Afghan jewelry

Marrakech: and a tale of Peacock Pavilions and nomadic chic

How would you define your style? Somebody asked me that question this week. I replied, nomadic chic or modern tribal.  

Here are a few snapshots around my place, Peacock Pavilions in Marrakesh.

A grouping of old African stools around a sculpture bought in Nepal.

Peacock Pavilions 1


A collection of hands of Fatima custom-made by Caroline Douglas and her students for Peacock Pavilions.

Peacock Pavilions 2

A Moroccan mosque sculpture in front of a vintage Moroccan photo.

Peacock Pavilions ethnic chic

A collection of Moroccan pottery, some with Arabic calligraphy.  Deer purchased in India.

Peacock Pavilions 3

 A beaded goat bought in South Africa, in front of a set of antique Tibetan spice boxes.

Peacock Pavilions 4

An old bracelet bought in Afghanistan, nestled in hand beaded African baskets.

Peacock Pavilions 5

Gazelle horns bought in the Marrakech souks, along with a vintage tin of Egyptian cigarettes and an old Afghan bejeweled earring.

Peacock Pavilions 6
Antique Santo from the Philippines hanging around with African masks.  Whale ribs to the fore.

Peacock Pavilions

PS Want some bohemian chic of your own?  Visit Red Thread Souk for one of a kind tribal textiles.  Or come to Peacock Pavilions B&B in Marrakech and shop, shop, shop for cool nomadic loot ...........  I'd love to meet you here:-)

Kabul and the quest for beauty: a tale of the Afghan jewelers

My grandmother Jean was a very tall woman who wore heels. Her clothes were tailored, and she was always dressed for visitors {as who knew, after all, what the day might bring?}.  One of the keys to her inimitable style was her jewelry. Not layers of pearls or discreet gold chains. Not charm bracelets or diamond rings. But tribal jewelry. Indeed, very often my grandmother could be found wearing weighty ethnic neck pieces. Against the black sheaths she favored, the tribal jewels seemed to channel intrigue - as if she had bought each piece from a turbaned dealer in a saffron scented souk somewhere. And sometimes she actually had.

And so it was with a sense of longing and nostalgia, that I watched the student jewelers of Kabul. As they melted, filed, and soddered, I couldn't help but think of my grandmother Jean.

In my mind's eye, I could see my Grandmother Jean weighing that bracelet in her palm or holding up those earrings to the light....


Yes, I could almost hear her say, Asalam-aleikum. Could I possibly trouble you for the price? 

Images taken at Turquoise Mountain in Kabul, Afghanistan.


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