Well, it’s the last entry from me for this holiday, though I’ll be picking up the blog again from Goa in another few weeks’ time as well.

Despite the hassle, haggling and the heat (oh, and not forgetting the shits), I had a good time in Morocco overall – high points being the lovely Essaouria, my time getting jiggy in the hammam, and of course all the delicious food on offer here, which I of course made sure to indulge in fully in the time I’ve been here. In fact, I’ve probably had more sugar this week from the ubiquitous sweet mint tea alone than I have otherwise consumed over the whole last couple of years. Oh well, when in Rome and all that…

As for the whole group thing, it’s been swings and roundabouts – as is the case with solo travel too, it should be said. For every frustrating wait for a morning latecomer or having to spend best part of twenty minutes settling a bill, there is also the opportunity to raise a glass or break bread with a bunch of fun and varied people you would otherwise never have met. For every unwelcome pitstop or part of the itinerary that you’d not personally have chosen to undertake, there is also the chance to share the items that are on your list in the company of other likeminded travelers. And for every knobhead Lyle in the mix, there is (hopefully!) also a brilliant Bryan, Carmen, Joss and Ricky too – plus all the other people in the group who have collectively made this trip for me. And even Lyle turned out to be great blog fodder in the end too, so all is forgiven at this point really…

Final thoughts on the subject of Lyle: I’d usually say it’s a case of ‘see ya, wouldn’t want to be ya’ – though in truth there is a definite part of me that is inwardly envious of that sheer level of inner swag. How wonderful it must be in some ways to breeze blithely through life without any sense of humility or self-awareness whatsoever, in the sure and certain belief (however deluded that may be…) that you are the absolute dog’s bollocks – as opposed to (as I certainly do) living in a constant state of crippling self-consciousness and doubt. After all, does it really matter if everyone else thinks you’re an absolute raging bellend, if you yourself remain blindly oblivious to the fact…?

Overall though, the trip was definitely worth the punt. Would I do the whole group travel thing again…? Yes, though with possibly a bit more research into the organisation in question, rather than booking on a whim, crossing my fingers and hoping for the best.

Anyhoo, that’s it from me for now. Inshallah for a not too horrendous experience at the airport later on today (a complete and utter clusterfuck, by all accounts….) and goodbye / au revoir / bsslama for now!

Well, in the event the group did end up sharing a really lovely last night dinner and drinks together at the Kabana rooftop bar in the Medina (one of the few places that serves alcohol), though I sensibly left early, before Lyle could make good on his threat to unleash his inner party animal in full force upon the group! In short, a very good time was had by all, which was no surprise really given how well the overall group dynamics had played out over the course of the trip thus far. Even Lyle had inadvertently done his bit in adding an unintentional level of cringe comedy to the whole group affair, I suppose – albeit as the constant unwitting butt of the joke and as yet still presumably in an enduring state of blissful ignorance as to the fact!

Anyhoo, back to the trip post group segment. As of earlier this afternoon, I’m officially treating myself to an overnight stay at the luxurious Palais Sebban, a centuries-old, truly labyrinthine, traditional Moroccan riad, which still has much of its original, highly ornate mosaics, wood carvings, stained glass, and ceiling / door paintings intact. In short, one of the more unique places I’ve stayed in my life, and one which very much represents an oasis of calm amidst the hustle bustle of frenzied Marrakesh.

Fortunately for me, the Sebban also comes complete with a stylish in-house bar (yes, an actual alcofrolic one), a bijoux little restaurant, and own hammam and spa to boot. In short, no need for me to have to leave the place again until it’s time to leave for the airport tomorrow – which is very much welcome, given that I’m pretty much officially Marrakesh’d out at this point. (Oh, and on the subject of airports, I’ve since heard from other group members that departures is absolute sheer and utter fucking carnage, so something to look forward to tomorrow there then… 😦 ).

