Eden Revisited novelist Umberto Pasti talks taste

My personal style signifier is my uniform: I have a cold outfit and a hot outfit. In the heat, I wear beige cotton trousers and a blue cotton jacket; in cold weather, a brown corduroy suit. That’s it. I have plenty of jackets and trousers, but I always dress the same. I’m lucky because I have lived with fashion designer Stephan Janson for 42 years and he designs my outfits for me.

The last thing I bought and loved was a 15th-century wooden frieze from an antique dealer in Tangier. It’s about 20cm high and 3m long, and it really dances. A frieze is the connection between the wall and the ceiling; you see them in mosques and religious buildings. I keep mine in my sitting room.  

The place that means a lot to me is Rohuna, my countryside home, which overlooks a stupendous valley in northern Morocco. I started building this huge garden and cottage 25 years ago and have since planted more than 1,500 trees: oak, strawberry, palm and plane. Now we have lots of visitors, so we can help our neighbours in the village. It’s a very beautiful place; I spend more than six months of the year there.

And the best souvenirs I’ve brought home are the things I find walking. Every day when I am in Rohuna I bring back a nest, a bone, a nice root, a dead butterfly or a little branch. I love the shapes and textures. I couldn’t say I have a favourite one because I have tens of thousands of these things! My pockets are always full. I keep them in my houses in Tangier and Rohuna, where they are all over the place. Madness.

I have been rewatching David Attenborough’s documentaries, particularly the episode about birds of paradise. The seduction scene is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen: for a boy to seduce a girl, he transforms himself into a dancer – he could be Nijinsky! It’s amazing what nature can do.

In my fridge you’ll always find salad, tomatoes, grated carrots – and not much else. I have a passion for grated carrots, which I buy from the people who sell vegetables below my house. I like them with oil and vinegar or lemon, or orange and mint, like the Moroccan salad.

I’ve recently rediscovered Marcel Proust, who was an obsession of mine when I was younger. I’m re-reading À la recherche du temps perdu for the third time. It’s not the only book I’m reading but it keeps me company on the table next to my bed. One of the things I like is how different your understanding of the book is according to your age and what’s happened in your life: when I was young, I loved all the love and the jealousy. Now I’m completely fascinated by the social relationships. It’s so complex.

My style icon is the late Christopher Gibbs, an old friend and antique dealer. Also Martina Mondadori, founder of Cabana magazine, who is full of interest. More than style icons, they are two people I admire. Both moved or move in their own time: Christopher in the ’70s and ’80s, and Martina now.

The best way to spend €20 is to go to a bookshop in Milan, where I spend four months of the year, and buy a good book. Unfortunately, all the small bookshops are closed, but even if it’s a big chain bookshop, I visit three times a week. As a writer myself, I’m always interested to see what’s come out.

I’ve recently rediscovered Marcel Proust, who was an obsession of mine when I was younger

I laugh a lot, and happily, at very stupid jokes. And while reading novels, mostly classic 20th-century British novels: Angus Wilson, Ivy Compton-Burnett, Ronald Firbank – that sort of stuff. Then there’s the bitter laughing, which is when you laugh at the pretentiousness of people – mostly well-off people – and how they take themselves seriously. But age makes you more tolerant… or more indifferent.

I don’t believe in life after death – but I hope for happiness after death. I’ve always been an optimist.

The best gift I’ve given recently is a little collection of begonias to my Moroccan assistant, Mohamed. He’s becoming more and more interested in plants and loves begonias in particular. The collection started with 12 or 13 species, but now I’m excited because he called me to say he’s getting more. There are hundreds of begonia species. The most stunning thing about them, more than their flowers, is their foliage: the leaves come in unbelievable shapes and can be pale green, yellowish or dark green with white dots. It’s a big world, begonias.

And the best gift I’ve received is an enormous whale skull that a friend found on the beach overlooked by Rohuna. When I say enormous, it must be 4m or 5m long. I hung it at home in Tangier, which was very complicated as we had to find a big chain. 

I have collections of so many things: Islamic tiles, old toys, carpet fragments, old fabrics… do you want me to go on? I also have collections of ferns, begonias, irises and daffodils. At the moment I’m most involved in my collection of Moroccan wildflowers, which may be the most important collection of its kind in the world.

The last items of clothing I added to my wardrobe were 12 shirts made by Stephan. I don’t buy often, but Stephan knows the sort of fabrics I like. I prefer having 12 done at once as they’ll last me for years. 

An object I would never part with is something I’ve been building for more than 10 years: a tower made from ancient capitals [the top sections of columns] that I keep in my living room. At the moment there are nine stacked on top of each other, including Roman, Byzantine and Marinid, an Islamic dynasty that ruled Morocco from the mid-13th century to the 15th. It’s more than 4m high and I’d love for it to reach the ceiling. It looks like a Piranesi fantasy.

An indulgence I would never forgo is red wine, which I drink when it gets dark. I love Italian wines. I’m not very much a Chianti person, but I like lots from northern Italy: Barolo or something Piedmontese. 

If I could, I’d collect Oceanic art, which I’m mad for. It’s so beautiful, mad and free. These huge, stunning pieces are made from nothing with such a strong religious feeling. I have a few pieces from Papua New Guinea, but they cost too much to have more.

The grooming staple I’m never without is sunblock. My doctor tells me I should always have a tube in my pocket. I don’t have a favourite – I just go to the pharmacy and buy one with a strong filter. 

My favourite room in my house is my big sitting room in Tangier, where I keep my column of capitals and whale skull, and where I like to read, chat with friends – and sleep. I usually have a very nice nap on the sofa after lunch. 

My favourite building is a very moving mosque in Cairo called Ibn Tulun. I’ve been many, many times. The tower is an elliptical shape; to see other towns from up there is something extraordinary.

My favourite app is Windfinder, which I use for gardening. In Morocco, wind is very important, not only for the rain, but also because, if we have a dry wind, it’s impossible to plant and you need lots of water. The best time to plant here is earlier than it once was: in the old days you could plant in February and March; now I wouldn’t plant anything after the start of January. 

The work of art that changed everything for me was Botticelli’s Primavera, which my mother took me to see at the Uffizi Gallery in Florence when I was a child. It’s a garden full of beautiful creatures and flowers that look like jewels. I wanted to see the world that way.

When I need to feel inspired, I take a very long walk in the forest near Rohuna. What’s wonderful is that down below I see the sea, but I walk in the shade of the trees. I look at myrtle, strawberry trees, cork, insects, birds and their nests – and then I think. But it’s thinking without thinking: when you lose yourself in nature, a good idea can arrive. 

The best bit of advice I ever received is an Italian saying. When I complained about things being difficult, my mother would say: “You wanted the bicycle – now pedal!” Be aware when you’re wishing for a lot. 

The House of a Lifetime: A Collector’s Journey in Tangier by Umberto Pasti and Ngoc Minh Ngo is published by Rizzoli at $65