NLEK

Touching down in Marrakech I feel a shock of excitement rush throughout my body. This was the first time I had ever been to Africa and at only thirteen I was ready to embrace the country and all of its challenges, of which there were many. We collect our luggage and wait for my Father to return from the toilet, he does so a good fifteen minutes later, it’s not a great omen when you have got a jippy tummy within the first hour of landing on the African continent.

It must be at least eleven o clock in the evening as we leave the airport as the only light on the motorway is provided by the countless number of mopeds, whirring past us illuminating not only the tarmac but also the many other two wheeled travellers. As the wildly modern invention of the people carrier is seemingly yet to be introduced to Marrakech, Moroccan Fathers balance their entire family, grandma and all, on top of what seems to be the transport of choice, other than the donkey of course. As my sister falls asleep on my shoulder, I open the window and feel the warm Moroccan air caress my face, it does little to refresh me as I had hoped, and instead this delicately spiced balmy breeze awakens every one of my senses. Soon enough it is clear to see where each of these individual scents originates. As we pull through the main entrance just outside of the Medina, smoke filled alleyways reveal themselves. I am at once transported to a scene from the Bible, half expecting Mathew, Mark, Luke or John to pop round the corner. Shards of Clementine coloured light slice open dark alcoves revealing withered men and scowling women. Little do we know that our short strolls down these carpet lined streets are soon to be my Father’s worst nightmare, as our guides’ brother, father-in-law, cousin and best friends Dad’s Uncle all own carpet shops all of which we are assured will do us a good deal of course. After a long winded story about how this particular rug was woven by the hands of an eighty year old blind virgin living in the mountains and surviving on grass alone my Father was ushered into a small side room, whilst we were distracted by yet another cup of mint tea.

Long story short, we walked out of that place flustered, needing a wee and carrying two twenty stone carpets. As much as I love the hustle and bustle of the souks in Marrakech, my advice to you would be, never make eye contact, a cup of mint tea always means business and under no circumstances suggest “that would look lovely in the dining room” because I guarantee you, be it a jewelled tea light or a 10 foot stuffed camel when you get home it doesn’t go with the curtains!