Jean Noël Schoeffer’s house in the medina of Marrakech stirs a wide range of emotions: admiration, curiosity, surprise. The character of the building mirrors that of its owner—reserved, elusive, yet welcoming. He seems to know every secret of the city. Day by day, we grow acquainted with him and with his house, bringing one element into focus at a time; there is no other way, given the intensity of both the man and the place. The light shifts throughout the day, and every corner has the potential to become our favorite. Each object undoubtedly holds a story, yet we ask few questions. While adhering to the classical structure of a riad, this house possesses a geography entirely its own. The space unfolds around two internal courtyards. Jean Noël often withdraws to the small room with the fireplace. The fire burns; were this a hotel, this would likely be the lobby. Climbing the stairs toward the roof, one passes the bedrooms, until reaching the terrace, spread across several levels. Breakfast is laid out here. Cats parade along the low walls, Moroccan specialties are served on floral plates. We watch the city stretch endlessly into the distance while sipping mint tea. It is an Olympus washed in beige and pale pink, sculptural green rising from terracotta pots. Terraces are liminal spaces; beyond them lies only the blue of the sky or the night. Jean Noël’s terrace is one of those places where one could remain all day, grasping far more than by wearing oneself out in the narrow alleys below. From up here, Marrakech feels more like a film than a city of flesh and blood, and this rooftop becomes the auditorium of an open-air cinema.

Words and pictures Laura Taccari.