marrakech, morocco

see and read of their time in marrakech, morocco here. as this blog will no long be updated, follow along with their story as they live in paris here.

they are moving to paris!

another volume of their story, beginning… the months before paris dwindled into weeks. the weeks before paris dwindled into days… she could nearly count the days until their flight on her fingers. each day passed more quickly than the one before, revealing more and more the reality of the european season ahead... 

to read more and to continue following along their european adventure, please visit here: www.robyn-thompson.com. that will be the new space where photographs and stories are shared, so please update your subscriptions, bookmarks and links. soon, past posts will be imported into the new site, and this one will be removed. 

there are many, many, many posts to come from europe!

three years of love.

another year of love to celebrate: three. on the fifth of july, two thousand and eight, they were married as the sun broke through the clouds, amidst a country garden, a grape arbor and one hundred family and friends. tears poured down her face for the entire ceremony, as she was overwhelmed with love for him. they committed their hearts to one another for the rest of their lives. on the fifth of july, two thousand and eleven, they celebrated. they celebrated three years of love. she woke up to his touch on her cheek, soft and familiar. he told her that breakfast would be ready shortly. he thoughtfully had her black silk kimono robe waiting to wrap around her shoulders. she followed him into the dining room and saw an elegant table set for two: a vase of white peonies, a vanilla candle burning at the centre, the stove top espresso maker with the aroma of fresh coffee escaping. both ends of the table were set with white china and a cup & saucer balancing a vintage gold espresso spoon, found somewhere in the world by a local artist. she saw a box wrapped in white paper and tied with a cream ribbon bow. a leather tag detail inscribed with 'three' spoke of the three years that they were celebrating, as well as the leather aspect of the third traditional gift of marriage anniversaries. year one, paper, he had gifted her with a copy of love sonnets written by elizabeth barrett browning, printed in the year eighteen ninety six, found in a used bookshop in edinburgh. year two, cotton, he had given her three gorgeous tall branches of soft cotton blossoms, along with the d&s durga perfume 'my indian childhood', an intoxicating, exotic scent that smells of the indian dessert after the rain. she was curious about what year three, leather, would hold. but first, was breakfast. he poured milano la una espresso, topped with vanilla foamed milk. inspired by the city's favorite brunch from medina cafe, he presented her with a plate of organic greens topped with smoked salmon, caramelized onions, rosemary roasted nugget potatoes, applewood aged cheddar and an egg. on the side was a wedge of grilled foccacia, exactly like medina. they savored the salt, the sweet, the smoke. whispers of 'wow' kept escaping her lips. soon, there was a knock on the door, a surprise delivery. she welcomed another bundle of dozens of white peonies, bringing the number of the beautifully intoxicating flowers in their home to forty eight. she remembered the first time he had flowers delivered to her; she was seventeen and so surprised by the massive bouquet of vibrant blossoms. her grandmother knew that one day she would fall in love with the one that had sent such flowers. she could have hardly imagined, then at seventeen, that five years later, she would open the door to an armful of peonies on her third wedding anniversary to that same man, in the home of her dreams, so deeply, deeply in love. smiling from their memories, she unwrapped the cream ribbon bow and the white paper to find a orchre box inscribed with 'michael kors'. she knew immediately she would love anything he had chosen from her favored designer. inside she found the perfect clutch wallet, of course made from leather: blush pink, a silver buckle clasp, buttery soft. the summer sunlight streamed into their apartment. there was a shared hot shower, there was a sundress and a pair of jeweled sandals. they parted ways for a few hours, him to work in gastown, her to be pampered. she sipped peppermint tea and had her scalp massaged at one of the city's premier salons. her hair soaked in a restorative conditioning treatment. she shed a few requisite tears when inches of her long hair fell to the floor, but she would soon come to love the summertime polished collarbone length and the wispy fringe. soon, she found herself in gastown, wandering the streets, taking in the eclectic mix of people, of boutiques. it was early afternoon, he emerged from his office to meet her and to whisk her away to another part of the city. when they had arrived at faubourg, she knew instantly why they