By Laura Caiswell 
I landed in Marrakech for the first time in July 2019. It was 112 degrees. I had booked a place in the Medina that looked like a palace on Instagram, all teal tiles and floating rose petals. When I arrived, the “plunge pool” was the size of a kitchen sink and smelled faintly of bleach and old socks. The air conditioning died at 2 AM, and I ended up sleeping on the bathroom floor because the marble was the only thing in the room that wasn’t radiating heat like a furnace. I cried. Just a little bit. It was a total disaster.
Most people who write about the best hotels in Marrakech are trying to sell you a dream. They use words like “enchanting” and “serene.” They haven’t actually tried to find a Riad in the dark while a teenager follows them yelling that the road is closed. I’ve been back four times since that first meltdown. I’ve stayed in the $1,000-a-night palaces and the $40-a-night holes in the wall. I have thoughts. Mostly loud ones.
The “Grand Dames” are mostly boring
I know people will disagree with me on this, and I’ll probably get emails from travel agents, but I think La Mamounia is overrated. There, I said it. It’s beautiful, sure. The gardens are incredible. But it feels like a museum. It’s the kind of place where you feel like you’re breaking a law if you laugh too loud or wear the wrong shoes. It’s the hotel equivalent of a trophy wife—stunning to look at, but you can’t actually relax. I refuse to recommend it to my friends because you spend the whole time feeling like an intruder in a rich person’s fever dream.
If you want that kind of money-is-no-object luxury, go to the Royal Mansour. It was built by the King, and it shows. Instead of rooms, you get your own three-story riad. There are secret tunnels underground so the staff can appear and disappear without you seeing them. It’s creepy. It’s absolutely bizarre. But at least it’s an experience. I stayed there once on a press trip I definitely didn’t deserve, and I spent two hours just staring at the hand-carved cedar wood. But for a normal person? It’s overkill. Total overkill.
What I mean is—actually, let me put it differently. If you aren’t a billionaire, don’t stay in the Palmerie. It’s a desert parking lot with some palm trees. You’re twenty minutes away from the actual city, trapped in a resort that looks like it could be in Scottsdale, Arizona. Why fly all the way to North Africa to stay in Arizona?
The places that actually get it right
If you want to actually feel something, stay at El Fenn. I’ve bought the same room here twice because I’m obsessed with the saturated colors. They have these deep red walls and ochre bathrooms that make you feel like you’re living inside a painting. It’s owned by Vanessa Branson (yes, that Branson), and it has this rock-n-roll energy that the other fancy hotels lack. The roof terrace is huge. You can sit up there with a gin and tonic and watch the storks nest on the ruins of the Badi Palace. It’s not quiet, though. If you want silence, go to a library.
For something more tucked away, I always tell people about Riad 72. I actually tracked the noise levels here during my last stay in October. At 3 AM, the decibel reading in the courtyard was 32dB. That’s quieter than a whisper. In the middle of the Medina, that is a literal miracle. The owner, Giovanna, is Italian, and she’s managed to blend that minimalist Italian vibe with Moroccan craftsmanship. It doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard.
Pro tip: Always ask if the Riad has a “douiria.” It’s a smaller, private wing. Usually, it means you won’t have to hear other guests clacking their suitcases across the tile at 5 AM.
Anyway, I digress. I was talking about cats earlier in my head—the cats in Marrakech are everywhere. One once jumped through my window at Riad Jardin Secret and stole a piece of my amlou toast. I wasn’t even mad. That riad is probably the most “bohemian” of the lot. It’s dusty in a way that feels intentional. It’s full of plants and mismatched furniture. It’s not for people who need white-glove service. It’s for people who want to read a book and forget what year it is.
The noise problem nobody talks about
Here is a raw truth: most Riads are acoustic nightmares. They are built around a central courtyard, which acts like a giant megaphone. If a couple is arguing on the first floor, you are hearing every word of it on the third floor. I once stayed at a place (I won’t name it because the owners were sweet, but it was near Bab Doukkala) where I could hear the guy in the next room zipping up his jacket. Not even joking. Every tooth of the zipper.
I tested the walk from the main square (Jemaa el-Fnaa) to six different popular hotels. The average was 12 minutes, but it felt like 40 because you are dodging mopeds and carts of oranges. If you have mobility issues or just hate being touched by strangers, don’t stay in the deep Medina. Just don’t. Stay at The Source or something out in the Agafay desert for a night instead.
I might be wrong about this, but I think the whole “stay in a Riad or you haven’t seen Morocco” thing is a bit of a scam. Sometimes, after a long day of haggling over the price of a rug you don’t even want, you just want a hotel with a lift, a massive gym, and a burger that costs $25. For that, I actually like the Selman. They have these incredible Arabian horses that they parade around at brunch. Is it pretentious? Extremely. Is it a bit much? Yes. But the pool is 80 meters long. You can actually swim laps without hitting a child with a literal pool noodle.
A few things that actually matter
- The Water Pressure: Riads are old. The plumbing is often a suggestion rather than a rule. If you like high-pressure showers, you’re going to be disappointed 70% of the time.
- The Call to Prayer: It starts around 5 AM. It is loud. If you stay near a mosque (which is everywhere), you will wake up. Don’t complain about it in your TripAdvisor review; it’s like complaining about the sun being bright.
- The Rooftop: If the hotel doesn’t have a rooftop with a view of the Atlas Mountains, don’t bother. That view is the only reason to put up with the chaos of the city.
I used to think you had to spend a fortune to get a good experience here. I was completely wrong. My favorite stay last year was a tiny place called Riad Edward. It was crumbling a bit at the edges. The tiles were chipped. But the breakfast was better than the one I had at the Four Seasons. They served this bread called msmen that was so buttery I think I gained three pounds in four days. It cost me $65 a night. Worth every penny.
Marrakech is a lot. It’s a tangled ball of yarn that a cat has been playing with for three centuries. You’re going to get lost. You’re going to get overcharged for a taxi. You’re going to get a bit of “Delhi Belly” if you aren’t careful with the salads. But if you pick the right place to collapse at the end of the day, none of that matters. Just don’t book the place with the sink-sized pool. Trust me on that one.
I still wonder if that teal-tiled Riad ever fixed their AC. Probably not. They probably just updated their Instagram photos instead.
Go to El Fenn. Bring earplugs. Drink the mint tea.