Rooted in Earth: A Stay at Berber Lodge, Morocco

By Jon Hite, Founder & Creative Director, HAUS of HITE

Just outside Marrakech, where the terrain begins to shift from the intensity of the city into the soft stillness of olive groves and red clay soil, Berber Lodge appears like a mirage made solid. Set within the village of Oumnass, this earthen-toned retreat is not simply a hotel—it’s a dialogue between memory and material, past and present. And from the moment we arrived—well past midnight, beneath a moonlit sky—it was clear we’d stepped into something special.

We were late. A delayed route from the city meant we arrived after hours, road-weary and unsure if anyone would still be awake. But as we walked through the hand-hewn wooden gate, the scent of firewood hung in the air, and a golden light flickered behind thick adobe walls. A modest dinner had been prepared—fresh bread, local olives, warm Bessara soup. It was quiet, unceremonious, and deeply generous. The hospitality here is not performative. It’s felt.

Berber Lodge was founded by French-Swiss interior designer Romain Michel-Ménière, whose work spans fashion houses and interiors alike. His design language is rooted in restraint—more tone poem than statement piece. What he’s created in Oumnass is not a resort but a return. Inspired by traditional Berber architecture, the lodge was built using adobe bricks, olive wood beams, and locally sourced stone. Each building feels as though it has grown from the earth itself, shaped by sun, wind, and hands that understand the land. There’s no excessive polish. Instead, every surface breathes—soft with lime plaster, warm with clay tiles, shaded by woven reed ceilings.

This philosophy—design that disappears into its surroundings—echoes the values of the Amazigh (Berber) people, North Africa’s Indigenous tribes whose influence runs deep in Moroccan identity. The Amazigh have lived in rhythm with this land for thousands of years. Their traditions, passed down orally, are found in the way homes are shaped, food is prepared, and days are marked by light and season. Berber Lodge does not mimic these traditions. It honors them, quietly, with intention.

During the day, I wandered slowly. There is no need for urgency here. The garden paths curve organically, edged with lavender, thyme, and feathered grasses. Against the clay walls, agave stretch skyward, architectural in their own right. The rooms are designed like small homes, each with its own fireplace, patio, and rhythm of light. Inside, a neutral palette anchors the space: linens in cream and indigo, low wooden tables, shelves curated with books and pottery. There’s a warmth here that goes beyond temperature—it’s emotional.

The culinary experience at Berber Lodge reflects the same ethos as its design: grounded, seasonal, and heartfelt. Meals are taken in a communal dining room where woven basket lamps hang above long tables, and a fire glows at one end of the room. Breakfasts unfolded slowly: fresh breads, eggs with herbs from the garden, local jams, and mint tea poured high into delicate glasses. Dinners were generous but never heavy—roasted root vegetables, lamb with apricot, tabbouleh alive with parsley and lemon. One afternoon, I sat down to a vibrant spread of cauliflower with cumin yogurt, carrots in harissa, and couscous laced with olive oil—all served on the most striking green ceramic plates I had ever seen.

This was my introduction to Tamegroute pottery—a craft that would come to define much of my Moroccan journey. Originally from a village near the edge of the Sahara, Tamegroute ceramics are hand-molded and finished with a distinctive glaze made from manganese and copper oxide, resulting in a rich, mossy green with earthy variations. Each piece is imperfect and entirely unique. I fell for them instantly. By the time I reached Marrakech’s medina days later, I knew exactly what I was looking for. My dinner plates now carry the memory of Berber Lodge in their glaze.

As dusk approached, the lodge transformed. Soft light pooled in the courtyards. Shadows danced across the walls. Inside our room, we lit a fire and settled into the built-in sofa piled with pillows. I wrapped myself in a wool blanket and opened a book, the only sound the quiet crackle of cedar burning. The simplicity of it all—light, texture, warmth—felt deeply luxurious. Not in the way luxury is often sold, but in the way it is meant to be lived: comfort that allows you to fully exhale.

Berber Lodge is not just beautiful—it is soulful. Romain Michel-Ménière didn’t impose a vision here; he listened to the land. He worked with local craftsmen, sourced traditional materials, and designed a space that doesn’t try too hard. It doesn’t need to. The landscape, the craftsmanship, the intentional stillness—they do the work. His background in design gave him the tools, but his humility gave the project its spirit.

And that spirit is what stays with you. This was not only my favorite property in Morocco, it was a place I felt entirely at peace. There is a stillness here that seeps into the body. There is beauty in every handmade detail. But more than anything, there is care—in the food, the architecture, the welcome after midnight, and the way no part of the experience ever feels curated for show.

As we left, morning sun cresting over the Atlas Mountains in the distance, I paused at the edge of the olive grove. The lodge behind me, the village ahead. I thought of the people who have called this land home for generations. I thought of the fire that welcomed us. Of the handmade ceramics. Of the rosemary-scented air. And I thought—this is what it means to build something that lasts.

Berber Lodge isn’t a place you simply stay. It’s a place you carry with you.