The Tao of Tash in Marrakech.

Today's menu

Aperitif
Sodium Chloride (saline flush)

Antipasti
A selection of fresh steroids served infused in a light Sodium Chloride
Dexamethasone Injection
Granisetron Injection
Chlorphenamine Injection
Ranitidine Injection

Primi Pasti
Lightly tossed Paclitaxel (Taxol) 500ml in a Sodium Chloride Juis

Secondi
Fresh Trastuzunab (Herceptin) of the day

Refresher
Sodium Chloride (saline flush)

Dolci
A selection plate of our desserts
Domperidone Tab
Granisetron Tab
Dexamethasone Tab
or
Arthrotec
Hyosine

Coffee and Mints
Movicol Sachet
Bisacodyl

Thursday
The car was booked to pick us up at 13.00 I recalled from the email Tash sent me, so after getting up early I decided to tube it into town to buy a new pair of trainers. If it wasn't a weekday I wouldn't have bothered as crowds aren't my thing. A good trainer buying experience later and I sauntered my way back to the ranch via tube and foot, and got to the front door just as Tash phoned with the typical opening line 'Where are you?' , 'just outside the door' I reply - The Misses then helpfully points out that the taxi was actually booked for 12.00pm and it was ten minutes to, 'ohh' was the only sound I could make.

Sunday
Back to the market for a mega haggling fest and returning to the serenity of the Riad for lunch. More lounging by the pool for half the gang, and more haggling around the Souks for the others (guess which one I did and guess which one Tash did.....)
Our pre-dinner drink was to be overlooking the main square from one of the many surrounding terraces so we could get a glimpse of all the action. Each evening, the square becomes an open air eatery as it fills up with open kitchen stalls and rows of benches where one can eat anything from simple beef, chicken and prawn skewers to boiled sheep's head, eel and snails. As it was Ramadan, our planned 'G&T' was a round of Coke and Sprite, so we moved on to our restaurant for the evening Dar Moha, which served a traditional Moroccon dinner, complete with Freddie Mercury look-a-like dancer (and alcohol - wahoo!).

Saturday
Mr Alan took us on a cross town walk to yet more gardens (oh, we're in a desert remember, an oasis is worth looking at, providing that they are not the ones from Manchester)... I am getting old, my holidays all seem to revolve around gardening these days, then a relaxing afternoon sipping G&T's by our rooftop pool and watching the sun go down.
Dinner: Marrekech's most hippest night spot, Le Comptoir, which was loud and hot, but had had good belly dancers.

Dinner that night was to be found right in the middle of a mass of houses where the roads became too narrow and busy for our taxis to take us any further. Hopping out of the cabs we were then greeted by a man with a lantern who guided us through endless bustling alleys to what felt like the middle of nowhere and then ushered us into a very slick, modern restaurant filled with westerners called Le Fondouk. It is currently Ramadan, which may have explained the huge amount of local people milling about at night, or possibly it is the party town of Morroco, either way, it was a very jarring experience to be out in the street one minute and then in a capsule environment the next. Food was nice, but the seats were low, story of my life really.

Friday
The next morning I got away with a swim in the roof pool before breakfast in the main courtyard. The famous square, Djemaa el Fna, and The Souks (markets) were about 5 minutes from where we were staying, so the day was split between a quick trip to the bustling market (want to buy a camel sir!), lunch back at the ranch, and then out to view the rest of the town from the rear of a (rather smelly) horse drawn carriage known as a calèch.

Strangly 30 years after the first visitor along the hippy trail, there is still a strong influx of 'adventure' travelers to Marrakech, us included, though with less of an inference on 'adventure'. I dressed accordingly with stout walking boots and practical shorts with several pockets but was constantly undone by the 'flip flop aesthetic of my companions', they will never make it across the Sahara I reassured myself!

Ohh the colours, sights, sounds and smells, ohh the smell! - the joy of open sewers.

The first night was spent eating and drinking in our hotel, which was a beautiful Riad. (A Riad is a traditional Moroccan house or palace with an interior garden)

London to Marrakech is a two part flight with a 40 minute stop over in Casablanca, presumably to allow you time to adjust to the approaching culture shock, it didn't stop the plane from echoing with 'Play it again sham' impersonations for the entire time we were on the ground though. Our merry bandwagon rolled into town late into the evening and straight into a world out of books and magazine articles. My first 48 hours in Marrakech was spent in full defense mode unfortunetly, having such a sick wife does bring out the uber caveman in me (you chaps who have been out and about with heavily pregnant wives may have an inkling as to what I mean by this), but I needn't have worried as though it all looks a bit rough, the people in Morroco are wonderfully friendly and have no intention of stealing white girls away to sell them into slavery.

Having 10 minutes to pack was an interesting and space consuming experience, as it tuned out, only 10% of my sartorial choices ended up being of use, had we detoured through Alaska and then Eastern Europe then I am assured that my choices would have not been in vain.

Meeting up with the rest of the gang we proceeded to forgo the usual departure lounge drudgery as Karen and Alan suggested lunch at the seafood and champagne bar instead. No one put up a fight and we then ruined any chances of being impressed by the in-flight meal by having the most exquisite feast of Salmon and Prawns that you could imagine having, well air-side really.