Marrakech

When Matt mentioned he was going to Marrakech to race a half marathon something clicked. It might have been my dodgy ankle, but I also had an idea: why not run it with him, and take Sophie along for the adventure?

Day One - Le Grand Départ

Nothing quite makes you feel like you're going on holiday like waking up at 2.45am. We arranged to meet Matt and Ollie in Crawley, where we'd try to cram as much luggage into our hold bag as possible. Fortunately this went well with no bananas harmed in the process. Our first transfer of the holiday came in the form of Ollie's mum, Sally, who had gone to start the car while we packed.

A short journey in the dead of the night - what could possibly go wrong? So young, so naive. We piled into the car and were met with Sally fighting a losing cause against the dreaded windscreen fog (of war). Frantically pushing buttons, repeatedly claiming "it doesn't usually do this" and "it's usually just one button and poof it's gone", minutes passed but nothing changed. It became clear Sally would have to drive with reduced vision. On the motorway as well. An oval pocket of clarity appeared in the least helpful position, just up from the dashboard on the passenger's side. Matt squinted through it, contorting his frame into an impossible position for the cause, while Sally navigated her way through the unfamiliar familiarity of Crawley, using all clear windows about her person.

With the grace of God we arrived unscathed at Gatwick North Terminal with enough time for a quick breakfast, Dirham collection and a leisurely stroll to the gate.

An uneventful if not bumpy flight - clouds obviously need to be relaid by the Highways Agency - and we were in the land of Marouane Chamakh, Hicham El Guerrouj and tajine. Our first collective experience of Marrakech began with a timeless British tradition: the queue. A fantastic spectacle: well-organised gating, ample space, and an unnecessary amount of time spent shuffling toward the passport checking desks like a disjointed tortoise conga.

After being relieved of 300 Dirham (~£27) for a ten minute taxi ride, we spent the rest of our first day exploring the local area, mainly Jemaa el-Fnaa and the surrounding souks.

Jemaa el-Fnaa

Day Two - The Atlas Mountains

Matt had booked us onto a tour in the Atlas mountains for Saturday. Disappointed to have not experienced them the first time round, I was especially excited for this trip.

The place we were staying, Hostel Riad Marrakech Rouge, provided us with a traditional Moroccan breakfast every morning including sweet mint tea, a selection of breads and a pancake-cum-crumpet that should be called a panpet or crumcake if it isn't already, though neither quite fits the bill.

Travelling by car in Morocco is strangely peaceful given the carnage that is the traffic system. Lights are advisory, giving way is optional and driving on the right-hand side is only necessary when there's a car on the left. Even then it isn't strictly necessary. Cars, motorbikes, people, horses, donkeys, goats, cyclists all moving in different directions, at different speeds and with differing amounts of patience. Morocco seems to operate on the maxim that if everybody moves intently in their desired direction with minimal alterations, everything will be fine. And it was.

I do not possess the vocabulary to express the beauty of the Atlas mountains

The journey up into the Atlas mountains was full of mind-blowing sights and mind-boggling driving. Without doubt the highlight being our driver, of a seven-seater Hyundai no less, overtaking a truck up the side of a mountain pass with barely enough room for two cars, around a blind bend. In his defence he did sound his horn while doing so, the equivalent of filling out a health and safety form!

Ollie made an emotional connection with his camel, Neil

After the excitement of the journey, the Atlas mountains had a lot to live up to. But Christ, did they. The pictures don't it justice - how could they? Incredible views, authentic, magical experiences: riding camels, passing through Berber villages, crossing paths with shepherds and their flocks of sheep, locals carrying food from the market (one we had walked through at an earlier stop), and the countless number of vantage points to gaze up at the colossal, snow-tipped mountains dominating the skyline, crowding around us. We followed our guide, Saeed, down to a small waterfall, before doubling back on ourselves and completing our walking for the afternoon with a fantastic tajine waiting for us at Les Chez Berbers. (I'm unsure whether the 'cheeseburger' pun is accidental.)

Yeah, I've got skills

Then it was back down the mountain, passing or being passed by other road users until a brief chat with the Boys in blue. Our driver, Hakim, dealt with them graciously, handing over his paperwork, offering his fire extinguisher and first aid kit for inspection, while a packed minibus with passengers on the roof passed through the checkpoint without so much as a glance from Five-O!

Once back at our hostel it was time to get into "race mode": essentially loads of pasta, calculating paces, and an early night.

Day Three - Race Day et Cookery Class!

With the Half starting at 8.30am, thirty minutes after the Marathon, we set our alarms for 6.45am. There's nothing quite like waking up on race day - it really is like Christmas Day! Matt and I got our stuff together and made our way down to breakfast, both of us eating considerably less than usual. Sophie and Ollie kindly joined us and we left the hostel around 7.40am.

