Marrakech

Bear with me, this keyboard has no e - i have to copy and paste it everytime - and a sticky u so this may take a while. Just my luck that they happen to be vowels...

We arrived in Marrakech four days ago but it feels like a week at least. The heat and dust hang heavy in the air here and things rush past you at high speeds - people, motor bikes, donkeys - sometimes you feel like you are walking through one big construction sight.

We spent the first day wandering around and did well not to get lost, eventually staggering upon Djeema - el Fna, the huge, totally overwhelming market place where snakes are charmed, run-ins are had with monkeys and all the magic happens. Numbered food stalls sizzle and smoke and men in what look like doctors coats usher you in with intoxicating smells, some men are nice - no. 114, 21 and 81 (we heart 81) - some grab you, generally offend and won't let go - no. 118. But all have fantastic banter. They claim to be from obscure places such as Ipswich and Stoke on Trent and it seems that Slough's reputation has reached that darkest corners of North Africa's biggest market. They use enormous chilli peppers to mimic phones to call their 'friend' Jamie Oliver, know who killed Archie in eastenders and have, on frequent occassions asked us 'what's occurin?' Such a sense of humour and proof of the power and reach of global media. We updated their repetoire by explaining 'compare the meerkat.com' which they eagerly welcomed. As we left the square tonight Kate shouted to the boys on 81 - 'nice to see you!' Their response was of course 'to see you nice!' They never miss a trick.

It was in this night that we had our first experience of Marrakech's infamous Souks - a maze of dark, under cover market stalls which simultaneously twist, turn and stretch on forever. From the depths of the sandals and brass lanterns you can hear phrases like 'cheaper than Primark', 'fish and chips' and, perhaps the best yet, 'girl who looks like a boy'. (For those of you who don't know I have had my hair chopped off - needless to say, it was a proud moment.) The souks also provided another proud moment involving an old man and a lot of running. He was following us for about half an hour trying to flog his cigarettes and no matter what we did we could not shift him. And so we ran. Ducking under hanging lanterns, dodging weaving scooters and leaping over stray kittens we managed to lose him. We out-souked him and we felt good about it (it also brought upon the first sighting of a "sweat tash"). Unfortunately it meant we got lost...very, very lost. We were spat back out of the souks hours later after aimless wandering far from where we entered but in sunlight none the less. The souks also provided our first haggling moment, ellie did a cracking job of it with a pair of sandals. Bargain. Unfortunately they gave her an open, weeping sore after five minutes so they have been thrown away. Small victories.

For our last day in Marrakech we treated ourselves to a local Hammam (a Moroccon massage and scrub down) with the women who clean our hostel. It really was a treat. we arrived, stripped off to our bikini bottoms (I was in my leapord print wagini bikini) and were doused, scrubbed and massaged surrounded by naked Moroccon women all afternoon. It was such a wonderful experience. You don't see as many women out working in the day and the cafes, stalls and souks are manned by, well, men, so it was just great to see women sitting together, laughing and gossiping, scrubbing eachother down. When it is over, they cover up and return home. It seems like the perfect sanctuary to the hot and heavy air. That was until it all kicked off when one woman stole another woman's water - a local hoarder, we were later told. I have never heard a dispute like it, shrill shouting that reveberated around the tiled walls. Relaxing time was over for now.

The final afternoon in Marrakech has now been named 'Chick-gate'. We found some chicks in the market which cost 50p each (many of our friends and family will alraedy be able to gess where this is going), they were jostling for space in boxes stacked on top of each other, all you could see in the lower boxes was little bits of fluff sticking out from the holes. A distressing sight. What with Kate's intense love of anything small and fluffy (a word that she feels patronises the chicks) and me and ellies ability to be persuaded into doing anything we quickly hatched (I'm sorry) a plan to buy a chick, raise it as our own and call it "Mouse" (Kate has always wanted to call an animal another animals name). We passed the chicks four times today. everytime we would re-assess the plan and persuade each other that this was definitely, definitely a good idea. Off we went to buy "Mouse", by this point it's fair to say, I had my doubts but it's hard to fight ellie and kate's enthusiasm and reassurance that this was going to be great! we picked our chick, got some seeds, ellie handed over the money with glee - this was actually going to happen, the dream would be realised - and we walked away with a chicken in a shoe box, chirping uncontrollably. So, for the record, we bought a chick. Unfortunately we were only told then that we had to buy two chicks because she needed a non-human friend...we were not cut out for that. One would have been cute, two - unmanageable. And so we walked away. He then offered us drugs thinking that to want to buy one chick in Marrakech for a pet clearly meant your head was elsewhere. He's got a point.

Ashamed and distressed, we walked away, hearing the little chirps fade away into the dusty night. Regret... however we have come back to a nest on our air conditioning and a little bird outside or room waiting to be let back in.

It is definitely time to leave Marrakech, what with the creepy man and the chick - it's all been too much. But what an amazing city, unlike anywhere else we have known. One souk seller told me it was "the city of colour" and i can think of no better way to describe it to you.

We are ready to embark on our three day trek, one mule up, one chick down.

Packing...

“What sandals are you taking? Are you even taking sandals or just flip flops? Should I bring my cropped linen trousers of my full length ones? I think we should split up the first aid kit – can you buy E45 cream and Imodium?”

The daily phone call from my fellow travel companion Ellie – something I have come to expect, and love. The struggle she faces attempting her cull her vast wardrobe into something manageable and most importantly weighing under 15kg is well documented and discussed. My other companion Kate is more silent on the packing issue (it has definitely become an issue.) Though, I have a sneaking suspicion that she will sit on her rucksack and heave the zip round – not that she would tell us if she did. Me? I tend to delay packing until the last minute and pride myself in being disciplined and rational. Famous last words.

Packing was always going to be the first hurdle. I am going to Morocco for six weeks and have to consider respecting local culture and yet simultaneously tackling the heat, mountain footwear, Saharan headwear and beach attire. Not to mention the fact that this is Kate, Ellie and myself, a liability in itself – we have studied the ‘Sex and The City 2’ trailer for fashionable inspiration. Gemstone head gear here we come. But the less said about that the better.

We are flying into Marrakech at 9:10am on Monday, I can only imagine what kind of awakening that will be. Abrupt, unexpected and fantastic. After the first three days the plan is loose. The general idea is to spend a week or so in Marrakech then make our way across the Atlas mountains to the Sahara. I can already assure you that the moment I turn around and see Kate and Ellie on a camel will be one of the best moments of my life.

Then it’s off to Essaouira (the only place I think of that can claim all the vowels making it impossible to spell) for lazy days on the beach and down to Agadir for a similar purpose. We never pretended that this trip was for any other reason than to relax, absorb and re-boot. Saying that, something tells me it won’t be that straight forward. None of us have done anything like this before so vital lessons have not been learnt yet. Sure we’ve been to places around the world but not like this. Never like this.

This blog is for all our friends, family and anyone else who wants to follow us on our journey. We will report on what is inspirational, beautiful and thoughtful but also on the more memorable, inevitable moments like when I read the bus timetable wrong and we get stranded, when Ellie gets charged for exceeding luggage allowance and when Kate burns.

I can see my packing in the corner looking at me. I should really get started. I’ve just realised that the pile of clothes is considerably taller than the bag and will never fit in. Good start.