had come. on the day that he proposed, they celebrated over afternoon tea at the fairmont. six months later, on their wedding day, they invited their guests to share in an afternoon tea reception beneath grand white tents in a garden. on their first anniversary, he surprised her with a tea date at the luxuriously opulent prestonfield house, just outside edinburgh, where there were peacocks on the lawn and where they reflected on their first year of marriage and set intentions for the year to come. following that year, they sipped tea and savored delicate macarons and champagne truffles at the urban tea merchant, again pondering and planning. she knew that faubourg would be the contemporary and parisian-inspired location of their fifth afternoon tea, a tradition kept. a large wrought-iron chandelier hung above the tea salon. perfectly-brewed tea was poured into their platinum-rimmed china. his, a strong black from marriage freres; for her, a blend of teas with sweet mint. they shared tiny sandwiches of smoked salmon with wasabi cream, of chicken with fresh apple. there were warm dried cherry scones with thick cream; there was a spread of small pastries to sample: a coconut souffle as light as air, dark & rich chocolate mousse, fruit & spice parfait, warm apple cake, a light lemon tart and a slice of opera cake of layered almond sponge. they lingered, pouring cup after cup of tea, tasting each pastry in turn. they talked about the intentions they had set for the years past; they remembered their first year of marriage, the honeymoon, when they had spent a year living in & traveling europe. they remembered the year that they resolved to repay every dollar of student loans, to establish a comfortable emergency fund and to triple their net worth. they remembered the most recent year that had past, a year when they had aimed to establish their careers: just out of university, she would find a path she was passionate about and he would find a position with a start-up with plenty of promise. that year, she fell madly in love with wedding photography and established her own business. he celebrated her successes of nearly one year of business: exceeding their revenue goals, multiplying the average monthly views of her work by ten times, and being featured numerous times in print and online including the renowned style me pretty. he told her, no one will ever know the details of your success the way that i do - i am so proud of you. the same year, he found a dream position with a venture that they believe in, working with a passionate team in a gorgeous historical flat. they looked ahead to their fourth year, eager for the business & travel that they had already planned... they settled on a word to aspire to for the year: 'cultured'. more abstract than the years before, perhaps more delicious. they started to describe 'cultured' as a lifestyle in which they would live in paris, in which they would travel across the mediterranean and asia, in which they would launch a new brand of her business, in which they would refine their aesthetic. they planned to dream of the details in the coming days, weeks, months, so eager to see what they would be reflecting on the following july. after tea, they walked outdoors, in and out of streets, hand in hand. quiet, soaking in the warmth of the sun on their skin. they returned to their apartment where a sweet and cool breeze ruffled the curtains of the bedroom balcony. exhausted from the heat of the summer, they curled up in the white sheets and fell asleep for a little while, two bodies spooned close. when they woke, it was already late in the evening. she pulled on her black cigarette pants and a paper-thin sheer silk blouse designed locally by obakki. she grabbed her new clutch wallet, filled it with coins and pink lipgloss and they headed back to gastown for the night. they settled into a table at chill winston, finding the casual, trendy vibe and the edgy aesthetic exactly what they were looking for. she sipped a cocktail garnished with a rose petal and he had a beer he loves, nutty and oak-aged; they perused the menu and lamented they couldn't taste a little of everything. they started with yam crisps topped with hummus, then a platter of crab cakes made of west coast dungeness crab, topped with smoky corn salsa and horseradish aioli. they also shared the briased bison short ribs: free run, grass-fed bison short rib slow braised in bourbon and molasses, tender and moist. they moved from their table to a couch in the corner where they could sink into the cushions and order a cup of steamed milk with thick froth and one single earl grey infused truffle. an evening of perfect flavours that beckoned them to visit again for the kangaroo carpaccio, for the coconut pakora. they were quiet during the taxi ride home, taking in the day of celebration and reflection. three years; they simply love being married, they couldn't imagine a better life than the one they live together.

