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.

With sadness we left the Riad de la Mer behind in beautiful calm Essaouira. The Supratours bus crashed along the dusty half-built roads to Marrakech, making the journey in three hours. The pollution of Marrakech hit us like a brick and we quickly sought respite in our riad, Jnane Mogador, a bargain place to stay right in the middle of the Medina.

We’ve certainly done very well for accommodation, finding two very well priced places which fit our needs perfectly. I slept very well, especially given the noise of the locals and their homicidal mopeds continuing long into the night.

After visiting a couple of historic sites, the Bahia and the Tombs, we met with Vicki and Ralph’s Italian friend Christian who took us into the Ville Nouvelle and showed us an entirely different side of Marrakech.

A series of expensive bars and restaurants, frequented by rich Moroccans and Europeans, followed. Odd in their style and immature in their sophistication, they were the price of a gastro pub in the UK and are the height of sophistication here.

It was fascinating as an experience for one night, but not one I would want to repeat. It seems to be a lifestyle which many European expats are entirely used to — the European post-colonials live well here.

28.03.09 Marrakech 10:30am

After a brilliant stormy night we had breakfast on the terrace in Marrakech for the first time. The sun is attempting to break through and I’m browsing the souqs with my shorts and flip-flops. I’m not sure how easy it will be to go back to wearing jeans and shoes.

Essaouira is a strange meeting point — a place where European influence meets Moroccan tradition, where western politics meets Arabic sensibilities, where French and Portuguese architecture meets Berber house building. One thing all can agree on though, is that nothing has to happen in a hurry. Essaouira is the same haven of tranquillity as 12 years ago, and even the souq traders, so overbearing in other parts of Morocco, are of an altogether more easy-going nature here. I paddled in the Atlantic this morning, followed by a slow wander through the souqs and on to the bus station to get our bus tickets to Marrakech. We’ll ask Saida to arrange an early breakfast on the roof terrace tomorrow morning, we’ll need the insanely sugary thé de menthe to give us the energy for the trip to the city.

26.03.09 — Essaouira 11:00pm

A day of discoveries, of relaxation, of a pace so slow as to almost stop. Of kittens, kittens everywhere.  Of young Moroccans enjoying themselves, throwing aside the shackles of Islamic tradition and letting go a little. Laughter is everywhere and entirely addictive. Of pot salesmen, offering me hash, space cakes, everything and anything, “hey want a smoke?” and the irony of me not acquiescing.

Cats, feral cats, cute cats, diseased cats, kittens, kittens everywhere. Gelato on the quay, watching the giant boats being made, holding our breath as the smells filled our nostrils, fish, smells of fish, everything smells of fish here. French books in bookshops, French girls in the bar, pokey little bookshops, dusty, filled with dubious charms. The spice souq and the fake pyramids, the “Moroccan Viagra” of questionable origin, the silver souq and hands, all hands, but not the one I desired.

Shadows, deep shadows in the bright afternoon sun, dark alleys leading to darker alleys, leading to darker doorways. Pool tables in tiny bars, boys playing while the afternoon heat subsides. Mint for 2 dirhams, where’s the bargaining, it’s already less than 20 pence, lovely mint tea, thé de menthe on the terrace as the sun goes down on our last night in Essaouira. Red wine from the tiny shop, dusty bottles and cheesy labels, tasted better than we thought, crêpes, crêpes with honey, crêpe aux miel, hunting for crêpes, the best snack food, mint tea and crêpes.

Pizza in the darkness, shivering in the chilly Atlantic breeze with Moroccan pizza and Moroccan wine, telling war stories. Walking the Medina in the darkness, the shops finally closing their doors, the cats slinking home, the cries of the traders muted and tired, the lights slowly fading on another long but slow and seductive day in Essaouira. Sad to be leaving early tomorrow as Essaouira has once again taken hold of my heart.

There have been a few firsts on this journey — my first trip outside Europe since 2003, my first time in Africa since 1997, and my first time asleep on a sleeper train ever. Although we were naively expecting old-world colonial opulence in our first-class couchettes, the garish orange functional compartment turned out to be the most comfortable yet — we all got a great night’s sleep.

Arrival in Marrakech was a calm affair, the new station greeting us in a grand but cool manner. Marrakech itself is the same polluted asylum I remember — we made our way from the station to the grand taxis through choking fumes, glad of our hastily arranged Mercedes for the escape from them.

Our driver Abdi, a grinning toothless Berber local, tore across the plains and hills to Essaouira with glee. Essaouira itself has changed little in 12 years — it is no longer the semi-secret traveller haven it was, with a few coaches turning up during the day and a number of new hotels built further down the beach, thankfully away from the Medina and port. What hasn’t changed is the wonderful laid back atmosphere which is every bit as addictive as I remember. We wander at a very slow pace — nothing needs to be done in a hurry here.

After a well-deserved early evening doze in our riad, which incidentally is a self-catered delight, we ventured out for some food. Our riad, Riad de la Mer, sits just inside the Medina walls, down a dark alley filled with tiny shops, shadowy doorways and feral cats. We wove through the dark streets to Restaurant Les Alizés where the food was delicious and the service incredibly discreet.

We started our evening drinking Moroccan wine on the roof terrace, the lights, noises and smells of Essaouira drifting up from below, the Atlantic becalmed in the distance. We finished the evening well-fed and content, the calm Atlantic air certainly agreeing with us.

I started the day with a nervous mixture of anticipation and trepidation. We were about to undertake a relatively large and complicated journey — starting the day at 8:00am at Madrid Atoche Renfe station and finishing 24 hours later in Marrakech. Leaving Madrid was easy — the first class tickets to Algeciras were fantastic, giving us a lovely air-conditioned carriage to ourselves and a pretty decent breakfast. I managed to catch a little sleep and also re-read Arkham Asylum which I’d accidentally packed for the trip. The Spanish port of Algeciras was a friendly little place, not nearly as bad as I’d been led to believe. It did have that “edge of the world” feel to it, probably a good precursor to Tangier’s other “edge of the world” feel.

The ferry to Tangier was a little bit of Interzone on the high seas — a converted former cross-channel ferry with a mosque replacing the cinema, a very quiet duty-free shop, an almost food-free cafeteria (still with the original English signage) and a cast of passengers and crew straight out of the Twilight Zone. We sat on the very top deck outside and watched our slow progress through the Straits of Gibraltar, reflecting sadly on the incredible levels of air pollution in the channel. We finally arrived two and half hours later and after a comical docking and beautifully simple customs (we set off all the alarms but nobody seemed to care), we headed out into Tangier.

Memories flooded back as I peered through the darkness to the Medina beyond. I felt surprisingly happy and calm to back in the insanity of Tangier — as though my demons of recent have been somewhat purged. My earlier trepidation turned to elation as I sipped my first thé de menthe in twelve years. I’d forgotten how amazingly refreshing I used to find them and all of a sudden I was peacefully and happily returned to my time in the Tangier Medina. I’m laying on my couchette on the overnight train to Marrakech, watching the Moroccan countryside and the lights of distant towns drift by in the darkness. It certainly feels good to be back.