moroccan dream. Other cities are not so expensive. In the bewitching medieval city of Fès – which feels as if it’s come straight out of the Arabian Nights – you can buy a mansion for about £70,000, or less. Others are choosing Essaouira, lured by the Atlantic shore.
It so happened that I was eventually offered a magnificent rambling villa in Casablanca. The house had been empty for almost a decade and was in need to tremendous repairs. I decided to use traditional Moroccan crafts, and to source the majority of the artisans from Marrakech and from Fès. Dozens of workmen eventually arrived, and most of them lived in the house. They would sleep in the sitting-room, and cook their meals on a small brazier there. The advantage was that while they were there they worked hard and as fast as they could. You have to remember that traditional Moroccan crafts are executed almost entirely by hand. You never hear the whirr of a Black and Decker drill, or an electric saw. The downside is that, as a result, the work can seem to take forever. But have faith, with time it does get done.
When you move to a new country, you have to prepare yourself for cultural and linguistic setbacks. I was ready for these. But one thing I was not prepared for were the Jinns. Soon after I had purchased my home, Dar Khalifa (which translates as ‘The Caliph’s House’), the three guardians who came with the property advised me in a whisper that the house was haunted. They said it was packed with Jinns, an Islamic form of spirit. For them, the idea of actually living in the place was at best abhorrent and at word downright dangerous. Refusing the heed the warnings, we moved in and set about the renovation. Terracotta floors were laid, and the walls were coated in tadelakt, an amazing form of Venetian plaster made from eggs, marble dust and lime. And after that we had three glorious mosaic fountains built and installed. But all the while the guardians warned us of the Jinn. Unable to stand it any more, I hired twenty-four exorcists. They came whooping from the mountains and conducted a four-day frenzy, which involved killing, skinning and dissection of a goat, shrill-pitched music, trances, and spraying the rooms with blood, milk and salt. At the end of it, it felt as if the house was squeaky clean. The exorcists promised that all the Jinns had been sucked from the walls, and swallowed whole.
As I sit here, staring out into a sun-drenched courtyard filled with fruit-laden trees, with the sound of water trickling from a mosaic fountain, I can’t help by congratulate myself for following my dream. There have been highs and lows, but the secret has been to keep going, to search for the best artisans, but beyond all else, to believe strongly in a dream.
(Written for Easyjet's Magazine)
(C) Tahir Shah, 2006
Three decades passed and I found myself living in a microscopic London flat, with a toddler and an expectant wife. There wasn’t enough space to swing a gerbil, let alone a cat, and outside the sky was grey and low. I felt deceived, bitter at myself for not achieving more, and then I remembered Morocco. I thought back to the scent of spices, to the blazing light, to the intoxicating blend of cultural colour. In a moment of high drama, I stood on a chair, punched the air, and yelled: ‘We’re moving to Morocco!’
Sometimes the best way to realise your dream is to go at it headlong, without thinking about it very much. That was my approach to buying a riad, a traditional home, in Morocco. I knew that if I listened too much to my family or friends, the inertia would be lost and I would never break free. I had heard that Marrakech was the place to go, and so I flew down and took a look. It seemed that Moroccan living in the old city had the same ambition – to sell their ancestral home and to move to the new town. I could find no formal estate agents, but every second barber’s shop and fruit stall seemed to double as an makeshift one. This was three years ago, and things have changed slightly. There are now several small offices in the Medina, largely run by foreigners, offering traditional riads to other foreigners. And there are internet sites, too. The advantage is that they will guide you through the twists and turns of local bureaucracy, and advise on how to deal with the notaire.
My advice to anyone searching for a Moroccan dream home is firstly to look at dozens of houses. That way you get a feeling for what is good and what is questionable or bad. And look at houses that have been renovated as well, as they’ll boost your morale. Second, talk to people who have bought and renovated homes of their own. Learn from the communal melting pot of mistakes. Living in the Medina is like living in the corner of a great sprawling honeycomb. So when you look at a house, you must take into account what else is around it. Is there an abattoir uncomfortably near, or a leather tannery (both of which stink in the summer heat), or is the local mosque’s loudspeaker poking into your bedroom window? How far is the house from a road which is accessible by car? It can be expensive to cart rubble and bricks to and from a main road. A smaller downer is that a riad four centuries old may have its walls inside covered with modern factory-made tiles, or its floor concealed in lino. It can make for a depressing sight. But the great joy of Morocco is that the same work is being done today as it was five hundred years ago – which means you can renovate (and affordably so) with the very finest crafts. Better still is that the current boom in restoration has kick-started and strengthened workshops producing exquisite mosaic, terracotta tiles, carved plaster and wood.
