Luck be your Turtle... a few days in Marrakech!

I love that when you’re squirted with an animal’s urine you’re mollycoddled into thinking you’ve been sprayed by a lucky star. The reality is you’ve been peed on and you should make your way directly to your nearest washroom. On our final night in Marrakech, my lucky star came in the form of a turtle…

Escaping London’s rainy weekend, Girlfriend and I boarded EasyJet’s 7.40am Sunday flight out of Gatwick, direct to Marrakech. Three hours later we found ourselves in glorious 30-degree heat, attempting to withdraw local currency from the airport ATM.

Totally ill-prepared, we had no guide books and no idea of the currency conversion rate. We took a guess at 1000 dirham being sufficient for a day’s rations and off we set. Hassan, our trusty cabbie bundled us in his dusty Merc (c.1980) and off we spluttered into the pink dessert. Past over-burdened, greying donkeys, dodging whole families piled atop converted dirt bikes and through the gateway of the old fortified city of Le Medina.

I’d found us the gorgeous little Riad Amira for our three night stay, just south of the Saadian Tombs and a fifteen minute walk north to all the shopping in the Souks. And shop we did, on the first day. I snagged three utterly adorable baby kaftan pyjamas for my nieces and nephew (en route now to Aus!), six handblown mint tea glasses and even an authentic tajine for the Boyfriend – although I’ve begged him to hold off on his culinary experimentations for just a little bit as three days straight of slow cooked meats and spices have left me seriously tajined out!

On day two we booked one of Hassan’s ‘best men’ to drive us up to the Atlas Mountains and the apple trees of Imlil. Half way there we were lured by the grandeur of Richard Branson’s Kasbah Tamadot. A location handpicked by Richy’s own mother, its 18 individually designed rooms and 6 Berber Tented suites steal breathtaking views of rich red mountain tops and manicured gardens with a spa and hamman and both indoor and outdoor pools… Once checked-in a guest has absolutely no reason to leave.

Unfortunately, we merely procured an hour or so of their terrace barman’s time, indulging in a few glasses of Verve. Two of the hotel’s head managers personally introduced themselves while we were spoiled with bowls of olives, salted almonds and handcut crisps. When we finally tore ourselves away from the magnificence of it all the prospect of hiking a mountain range seemed very unappealing indeed. Instead we climbed an apple tree, pinched a ripe one and made our way to lunch on yet another tajine.

Not wanting to return to London in anyway vexed, we booked ourselves in for a full body jasmine oil massage at our riad’s sister villa in the city’s new quarter - Villa Amira. Acquiring a few bruises – she really went at it with the kneading – I followed my massage with a good dose of sunlight beside their mosaic tiled pool.

On the evening of our last night, Girlfriend and I braved once again the hectic and smelly alleyways to the main square and dined with a few hundred other tourists on lamb and chicken skewers. Besides a little scare over whether our skewer was in fact chicken or cat (the city is full of stray kittens with very few big cats to be found) I’m proud to say that we successfully chowed our way through all the local cuisine on offer… tentative tourists we were not!

So it was natural that I’d take up a stall owner’s offer to nurse a baby turtle. I just didn’t pick that he’d throw the mumma into the bargain!