Speaking of the spa, I am pleased to report @Tara and Stuart that I have at least partially fulfilled your brief of incorporating at least one element of sex, drugs and rock n roll into this trip – of sorts at any rate!* Turns out the Moroccan hammam and spa experience is, let’s say, a particularly “intimate” one, with a woman (sometimes two) literally oiling, rubbing, kneading, washing, brushing, pressing, pushing and pummeling you virtually all over and to within an inch of your very life – and all while you are completely stark bollock naked for the most part too. There was only maybe one sole 5cm² pocket of skin that was not “actively” worked upon over the course of my two hour spa session, and even then there was a lot of, ummm, digital near misses in that area, shall we say. Not that I’m complaining, mind you – though quite frankly I’m not sure at this point if I should be buying this lady flowers and taking her to dinner. I mean, was that a mere massage, or do I find myself having unwittingly entered into my first same-sex relationship here…? 😉

Anyway, that’s it for the moment – as for now, I think I might just see if I can’t book myself in for a second date before I go… 😀

* Thought: Does Lyle’s cringeworthy minibus karaoke fulfill the rock n roll criteria too…? And Immodium the drugs part…? As if so, full house right here baby!

Well, I’m now back in town after our visit to Essaouira, a coastal fishing town featuring far more vowels in the name than is strictly good for it. Aside from that though, Essaouira was absolutely lovely – and mercifully much, much cooler than baking Marrakesh, as well as being far more chilled out and relaxed to boot. As you can see from the pics below, it definitely has a feel of a Spanish or Greek port town about it – in short, highly recommended.

Day 1 was spent just exploring the old town, until a case of the old intestinal “Marrakesh Express” brought me temporarily low later that evening, meaning I had to bow out of drinks and dinner this time round. Did Lyle drop a note in response to my message on the WhatsApp group, or ask me the next morning how I was doing…? Did he fuck. I wouldn’t mind, other than it’s his actual job and all, and without exception everybody else (who were, by contrast, not being paid to be nice) thought to do so… Lyle did at least have the good grace to look embarrassed when I pointedly remarked “I’m fine Lyle, thanks for asking” – a rare puncture wound in his seemingly otherwise permanent state of sheer and utter self-absorption here…

Fortunately by the morning I was feeling more or less all better again and able to re-join the group at a morning cooking class, where we made an absolutely delicious fish tagine – just my kind of food: healthy, vibrant, fresh and flavourful. In short, a really good day!

As for now I’m back in Marrakesh (after yet more excruciatingly cringe Lyle minibus karaoke antics en route), just writing this up before heading out for the final evening with group. Apparently Lyle also had to give last night a miss due to being knackered, so now that he is officially rested – is currently threatening to bring “two nights of Lyle for the price of one” tonight. Dear Lord, spare me please!

Well, a couple of days on and “Lyle” has now been officially downgraded from initial status of ‘complete and utter fuckwit’ to more of an ‘all-round general tosspot’. I was really taken aback to find out the guy had never actually been to Morocco before, and (wholly unsurprisingly at this point) displayed a jarring lack of planning, forethought, or any kind of apparent effort to attain any prior local knowledge whatsoever beforehand, such as bothering to learn even the barest of bones in French or Arabic before coming out. I even had to fill him in on the whole Carrefour / alcohol situation myself – much to the group’s collective gratitude and delight, it has to be said though! The words “blind leading the blind” clearly apply here, sauf que je voix évidemment mieux que lui.

Still, he managed to acquit himself acceptably over the course of the day, I suppose – he’s just, charitably speaking, not my personal cup of tea, shall we say. He clearly subscribes to the current TOWIE idyll of masculinity (i.e. bulging pecks, groomed to within an inch of his life, no stranger to the sunbed, a dazzling set of “Turkish teeth”, not much going on between the ears, etc.); is prone to flagrant preening, peacocking and man spreading; and displays a very much “in-your-face” penchant for sporting overly revealing shorts. In short, a guy much more suited to the role of Ibiza holiday rep than cultural coordinator (as evidenced by his quite literally painful attempts at minibus karaoke on the way to Agafay*), and with that kind of overly confident, self-aggrandising, cock-of-the-walk personality type, quite frankly I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he pops up on Love Island or some such one of these days soon either…

As for the rest of the group, they’ve been pretty cool so far – everyone getting on well and no complaints, so all good on that front!