Early on my quest for a Moroccan home I was fortunate to meet a local businessman named Abel Damoussi, who had spent twenty years in London, before returning to his native Marrakech. His dream was to buy and then restore a kasbah, a fortress home, outside the city. Looking back at the ‘before’ photos of his now magnificent luxury hotel Kasbah Agafay, you can only admire the man. The fortress was being used as a barn for livestock when he found it. To look beyond what was a derelict building, took indefatigable willpower and the ability to dream. For me, Abel was a fountain of advice. He told me to look beyond what was obviously apparent and to concentrate on what you could not see. ‘When you buy a place in the Medina,’ he said, ‘you have to ask yourself first what shape the houses around you are in – they’re more then just neighbours. Their houses are a part of your home. Look after their houses before you even think about your own.’ Abel’s shrewdest advice was on the subject of sewers. ‘Don’t start working on the house itself,’ he warned, ‘until you’ve opened up the sewers and shored them up.’ Traditionally, most riads had a single toilet, if they had one at all. The modern craze of renovating Medina homes has meant that luxury-hungry foreigners want each bedroom to have an en suite bathroom. The sheer number of toilets and baths, coupled with the fact that Marrakech’s sewers were designed before the invention of toilet paper, can lead to an overwhelming stench, especially in the blazing summer heat.
On my own quest for a home in Morocco, I started by looking at about 70 Marrakech riads – some no more than a crumbling shell, others palatial, and way beyond my budget. And I toured houses which had been restored to a high standard, to get an idea of what work could be done. Prices in the Medina there have risen sharply over the last three years and well exceed traditional homes elsewhere in the country. A nice four-bedroom riad in Marrakech before renovation could cost you about £250,000, with a quarter of that again to restore it, depending on its distance from the central square. But then you can rent it out for as much as £2000 a week, to foreigners searching for their own holiday Moroccan dream. Other cities are not so expensive. In the bewitching medieval city of Fès – which feels as if it’s come straight out of the Arabian Nights – you can buy a mansion for about £70,000, or less. Others are choosing Essaouira, lured by the Atlantic shore.
It so happened that I was eventually offered a magnificent rambling villa in Casablanca. The house had been empty for almost a decade and was in need to tremendous repairs. I decided to use traditional Moroccan crafts, and to source the majority of the artisans from Marrakech and from Fès. Dozens of workmen eventually arrived, and most of them lived in the house. They would sleep in the sitting-room, and cook their meals on a small brazier there. The advantage was that while they were there they worked hard and as fast as they could. You have to remember that traditional Moroccan crafts are executed almost entirely by hand. You never hear the whirr of a Black and Decker drill, or an electric saw. The downside is that, as a result, the work can seem to take forever. But have faith, with time it does get done.
When you move to a new country, you have to prepare yourself for cultural and linguistic setbacks. I was ready for these. But one thing I was not prepared for were the Jinns. Soon after I had purchased my home, Dar Khalifa (which translates as ‘The Caliph’s House’), the three guardians who came with the property advised me in a whisper that the house was haunted. They said it was packed with Jinns, an Islamic form of spirit. For them, the idea of actually living in the place was at best abhorrent and at word downright dangerous. Refusing the heed the warnings, we moved in and set about the renovation. Terracotta floors were laid, and the walls were coated in tadelakt, an amazing form of Venetian plaster made from eggs, marble dust and lime. And after that we had three glorious mosaic fountains built and installed. But all the while the guardians warned us of the Jinn. Unable to stand it any more, I hired twenty-four exorcists. They came whooping from the mountains and conducted a four-day frenzy, which involved killing, skinning and dissection of a goat, shrill-pitched music, trances, and spraying the rooms with blood, milk and salt. At the end of it, it felt as if the house was squeaky clean. The exorcists promised that all the Jinns had been sucked from the walls, and swallowed whole.
As I sit here, staring out into a sun-drenched courtyard filled with fruit-laden trees, with the sound of water trickling from a mosaic fountain, I can’t help by congratulate myself for following my dream. There have been highs and lows, but the secret has been to keep going, to search for the best artisans, but beyond all else, to believe strongly in a dream.
(Written for Easyjet's Magazine)
(C) Tahir Shah, 2006
posted by Mangorains at 11:37 AM
0 comments