an evening with the girls.

monday, the alarm went early, but he encouraged her to sleep until she's rested. they made the bed together, the quiet rustling of the white duvet and the platinum textile covered pillows welcoming the morning as they shook the feathers into shape. she brewed a pressed of white jasmine tea, the pearls expanding in the hot water. she poured the infusion into a delicate china tea cup on the table: cream-colored porcelain, edged with intricate golden patterns, antique wedgwood, a gift from her best friend years ago. they shared breakfast a bowl of ripe rainier cherries, still beaded with cold water from washing. the rain poured loudly outside the window and they conversed before the start of the day. he told her about the german film he had watched the night before, set in east berlin. she told him of the pages of the journal she had been reading before she fell asleep, the pages covered in her own handwriting from the six months of her engagement. breakfast was followed by a hot shower was followed by a morning of work. they sat side by side, both working from home. late in the day, long after photographs were processed and a cup of hot chocolate was savored in the afternoon, she curled her hair, she sprayed indian perfume. she wore a sequin adorned tulle top under a cashmere wrap and slipped her feet into black wedges. on main street, she met two creative and gorgeous girls: caroline & sarah. they gushed over one another's outfits; sarah dressed in a silk obakki top with strappy black stilettos and caroline dressed with a soft leopard printed scarf around her neck and the perfect line of liquid eyeliner on her lids. they were seated at the latin american latitude. they begin to catch up on one another's lives. ages passed before they even glanced at the menus. the perfect conversation, without lulls, continued for hours and hours. she ordered a flute of cava and the others drank argentinian malbec. they shared a starter plate of prawns sauteed with garlic, smoked chili, butter and grill bread, perfectly spiced. from the latin american street food inspired menu, three platters of tacos were ordered: one with steak and guacamole, one with chicken and tomatillo salsa, one with battered fish and cabbage and pickled red onion. between the rich flavors and sips of wine they shared their lives, their hearts. stories of their loves, of skincare, of fashion, of tiffany & co., of business, of monocle magazine, of engagements, of weddings, of photography, of films... and more and more and more. sarah reapplied nude lipstick in elegant sweeps. it was refreshing to be out, to be feminine, to be conversing, to be listening, to be giggling. they finished the evening with one dessert and three spoons: a decadent chocolate banana bread pudding with molten chocolate and cream, simply perfect.

cooking is like love.

 

sunday, they bathed in the sunlight all afternoon before their evening cooking course at the dirty apron cooking school. they, along with six other couples gathered in the gorgeous kitchen & dining space to cook three decadent courses together. run by the same chefs at the ever-celebrated chambar and their favourite brunch spot next door, cafe medina, the dirty apron features a european deli, a shop filled with gourmet ingredients and a cooking school. after a demonstration, they got to cooking in the gorgeously tiled kitchen, while soft jazz music played in the background. they tasted the fleur de sel before seasoning their dishes; they whisked, they melted, they folded, they sauteed. pears were set on the hot grill, a cornish game hen was rubbed with paprika and butter, egg whites were whipped until light and fluffy. she wrapped her arms around him from behind and relaxed into the warmth of his body as he cooked. once the first course was prepared, they plated it: beds of watercress tossed in vinaigrette with hazelnuts, grilled pears, thin slices of prosciutto, oyster mushrooms sauteed in sherry vinaigrette and a warm goat's cheese and apricot cake, crusted with panko. they enjoyed the starter at the communal table in the dining room amongst the other couples, with glasses of perfectly paired italian wine. the sourness of the balsamic and sherry vinegars, the sharpness of the aged red wine glaze, the saltiness of the prosciutto, the sweetness and smokiness of the grilled pear, the hint of creaminess in the hazelnuts. for the following course, they enjoyed a roasted cornish game hen with a grainy mustard pan jus and a risotto with chanterelles, asparagus and truffle oil. warming, hearty, creamy, satisfying and again perfectly paired to wine. finally, they pulled their chocolate souffles from the oven and caramelized the tops of their creme brules to plate a trio of desserts, a sharing plate: chocolate souffle, dark & white chocolate dipped strawberries and rosewater & pistachio creme brule. the souffle was light, airy, cloud-like; beneath the crisp caramel crust of the brule was a rich custard studded with pistachios and hinted with the floral aroma of roses. they sipped hot coffee and lingered over their dessert, eyeing one another across the table, laughing and staying after the rest of the couples had finished. they walked home, hand in hand, along the water, reveling in the romance of decadent flavors, of cooking together. cooking is like love, it should be entered with abandon or not at all (julia child).

for more poetry.

 

