We were then bidden to the Tangier American Legation Museum that night, and rather wonderful it is, right in the medina. Once a slightly shabby place—although amazing for its scale, considering how nondescript it is from the lane outside—it has had new life breathed into it by interior designer Frank de Biasi and designer Gene Meyer, with an intelligent hang of the art and brilliant colors (for instance, melon walls with an eau de nil skirting board, finished with a brown stripe). I was intrigued by the exhibition “Dissatisfied with the Ordinary: The Legendary Theater Program of the American School of Tangier,” revealing the plays produced under Joe McPhillips (erstwhile owner of Gazebo, Veere Grenney’s home). Costumed by Yves Saint Laurent or Michael Roberts, with incidental music by Paul Bowles (for instance), these productions were extraordinary, and turned young people on to the arts of theater.
Later that night, there were goodies in store thanks to Jane Stubbs (I got the letters of Paul Bowles and a book on Morocco by Lord Kinross), who works at the library at the American Legation, as well as embroidered pillows and linens and jewelery.
On Saturday, we had a morning’s romp through the stores, starting at Galerie Tindouf (opposite the Minzah hotel), run by the imposing Boubker Temli, and the shop more or less next door (run by Boubker’s brother), which looks junky but has its treasures hidden within. Deep in the medina, we stopped into the fantastic shop of Majid, a trove of antique Moroccan artistry. Also opposite Galerie Tindouf, I discovered a shop with the most perfect white kid leather shoes for $35—the finishing touch to my off-white Edwardian garden party suit (from Ralph Lauren) and vest (from Fornasetti). My friend Joseph Hanson wrenched off the white cravat from a costume shirt he had brought and I thus had the perfect flourish for my crisp white shirt. The weather, however, was compromised: it rained and rained and it rained some more.
Yet by 5 o’clock, as we were struggling with the final bits of our ensembles, the sun shone, it was a trifle cooler, and all was well. We gathered for a hour upstairs in the house and terraces, where everyone (well, not quite everyone, Michéle Lamy!) wore Edwardian-esque ivory outfits, and then we descended to the pool. The audience sat on a structure that had been built over the pool, and looked up to an area of greenery arranged with wicker furniture.