
The Court
A stepped cascade feeds the pool in the inner court, shaded by a timber pergola and young olive trees. Loungers are laid at seven and taken in at sunset.

Sand-stone, carved cedar and white plaster around a lagoon of our own, open to guests since 2017.
Masons from Fez, joiners from Sharjah and a lagoon dug from the shore: a palace raised by hand, 2011 to 2017.
Jumeirah · open to guests since 2017
Dar Zilal means house of shade. Every screen, tile and vault was made on site, and we still close the arcades to cars at noon.

Sixty thousand cubic metres of sand lifted from the Jumeirah shore to let the Gulf in.
Forty masons arrive to raise the arcades and cut the zellige by hand.
Cedar for the mashrabiya screens is seasoned for a full year before carving.
Five storeys of stone on an eight-sided plan, the roof left open for Qamar.
The first abra crosses the lagoon in October with guests on board.

Eleven hundred screens, each cut from Atlas cedar by the joiners of Sharjah, so the afternoon sun falls through them in stars.
Every tile chipped by hand in Fez and set face down, one star at a time, around the court pool and in the hammam.
White lime plaster, trowelled and polished with stone, carved into honeycomb vaults over the majlis doors.
Ninety-one pointed arches between the gatehouse and the villas, lanterns lit at dusk. From noon the arcade belongs to walkers, and the quay is coolest here at three.

Six places inside the walls, each a few minutes on foot from the gatehouse, or one abra crossing away.

A stepped cascade feeds the pool in the inner court, shaded by a timber pergola and young olive trees. Loungers are laid at seven and taken in at sunset.

The double-height lounge off the gatehouse, where coffee and dates are poured from morning until late. Most guests meet their room here first.

Behind the quay wall, four hundred metres of arches run from the gatehouse to the villas. Seen from an abra, it is the long front of the palace on the water.

The octagonal tower holds six suites and, at the very top, the bar we call Qamar. One stair, ninety-six steps, a view of the whole coast.

A walled garden of clipped orange trees and a single stone rill, kept quiet for reading. In February the blossom reaches the rooms above.

A long pool at the water’s edge, its far rim level with the lagoon, with cabanas under the palms and lunch from Al Bustan brought down at one.