Marrakech, Morocco
Saturday, April 11, 2015

We arose late and dined on the same simple but tasty breakfast. Belinda smuggled in one of her gluten free rolls and was able to sample the jams on offer. It was at this point that the joke of joke, the pinnacle of puns, the most supendous of wittisms ever uttered ( possibly ) was created. Of the two jams on the table today, one was apricot and the other was kumquat. Well Lucia and I had stuck with the tried and tested apricot but brave Belinda was going for the other one, so Luce and I decreed that Belinda would choose the other jam “Kumquat may!” – my, how we laughed.

After such frivolities we decided that a period of contemplation was required, so we hoisted ourselves out of the riad and made our way to the Jardin Majorelle.

…to be continued…

…continuing, as promised…

We decided to venture forth by foot rather than taxi, a decision which in hindsght was excellent but at first glance seemed rather risky as cars, motorbikes, donkeys and people rushed by us. We got to YSL’s rather clinical but beautiful gardens ( look up Jardin Marjorelle for the background ) and wandered into his small but immaculate museum of Berber life, and left feeling no wiser about Morroco but slightly lighter in the wallet. We then stayed on foot and walked into the centre of Marrakech proper. It is a slightly strange mix of old and new, with all the buildings a uniform pink-orange colour regardless of whether they are 100 days or 100 years old.

We ate in a trendy, cosmopolitan cafe, the food and service was excellent and the entertainment from adjoining tables was amusing if fleeting, as one young lady was uncermoniously asked to leave for no apparent ( to me ) reason at all. Belinda and Lucia, much to their annoyance missed this, and had to be content with my retelling of the story.

After lunch we wandered rather aimlessly until we entered the municipal gardens which were a joy to behold, much more accepting and much more free than the Majorelle. We stopped near a tree which was over 100 years old and seemed, for some odd reason, to have been named Oliver – at least that is what we thought the sign said – how were we to know how they spell Olive tree here ??

We then spent too long in the Artisan Centre, leaving with associated trinkets and objet d’art, and also where Lucia had her first lesson in Moroccan carpet weaving. She put in two very small pieces of wool and paid 50p for the privilege, its no wonder carpets are so expensive ! ( I still haven’t bought one by the way, in case you were wondering ). We also are much more knowledgeable about the techniques of felt hat making and the carving of small wooden animals, but this is, of course, is why one travels – to broaden one’s horizon and learn absolutely pointless skills.

Tired, we returned to the riad, flopped onto the bed and rested our weary feet, pondered dinner and planned our next day in the Imperial City.