As of now, we’re just getting ourselves up after an overnight stay at the Emeraude Luxury Camp in the Agafay desert – a place that was decidedly less luxury than the website suggests (e.g. shitty wifi, very mediocre service, no hot water, etc.), but did have lovely glamping style tents and a beautiful desert swimming pool, which was just what the doctor ordered by the time we rocked up at about 4pm yesterday. I’d only actually managed to sleep two hours the night before (mainly due to being hyped up to start the trip, the hotel being really noisy, and my overactive brain feverishly plotting vengeance on Lyle in the form of a visceral yet icily professional complaint letter to the tour provider^), so chose to chill by the pool for a bit here, while others in the group went camel riding (been there down that on previous trips) or quad biking (probably fun, but I was just too knackered, sweaty and heat exhausted by this point to bother (it’s been 38° today, and the minibus getting here had literally zero aircon to boot…).

A cold dip, a beer and some good food (a truly delicious beef tagine) soon had me to rights again though, meaning I could go on to spend an evening round the campfire with the group, before finally hitting the hay for a much-needed night’s sleep.

And that’s it till next time…

* Video evidence available for anyone who would like to privately die a little bit inside.

^ In the cold light of day, I figured venting my spleen about him on here would suffice.

So, a very quick one from me today, before embarking on this morning’s final walking tour of Marrakesh (admittedly retracing my steps in part), before setting off into the desert of Agafay this afternoon…

In short, I have officially met up with the most of the group as of this evening, though “unofficially” a bunch of us found each other (and also managed to locate one of the few Ville Nouvelle drinking establishments for a pre-dinner tipple), before assembling at the meet-up “proper” site – a restaurant in the Medina for a delicious tagine meal later on that evening.

The group as it stands consists of mainly Brits, one Italian, one Indian, one Yank and a couple of latecomers as yet undetermined and, yes, as suspected, I am probably the oldest by a good decade or so. I’m not sure whether it was my great age, or the fact that I am so far the only French speaker of the group, or simply my innate instinct to bring order to chaos in each and every situation, but – in the absence of any group guide (a highly conspicuous no-show till the very last minute, more on which below…) – I currently find myself in definite in danger of unwittingly falling into the de facto mother hen role here.

That, or in-house drug dealer, given that fair to say pretty much everyone else in the group did not seem to get the memo on the alcohol (or rather lack thereof) front. Given I’m now in a very real position to supply that demand over the next few days, there is at present every possibility that I may end up divvying up and distributing my two bottles of wine and small bottle of duty-free rum at a tidy profit, in the process elevating myself to the temporary status of North African equivalent of Pablo Escobar here…

Still, the group so far (there a couple more still to join) has definitely proven a cool bunch, with ones to watch from the ten so far being:

1. Carmen^ – A very cool former travel coordinator turned HNW PA, who (like me) finds herself unexpectedly single and in despair at the sordid world that is online dating.

2. Joss – A very switched-on digital marketer with a shared penchant for early bedtimes.

3. Bryan – The one American of the group, so naturally friendly, exuberant and like me also into the whole health and fitness.

4. Ricky – Black Country lad who also aims at 10,000 steps a day (with me, him and Bryan being the big walkers of the group as a result).

As for the guide,  who we’ll call, “Lyle”, the groupwide current consensus is that he is, in short, something of a bellend. Quite unbelievably, this numpty turned up several hours too late to his own tour – not because of any flight delays or anything – just because he chose for whatever reason to book a flight that would get him in hours behind the rest of us, the actual paying customers. To make matters worse, to this point he also hadn’t shared any actual information beforehand on things like timings etc. for the next day (we eventually got these through coming up to midnight, so talk about last minute dot com). Putting it politely, as a result the whole group was raising a massive collective eyebrow at the serious lack of professionalism here.