saturday, they created a sense of 'clean', of 'newness'. while a playlist of happy, mellow music filled the home, they wiped and swept and tidied. they are minimalists, keeping only the few possessions that they truly need and love. they purged, they rearranged, they cut fresh flowers for the vase on the table. they rotated the candles from room to room, moved the stalks of cotton to the other side of the sink, and pushed the sofa under the window, amazed at how small changes breathe life into a space. they created a space that felt more polished, more mature and even more reflective of themselves, of who they are. between the scrubbing and the lifting, there were many cups of tea sipped at the window with incredulous comments about the heavy rain and thick hail. they were grateful to be inside, to be warm and dry. she took a break and sank into their white armchair and surveyed their home, their life. she wondered what her younger self would make of all of this. she took herself back to the first months of her relationship with her love, when she was seventeen, having just moved to university dorm and begun her life on her own. she looked at her present life through those seventeen year old eyes and was amazed... she saw a modern, gourmet kitchen with the kitchenaid stand mixer in which to make cakes. she looked down and saw a classic and understated tiffany & co. solitaire diamond sparkling on her left hand, and a wedding band to match, meaning she had married the love of her life. she saw a home filled with striped silk textiles, with black and white photography framed, with chanel no. five, with a front loading washer and dryer - details that would have spoken to her young self of elegance and luxury and independence. she noticed the photographs of europe, of the eiffel tower: we've been to paris, she smiled. she wondered why there were no bibles to be found. she was curious if there was a significance to the tibetan statue in the bedroom, yet she admired the global aesthetic. she saw ingredients that she'd never heard of, technology that had yet to be invented. in her closet, only one item, a printed a-line skirt, was familiar, while every other hanger held a piece that was new and neutral-toned and luxe; designer pieces held her attention. the tin of white jasmine tea, silk sachets filled with pearls of tea, seemed so beautiful. yet, she was still drinking jasmine tea, with a little splash of milk and a teaspoon of honey, the way that she always had. and her love, he looked different, yet he had the same heart and the same adoration for her. observe the wonders as they occur around you. don't claim them. feel the artistry moving through and be silent (rumi). the revelation of the sights of her young eyes gave her a sense of accomplishment, of appreciation, of insight. in the evening, the sun had set early behind the dark prussian blue skies, and they steamed brown basmati rice, rich and aromatic with garlic cloves, cumin, turmeric, saffron and cardamom pods. the fragrant, woody and spicy scent filled the kitchen and poured into the rest of the flat while he read to her. he picked up the 1896 edition of sonnets by elizabeth barrett browning that he had found for her in a used bookshop in edinburgh, her first anniversary gift, made of the traditional 'paper'. he read sonnets of love while vanilla candles flickered and cast light around the walls. she listened, and relaxed into the sound of his voice, occasionally stumbling on the rhythm of the poetry. when the rice was nearly cooked, they steamed broccoli with lemon, roasted carrots with sea salt and pan-fried filets of basa marinated in garlic. she hoped that the coming days might bring sunlight, and she hoped that the coming days would be filled again with more poetry. both that he would read to her, and that they fill their lives with the romantic and the mundane moments that create a poetic living.

sunday, her love slept late. she woke hours before him and took the quiet moments in bed to peruse inspiration. exposed brick and sequins and soft hues and tulle and travels in morocco. she prepared foamy lattes in the kitchen, careful not to wake him, and brought them to bed with breakfast atop a large bamboo board. he read, she wrote. they called their mothers to wish them a day of joy and celebration, to appreciate their years of bringing up children. his mother, having just returned from a holiday in africa, told them stories of elephant rides and victoria falls and safaris and the sweetest babe that they miss. she longed for a holiday in africa soon. she wrapped herself in a white trench coat, he in a black knitted sweater with tortoise shell buttons. they visited commune cafe. he read, she wrote.on the way home, they stopped at the market, the one that plays the jazz music, and they filled a basket with kale and lemons and chorizo. she chose a thick and fruity olive oil from new zealand with a minimal and witty label, as well as a bundle of wildflowers. at home, she baked kale chips, crisp and earthy, while he prepared a meal. simple, slow, rhythmic, sharing the space in the kitchen together, spreading their ingredients out on the large island. they savored rosemary & golden rum granita, hand made with fresh herbs from his sister's garden. beautiful, all at once warming and cooling, sweet and herbaceous. it was a quiet evening, reveling in the beauty of the home, of the flavors of the world, of their life together. 

five days: live the life you love.

