Amanjena, Marrakech: A Desert Oasis of Quiet Luxury, With Caveats

The Amanjena resort announces itself not with fanfare, but with a whisper. Situated on a quiet stretch of road 20 minutes outside Marrakech’s frenetic medina, the property—whose name means “peaceful paradise” in Sanskrit—is an exercise in restraint. Pink-hued walls, still as a desert mirage, enclose courtyards of olive trees and reflecting pools that mirror the sky. Designed by the late Ed Tuttle, the architect behind some of Aman’s most iconic properties, the resort channels the grandeur of a Moorish palace, all arches and symmetry and hushed elegance.

But paradise, as any seasoned traveler knows, is rarely perfect. Amanjena is a study in contrasts: a place where the setting is sublime, yet the service occasionally stumbles; where the architecture inspires awe, but the amenities show their age.

Arrival: A Seamless, if Pricey, Welcome

The Aman experience begins at Menara Airport, where Fast Track services—a worthwhile splurge—usher guests through immigration with ease. (The return process, however, proved less streamlined.) A private car glides past palm groves and dusty roads, arriving at a towering rose-colored gate. Inside, the air is scented with orange blossom, and a server presents the first of many glasses of Moroccan mint tea, poured with ceremonial precision.

Yet the resort’s isolated location quickly becomes apparent. Unlike Aman’s remote wilderness properties, where the resort is the destination, Amanjena sits awkwardly between seclusion and accessibility. 

The Pavilions: Beauty With Flaws

Guests stay in individual Pavilions or larger Maisons, each a private sanctuary with a domed bedroom, a courtyard, and, in some cases, a plunge pool. The design is quintessential Tuttle: soaring ceilings, clean lines, and a muted palette of ochre and cream. By daylight, the effect is serene; by night, the domes glow like lanterns.

But the rooms reveal quirks:

• The acoustics are unforgiving. A cough echoes like a thunderclap.

• Winter stays can be chilly—the high ceilings and stone floors trap cold air.

• The furnishings, while elegant, feel dated. A renovation, reportedly in the works, is overdue.

The bathrooms, however, are a triumph: vast spaces of pink marble, deep soaking tubs, and twin vanities stocked with locally made amenities.

Dining: A Feast for the Eyes, if Not Always the Palate

Breakfast, served by the main pool, is a highlight. A spread of Moroccan pancakes (msemen), shares the menu with house-made vegan yogurt and freshly squeezed juices.

Other meals, though, are inconsistent:

• Nama, the Japanese restaurant, delivers artful plating that outshines its flavors. Delicate vegetable tempura loses its crispness too soon, while sushi rice lacks the subtle tang of expertly seasoned versions.

• The Moroccan-Italian fusion concept struggles with identity. A roasted eggplant tagine arrives timidly spiced, its promised depth of flavor muted, while handmade pastas—though perfectly al dente—are served with sauces that lack conviction.

The saving grace? The setting. Dining under the stars, with the sound of a lute drifting across the courtyard, is magical enough to forgive minor missteps.

Amenities: The Highs and Lows

• The Spa: The hammam treatment is underwhelming, a far cry from the steam-and-scrub intensity of Istanbul’s baths. (A new spa is planned, a welcome upgrade.)

• Activities: Golfers have access to nearby courses, while hot-air balloon rides over the Atlas Mountains are worth the predawn wake-up call.

• Service: Attentive but not infallible. A forgotten robe size, a delayed turndown—small lapses that add up at this price point.

Who Should Stay Here?

Amanjena is best suited for couples seeking quiet luxury, those content to linger by their private pool, book in hand, while the Moroccan sun dips below the horizon. For travelers who prioritize fine dining, nightlife, or seamless service, Marrakech’s urban palaces—the Royal Mansour, La Mamounia—may be a better fit.

The Bottom Line

Amanjena is a flawed jewel: breathtaking in parts, frustrating in others. Yet for all its imperfections, there’s no denying the pull of its tranquil courtyards, the way the light slants through its arches at dusk. It’s the kind of place that lingers in memory—not because everything was perfect, but because perfection, in the end, is overrated.