4  - 5 October 2014

We met in Gatwick's departure lounge where Alby found Clara dazed and confused after a stomach wrenching Easyjet flight from Belgium. Luckily the flight to Marrakech, a good 3 hours away, was quite a bit smoother. We arrived at 8.30pm and after bargaining hard with a taxi driver who justified his high price with an explanation of tomorrow's sheep-slaughtering national holiday (yeah right, we've heard them all now) we reluctantly gave in and were dropped off close to the Djemaa el Fna. We had booked ourselves a cosy little room in Hotel Sherazade, a colourful guesthouse in a side street 2 mins from the main square.


We wandered the narrow winding alleyways of the medina to find our riad, dropped off our luggage and headed straight out for our first Moroccan dinner. We wandered past the orange juice stalls, popular snail chefs, an enthusiastic group of Gnawa musicians, sad tourist pleasing monkeys on chains and a myriad of try-hard street restaurateurs all touting for our business!


The fact that Alby was wearing glasses and came from the UK provided the perfect ammunition for Harry Potter based jokes. We settled on a friendly stall and enjoyed our first bowl of Harira of the trip accompanied by fresh olives, bread, grilled vegetables and chillies. Washed down with a glass of mint tea we headed to bed with the plan to leave for the High Atlas the next day.

The reason for the low price of our room became apparent at 5am when the local muezzin began his call to prayer from the roof top of the mosque next door. After a couple of hours of snoozing we found a delicious breakfast of Moroccan pancakes, honey, fresh orange juice and yogurt on a surprisingly empty main square. After breakfast we wandered through the medina and discovered that the taxi driver was right after all: around the next corner we were affronted with a scene that caught our eyes and nostrils by surprise. Supported by four piles of bricks and above a layer of burning coals lay bed springs, holding a dozen chared sheep heads!


We wandered through the empty medina for the rest of the morning. The closed shops, carts full of fresh sheep skins and blooded T-shirt Moroccan men proved that killing sheep was top priority for today.


On our way to the tanneries we walked past countless burning fires before a quick visit to the leather dying ponds (also closed for the holiday!). We lost track of time and headed for a late lunch in a busy (one of the only open) eatery. Some time later we made our way to the Bahia Palace where we briefly marvelled at the beautifully tiled courtyards before closing time.


We caught a taxi to the bus station only to be told a couple of classic rip-off storiers ("there aren't any buses going to Azilal tomorrow, you'll have to go to Essaouira", "oh, a grand taxi to Azilal will cost you 800Dh toomorrow because of the festival") so we decided to hedge our bets and return in the morning. We spent a relaxed evening drinking tea, reading our books and enjoying a good soup on the Demaa El Fna before heading to bed.