I'm On The Marrakech Express!!!!!!

So escaping the return of winter (and the Icelandic Ash cloud) I jetted off to Morocco on Monday night. As usual I was way early at the airport and being a Bank Holiday and taking off from Terminal 4, which has to be the dullest terminal ever, I had a bit of a boring wait to even check in.

Still, nowt that a coffee and a couple of chapters of Atlas Shrugged can't get me through, and soon enough I was through security, and running around the shops like a mad thing. I almost got away with buying nothing despite the gorgeous Loewe handbags calling me like sirens. Then I clocked a pair of Tiffany sunglasses. The lure of the "diamonds', the shape that suited my face perfectly and that gorgeous blue just peeking out behind the black frames was too much to resist. In my defence they were discounted by about £30!

The flight wasn't at all busy, I got a whole row to myself! Funny how that never happens on a long-haul flight eh? We had a little stop in Casablanca for refuelling, and by 10.45pm I was in Marrakech. The airport was pretty deserted but I soon found someone to take me to the hotel I'd booked, for a vastly inflated fee of course, but I was tired, too tired to haggle!

I got a lovely surprise when I saw my room, spacious, kinda traditional, but not 'theme park', overlooking a gorgeous garden. This is the perfect oasis from the madness of this city. I unpacked and flopped into bed.

This morning I woke to this fabulous view
and after shaving me bits in the bath and then having a shower to get clean, I headed down to check out the breakfast. I was very impressed but can't comment yet on the toast maker (regular readers will be aware of my quest to find one that works somewhere on this planet) as I followed up my yogurt with a little Moroccan pancake which was rather delicious.

I was reading an old copy of Style while I drank my coffee, and the silver tongued waiter looked over my shoulder at a naked photo of Charlotte Rampling at age 25, and asked if that was me! I flipped the page and showed him the photo of her at 70-odd and said 'No that's me'. Nice try fella!

I checked out the facilities of the hotel and then jumped in a taxi to the square at Djema El Fanaa, where I was blown away but the stalls selling dried fruit and nuts. There were snake charmers, and rather ratty looking monkeys on leashes that were NOT happy to be there. Next thing, I found myself in the souk.

It seemed remarkably less claustrophobic than I'd been led to believe, and it was way cooler than Chatuchak Market in Bangkok! There's some amazing stuff, the leather bags dyed all colours of the rainbow. I can see that I will be returning here. One this this market is tho is lacking in any obvious exits! After about 2 hours I was lost in the bowels of it somewhere and more bored than scared. I asked a shopkeeper how to get out and he summoned a young boy - about 14 - to guide me out. It cost me £3 but actually was worth it. Bless him, he made me laugh when he invited me to go to a disco with him tonight! I think even Madonna would think twice about a 35 year age gap, that's not cougar, its pedo!

I was almost free and clear when I got stopped by an old crone straight from central casting who asked about my tattoos. I was having a proper discussion about them when her younger accomplice grabbed my hand and began applying that sodding black henna to my hand! She said it was for luck - her luck I presume - and no matter how many times I told her to stop she continued. It cost me a tenner, plus the price of a soft drink in the cafe I ran to so that I could wash it off in their bathroom!