An impression which was confirmed ten times over when the cocky bastard just strode nonchalantly in just as we were all leaving, just giving it the big “I am” and practically slapping his dick on the table on arrival – no context, explanation, apology or any kind of humility at all. Well, all I can say is that I expected a knobber or two in the mix, but certainly didn’t expect it to be the lead… Either way, fair to say that insouciant approach went down like a cup of cold sick with the group – not a great look if you’re guide is already a laughing stock before he even turns up, and is actually deemed even more so of one after the fact…

The group has agreed to give the guy the benefit of the doubt for now, and there is the chance he may yet redeem himself over the next few days. I for one, however, inwardly subscribe to the school of “no mercy, no forgiveness” once crossed, and have been known to hold persistent decades-long grudges for less. So in short, watch out for now motherfucker – I’m officially on to you, bitch.

^ Names changed to protect the innocent and the not-so-innocent.

Well, a couple of days in and here are my early observations on Morocco so far:

1. Thank Christ for my schoolgirl (albeit to GCSE A* and one of the highest A Level grades in the country standard – just sayin’) French. C’est absolument nécessaire ici, and particularly so when negotiating prices with the, let’s say, “over-optimistic” taxi drivers, when it comes to number of Dirham payable per mile.

2. It certainly ain’t easy to get a drink! I knew that to a degree coming in of course, but had understood that all the local Carrefours (a very welcome legacy of French colonialism*) here did sell alcohol at the very least. Not so, as it turns out – as I found out to my cost this morning after walking a mile to the nearest one, only to learn from the staff there (again thanks to long latent French-speaking abilities) that this only actually applies to a select few larger Carrefours after all – cue a not insubstantial taxi journey out of my way to finally successfully stock up on wine at the super-modern Menara Mall. I realise that the level of time and effort I was willing to put in on this front probably says far more about me than it does the Moroccans, but fuck it! I’m on holiday and a sundowner or two is practically obligatory, at least for us debauched, decadent Westerners at any rate…

3. It turns out that the Moroccans are also cat people! There are a lot of street cats here, particularly in the Medina area, which local people collectively feed and look after, so much kudos there. In fact, speaking of felines, I had a truly horrendous dream last night that I had given away my own much beloved cat (the aptly named Princess Kim Chi, the Official Goddess of Sapphire-eyed Floofiness), due to her somewhat “demanding” nature at times, and then later regretted it horribly. I woke up in a massive panic, only after long sleep-addled contemplation finally coming to the conclusion that this wasn’t actually the case, then fell back asleep only to repeat the very same traumatic dream all over again…

Anyhoo, moving on…. Over the course of the last two days, I’ve been mainly exploring the historic Medina area, including morning visits to the Bahia Palace, Koutoubia Mosque and the Ben Youssef Medersa. As you’d expect from this North African neck of the woods, there were a lot of traditional mosaics and ornate wood carvings involved here – pretty snazzy, I think you’ll all agree.

From there it was onto the souks, which were mercifully far less hassly than I’d been previously led to believe. As all of you know by now, I loves me a market at the best of times, and the below constitutes just the teensiest tiny fraction of all photos taken here as a result…

By far the most interesting thing about the souks, however, was the myriad of miniature one-man hole-in-the-wall type businesses, which included: old-school blacksmiths, iron-mongers, tailors, booksellers, leather workers, haberdashers, shoemakers, carpenters, butchers (each with some decidedly unhygienic looking wares on offer…) and probably many more I just didn’t manage to get to. How these people ever make any kind of living in this age of mass production I really don’t know, but it was really quite incredible to see close-up – almost like taking a step back in time a century or two. I didn’t take any pictures of my own (just felt too intrusive to do so), but here are some I’ve unashamedly stolen off t’interweb, which will hopefully give you some sense of the place instead…

And that’s it for the minute, bar a few final random pics I took along the way…

As for now, I’m just taking a chance to catch my breath before joining up with the group later this evening and officially embark on this next segment of my trip. Sorry Tara and Stuart once again for the distinct lack of sex, drugs and rock n roll so far here, but – given it took me best part of a morning just to source a semi-decent looking merlot here – I think you may well need to lower your expectations on this front…. 😉

Until next time then, à bientôt!

* Technically Morocco was “just” a French protectorate rather than full-blown colony, but close enough.