A day in the Medina–cries of “bonjour”, “hello” and “saluté”, people and smells, light streams through the roof slats, perilous corridors, souq mosques behind curtains, leather and metal, fabric and silver. Food, hastily cooked on rusty grills, smoke drifts across the souq, wood turned in tiny workshops, thé de menthe brewed on tiny stoves, shared between friends. People, sounds everywhere, movement, mopeds, donkeys, bikes, pushing, pulling, horns honking.

The souqs were everything I remember, but without the level of hassle I remember, making it a very pleasurable experience. We headed north through the main souq, coming out of the north gate. We visited the Ben Yousef Medersa which was an amazing building, hard to imagine 800 religious students in such small cells, the detail in the main courtyards was phenomenal.

We followed up our Medina morning with another trip with our friend Christian. We took the road to the south to a lake half-an-hour outside Marrakech, Barrage Cavagnac. There we had lunch, looking over the lake to the foothills of the Atlas mountains — the view was superb and only slightly spoiled as the rain clouds descended on us again.

Returning to the city we headed into the souqs again for some more mayhem before our appointments for hammams and massages. I had an excellent full-body relaxation massage, bizarrely to the soundtrack of The Godfather and A Fistful of Dollars. I stifled laughter as she pummelled me into submission. A very nice massage, one of the best I’ve ever had.

Our final meal in Marrakech was in Restaurant Jame, a little family-run place on Rue Riad Zitoun el Jdid which was quite difficult to find, particularly in the torrential rain. The tiny streets of the Medina quickly turned to muddy rivers as we negotiated huge holes in the street (they are replacing the sewers slowly, leaving gaping holes in the street).

The restaurant was a delight, and dry. We sat in the converted riad garden and each of us ordered a tagine, myself a lamb and fig dish and the others a lovely looking vegetable dish. Delicious. The harira soup was spicy and thick, and we followed it all with an orange salad and the obligatory thé de menthe. A fantastic way to finish our time in Marrakech. A wander around the Djemaa el Fna, the sounds, smells and sights still fresh in our minds, was the perfect nightcap.

Marrakech and Morocco have been a different experience for me on this trip — my first visit here in 1997 was amazing, but there were occasional frustrations and upsetting attitudes from a few people, which have not been in evidence this time. It has been an extremely relaxing and easy-going experience this time — Morocco has welcomed us with open arms and we’ve embraced it entirely.

The night before became a slow bar crawl around first the Raval, then over to the Born to finish off. I was pretty tired so climbed into bed reasonably early, about midnight, for a lovely long sleep. I could certainly get used to very drinkable glasses of red wine for 2€ a time.

Saturday turned out to be a beautiful day — the temperature hit 20° and the local population were out in force. After a visit to the Picasso Museum in the morning, I decided to find one of the beaches to the north of the city and enjoy the weather in style — the beaches aren’t the nicest in the world but after a long and grey London winter I was in heaven. I kicked of my shoes, threw off my shirt and went for a paddle in the Med. Lovely! The sea was as calm as a millpond, and all I could hear was the gentle lapping of the water on the shore.

Heading back to the city I passed this Juan Muñoz sculpture, caged and set in the middle of a large open area near the beach — it was nice to see his work out of the gallery. I wandered back and checked into the hotel, before heading out again for some lunch and a wander over to Raval to check out another exhibit. Over by the MACBA I couldn’t resist joining the locals for some late afternoon sun, sitting against the wall with a café con leche and a book.

From MACBA it was a wander through the back streets of Raval to the base of Montjuic — I couldn’t find the railway so I walked up the hill to get what is apparently the best view of the city. Unfortunately as I reached the top a huge bank of fog rolled in from the sea and, although I could still see a lot, obscured the view of the harbour. It was still a great view, but I realised I preferred the hustle and bustle of the narrow city streets and headed back to the madness.

I must have walked 10 miles today! My legs finally started to ache and I headed back to the hotel and then out into the city for some food and drink. I watched the France v England rugby in an Irish pub in Raval where I met an interesting man call José, a Dutch guy who’d moved here a year ago and wanted to know the rules of rugby. Friendly but a little strange, I stole one of his really strong cigarettes and talked about Barca locals. From there I headed back to Born to a cute little bar where an Italian barman made me some wicked mohitos and we chatted about which city made the best cocktails.

I hardly remember going to bed, I passed out happy and exhausted in my giant king size bed.

I managed to get the stuffing just right this time — one day I really must write this recipe down.

I know it includes (don’t ask about exact quantities, I just make them up):

• Three good handfuls of toasted breadcrumbs
• One good handful of toasted almonds, crushed
• One tomato, de-seeded and finely chopped
• One onion, peeled and finely chopped
• Two cloves of fresh garlic, finely chopped
• Juice and finely grated rind of one lemon
• A good size knob of melted butter
• A small handful of fresh tarragon, chopped
• A splash of extra virgin olive oil
• A pinch of ground nutmeg
• Salt and pepper

That sounds about right but it’s not an exact science.

I thought they looked both beautiful and a little sad all tied up and laid side-by-side in my pan. They tasted delicious though.