That's a lot of thigh you're showing, mate

I won't go into much detail of the race but it was fantastic to run through Marrakech. After the marathoners had left we went through a warmup - Matt stopped to stretch within touching distance of a camel(!) and I went through the motions. Then it was time to get into the sardine tin that is the race corral. Usually there would be a number of corrals based on previous/expected times. That wasn't the case, unfortunately, and a number of people took advantage of being far closer to the front than necessary. We both squeezed through the crowd until we were close to where we felt we would should have been i.e. where we expected to finish.

The start of the race was chaotic to say the least, dodging people, runners sprinting up the outside, passing under inflatable arch after inflatable arch, unaware exactly of where the race actually began. Then, after a kilometre or so, everything settled. We ran along the Ménara gardens, through the Agdal gardens, and, at one point, were running with the Atlas mountains up ahead on the horizon. Goosebumps.

The accuracy with which the kilometre signs were placed was questionable at best. Still with the abundance of affordable GPS watches (both Matt and I were wearing ours) it didn't matter a great deal.

In terms of the weather, Matt and I both agreed the conditions were pretty much ideal: mild, still and dry. The course was a fast one, with a few false flats but nothing to really slow you down. Matt came home in an incredible 1:14, for a two-minute PB, and I finished in 1:35, for a three-minute PB. Around the 10km mark I made a promise to kneel down and kiss the tarmac if I ran 1:35, so I duly did that, then proceeded to express my disbelief at Matt's incredible performance with some colourful language.

Matt looks like he's been for a leisurely jog. Me? Not so much

Full of contentment with our PBs but empty of food, we soon made our way to Jemaa el-Fnaa for the second installment of Matt's itinerary: a cooking class.

First we were led around the souks and the markets, taking in our third or fourth explanation of how to make Argan oil, a random carpet sales pitch, and a tour of an expensive hotel before we met our chef, who'd be showing us how to cook Moroccan style!

How exactly is Argan oil made?

Over two hours had passed by the time we got to the start of the cookery course. We expected the whole thing to last three hours, have a bit of food then head back to the hostel before going out for dinner and, more importantly, alcoholic beverages.

Parsley AKA not coriander

However, we spent so much time peeling, chopping, mixing vegetables that our lunch ended up being dinner. All four of us were seriously hungry from all of the fantastic food we were preparing, and tasting along the way. It was absolutely worth the wait however. Our meal came with a couple of bottles of wine which we duly polished off, with Matt in particular keen to ensure none of it went to waste!

I'm still not sure why Ollie was sat down

Full to the brim with delicious food, we headed straight for one of the few places that sells alcohol in Marrakech, and ordered pudding along with our alcoholic drinks! 1,000 Dirham later we headed home for a well-earned sleep, which we'd need for what we had planned the next day.

Day four - Essaouira

No rest for the wicked. We were up early again and out the door by 8am (after breakfast, of course) to get on the coach for Essaouira. The three hour journey, including stopping to find out how Argan oil's made, to see tree-climbing goats, and camels, was pretty uneventful, though I made good progress with my Football Manager career (I won't bore you with that. Yet).

You've heard of a cattery/cat tree... I'll get my coat

The previous two days had been so hectic that it was nice to chill out a bit more, and take in Essaouira at a leisurely pace. We wondered through the markets, stopped for lunch, Matt bought his bodyweight in Moroccan pastries, and we had some soft drinks by the beach.

Looks suspiciously like Hastings

Like the journey there, the ride home was largely uneventful though Sophie said she saw a man unconscious on the side of the road surrounded by worried friends. It's not fair to speculate how it happened.

Back in the hostel we chilled out for a bit, then headed out for our last evening meal. We had passed through the food stalls in Jemaa el-Fnaa during a previous evening, and promised we'd eat there. Sophie and I experienced being sung to in order to gain our custom last time, and we weren't disappointed as exactly the same thing happened, with the guys of stall 117 (sends you to Heaven) serenading us with "That's the way I like it". Not surreal at all!

A few more drinks, in the same bar, were to follow but nothing like the bill we ran up the previous evening, to the disappointment of the staff... And then it was bedtime. Shattered.

Day five - Au revoir Marrakech

There was enough time in the morning for some last minute shopping, three cut-throat shaves, and for Matt to get a few pictures of snakes. We then found a taxi and, on the advice of one of the guys at the hostel, agreed a reasonable 100 Dirham, one-third of the price we paid for the same journey on Friday!

Back and sides, please mate

The flight home was fairly smooth and quick, featuring a close game of Scrabble, and Ollie and Sophie both getting in the way of a flight attendant, much to our enjoyment. Then there was just enough time to admire the efficiency of Gatwick's passport-checking system before Ollie headed to the station, and the rest of us got a taxi back to our cars.

Our last day in Marrakech would have been Baby Jimmy's first birthday. RIP Juicy J.

Marrakech is incredible. Racing there is something I'll never forget. Even though I had already been, my two trips were vastly different. I'd go again in a heartbeat, though we'd probably venture out to see Fes, Rabat, and Casablanca next time.

Fin.