monday morning they woke early before the sun had risen, they caught a train back to their home in the city, sipping hot earl grey tea. as they rode through the countryside, she began work and sorted through photographs of love; she looked forward to a week of processing and sharing the beauty. at home, she unpacked their bags and slipped into a hot bath filled with lavender bubbles to let the tiredness slip off of her and to let orchid conditioner to soak into her hair. her order of groceries arrived at the door; she baked a loaf of sourdough bread and spread a hot slice with creamy ricotta and raw wildflower honey. she indulged in a compelling new book and a soft, afternoon nap. in the evening, a rich pot of ratatouille was simmering on the stove... a week of life came and went, filled with rainy days. grey skies welcomed the month of may, and many afternoons were spent at home. many days spent processing images, soothed by the sound of swishing from the dishwasher, soothed by the sound of a happy, mellow playlist on the speakers. falling slowly, eyes that know me, and i can't go back; falling slowly sing your melody, i'll sing it loud... ...i'm your firefly, i'm your shade, i want to live in a house that we made; i want to love you, everyday... haute design's eloquent and widely-read coverage of the obakki fall/winter fashion show featured her images. she was featured on a local site as the featured vancouverite. an artist that she admires and a brilliant yogini-entrepreneur-writer-activist commented on her work; a photographer that she loves traveled in europe, making her nostalgic for her once-home. her work was published by a site for baby inspiration in the u.k. she sipped cups of vanilla oolong tea as she worked, she took a break in the afternoon to walk along the ocean. this is why we live here, she thought, in this building on the edge of the sea, so that i can take a moment in the afternoon to fill my lungs with cold, salty air. for the very last time, her book club met around her table. they poured local wine from the decanter, they shared a board of aged cheeses and a platter of sliced pears and a dish of baked camembert in which to dip crusted bread. soon, they would soon all be on new paths: in rwanda, in australia, in paris... they cherished the year that had past since the first time they met -- they cherished the novels they had read together, the meals that they had shared in one another's homes and mostly they cherished the many late night evenings of conversation that had happened, deepening an inexplicable trust between near-strangers, and turning their monthly gathering about books into something more profound, more spiritual. again, they stayed up late, drinking in every last minute of time together, sharing their hearts over pieces of chocolate.  the next morning she woke early to attend her first pottery class. she walked the short distance from her home to the studio along the seawall and looked forward to getting her hands thick with grey clay. she had always wanted to create with her hands; to her, it feels feminine, artistic. she learned to prepare her clay, to centre it on the wheel, to lift it with her hands as it spins. she left hours layer with clay all over her yoga pants, dried on her hands and perhaps a small smear on her cheek. at home, she tossed all of her clothes into the washer and turned on a hot shower. she refreshed, and dressed simply in her sevens with a white tee. she made lunch: a panini made with fresh sourdough bread, with ricotta, with basil, with thick slices of zucchini, with sea salt. hurrying, she caught the train out of the city; she flipped through intelligent life on the ipad, captivated by the cover story about the elegant and artisitic grace coddington, creative director of american vogue. she prayed that she would be as lively as grace at seventy. once she arrived at her destination, she was welcomed with a hot cup of peppermint tea and a cuddle with her sweet baby niece. she photographed her little giggles and fell more in love with her dark-chocolate-hued eyes, catching the light in them in each frame. she went home with a bundle of fresh rosemary in her bag, with tiny purple flowers still attached, grown with love by her sister in law in the garden. that evening, she met her love after work in gastown, where they were shown to a table at nicli antica. they shared authentic italian pizzas topped with fresh basil and fior di latte and finished with extra virgin olive oil. they shared their day over the candles flickering on the table, amidst the myriad diners filling the trendy spot. they finished the meal with a tiramisu - light texture, yet rich flavors of espresso, chocolate and mascarpone. another work day passed, and she spent it in a cafe with fresh spring flowers on the tables and with grilled multigrain bread topped with roasted turkey and cranberry chutney. every table was filled with those working on laptops, those meeting for lunch; the energy around her motivated her to work. two hipster mamas in skinny pants, vintage clogs, big glasses and knits sat at a table with their baby girls in prams. they gave their babes steamed soy milk as they enjoyed lattes and discussed interior design and record players. she smiled at the way their motherhood felt young, relevant, beautiful. that evening she simmered a mushroom and red wine soup on the stove; the sipped the rich broth and dipped crusty bread into it, savoring. earthy, bitter, sweet. she enjoyed a quiet, cosy evening and was inspired by sophie dahl. gorgeous and eloquent and delicious, she is. this kitchen is a gently relaxed one... in this kitchen we appreciate the restorative powers of chocolate. the kitchen would have a fireplace... there might be a small upright piano by the window, with an orchid that doesn't wither... on long summer days, the doors to this kitchen are thrown open, while a few lacy, non-stinging bees mosey by. children stir. when it rains there is room in this kitchen for reading and a spoon finding its way into the cake mix. serious cups of tea are drunk here; idle gossip occurs, balance and humor prevail. it is lingering breakfasts, it is friends with babes on their knees, it is good-bye on a sunday with the promise of more. this kitchen is where life occurs, jumbled, messy and delicious. it is lovely. and, on the final weekday, she wrapped herself in a white trench, a nude silk scarf and heeled boots to do errands. she stopped for a yam roll and a green tea at a japanese restaurant before finishing her tasks and then meeting her love outside his office in the rain. it was time for the weekend to begin.