As a longstanding Notts County season ticket holder, going AWOL for a home fixture is supreme sacrilege. The crunch match against Tranmere Rovers (Saturday, 22nd February 2025) ultimately fell to the magnetism of Marrakech, the fourth biggest city of Morocco, and the now customary short break (4-nights) to somewhere new and scintillating to celebrate my birthday. As I have advanced in age, travel has become key to my spirit of adventure and mental wellbeing. Escape is my antidote to aging.
But in keeping with my ceaseless love affair with Notts County, I will attempt to give a flavour of this magnificent metropolis in a read that lasts much less than the agonising eight minutes of added time that I endured remotely in North Africa before we triumphed 2-1 to keep our promotion dream alive.
Arriving in the evening on the edge of the main square, I was met by two extreme sensations: enchanted by the music of the snake charmers emanating from their mystic pipes, and the chill in the air. Make sure that you don your usual UK layers for the evening and early morning, with the capacity to ditch them during the afternoon when the Atlantic cool is replaced by the hot African sun.
Weaving through the Souk toward the
Riad Al Mamoune – a beautiful homestead hotel nestled within the beating heart of this remarkable ancient maze of business – my eyes consumed the colour of every conceivable chattel, whilst my nose twitched to the tantalising smells of the street food, spices, lotions, and potions. I usually shy away from natural remedies, but the pain in my foot disappeared after applying one of the local massage oils; the jury is still out on the Argan oil de-stressor, although the recent defeat at Port Vale is probably still playing on my mind.
In the morning, a private tour of the
Souk and hidden sites of the Old Medina, fabulously facilitated by Youssef, did what it said on the tin and provided a thorough game plan for swiftly moving through the labyrinth in the days that followed. The essentials of bartering – never say where you are from and haggle hard, at least fifty percent less than the opening salvo – suddenly showcased the cruel imbalance of capitalism: celebrating the crushing of someone who is more often than not in need of cash, while rarely thinking twice about paying an exorbitant price and bestowing a hefty tip at a flash restaurant. This discovery explains why I am so dire at the practice of spontaneous trading. By the way, ensure that you get your local currency either at the airport or, better still, at the numerous ATMs. Euros, dollars, and sterling are also accepted.
Before waving goodbye, our vibrant guide, keen to learn more about my place of birth, enthusiastically sang the primary Notts County chant – “I had a wheelbarrow, the wheel fell off, I had a wheelbarrow, the wheel fell off. COUNTY!!! COUNTY!!!” – not once did he indicate that the typical Brit was the epitome of eccentricity and exhibitionism, even though this event was videoed for my
vlog.
If, like me, you like an alcoholic drink, you face a struggle to find anything on general sale. Morocco is an Islamic country where the consumption of alcohol is prohibited, save at a few designated restaurants and hotels. If this is a big deal, then do your homework in advance. For me, this was never going to be a deal-breaker; the wondrous vantage points afforded by the high-rise rooftop bars offer the most breathtaking views of the main square, especially in the early evening as it undergoes a metamorphosis from a place of tireless trade to entertainment and places to dine alfresco. The local cuisine is simply stunning. Tagine is terrific!
I would certainly recommend Azar and La Trattoria Marrakech – both atmospheric in their own right, with the former only illuminated by a handful of candles, whilst the latter has a spectacular water feature that creates an oasis of calm to counter the fizz of the outdoors. Both serve alcohol too.
The following day was simply the best. The thought of being in a group having to make small talk with the couple from Essex who can be located within every corner of the globe, or worse still, following the pack led by a flag-wielding guide, makes me shiver, so an eight-hour private excursion to the
Atlas Mountains was the solution – and beyond brilliant. OK, the short camel ride seemed an unnecessary add-on, but given my lack of coordination, I was pleased that I had learned from my previous escapade in
Egypt and looked almost elegant before the embarrassing
disembarkation.
I could wax lyrical about this experience, akin to being Indiana Jones in the mastering of rickety water crossings and scaling fallen boulders before reaching the wondrous waterfalls. But the best commentary I can give is that this trek is a must – so go there! A remote recollection would be a travesty. Berber son Mohammed was our intrepid guide who proudly and excitedly engaged with the local legacy that oozed compassion and culture.
Never once did I feel uneasy, even when I was consumed by the Souk of souls. A few other visits I would recommend are The Secret Garden – just sit for a while under the majestic canopy and feel your stress slip away –, the Medersa Ben Youssef, and Bahia Palace, all of which are a short and exciting walk from the main square, as you dodge the motorbikes, cyclists, and wheelbarrow-pushing traders – all with wheels firmly attached!
Marrakech is magical – go there and be spellbound.
© Ian Kirke 2025 & all photographs.
@ iankirke.bsky.social
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