Essouira, Morocco

Essouira provided a calm and relaxing break from the heat, dust and hastle of Marrakesh. The pace was laid back and we could enjoy walking around the souks and various jewelery shops without recieving as much attention as before. I ended up buying silver earrings from a shop that trains young men without skills to become competent silversmiths. The designs here are beautiful and so intricately made.


We stayed at Dar Afram, a pretty riad on the edge of the medina, with a roof terrace that over looked the rest of the town and then out to sea. Everyone was really friendly and we enjoyed exchanging stories over breakfast, mostly about how ill we all felt in Marrakesh after eating at the Djemma el Fna! Somehow, we had all made it to Essouira and felt a lot better for being here.


I enjoyed my time here a lot, especially being able to walk along the beach, bare foot, parallel to the lapping sea. The strong wind created mini sand dunes and the sails of windsurfers glistened in the distance.

Marrakesh, Morocco

Marrakech feels incredibly different from being at home, and it has been nice to sit around drinking mint tea whilst enjoying the Moorish surroundings. At the top of our riad is a patio area with palm trees and coloured glass lanterns, where we sit for breakfast. Next to it is an outdoor structure with walls covered in fabric and window holes framed with red archways. The wood is dark and intricately carved and low down sofas occupy the walls. We have spent lots of time relaxing in this beautiful outdoor lounge, which provides a shady retreat from the chaos of the city.

We stayed at Riad Jnane Mogador as well as Riad Hotel Assia in Marrakesh, both of which were nice. Our favourite restaurant was Narwama, a magical and atmospheric restaurant with a fountain of fire, stylish background music and various bubbling water displays. The food is a combination of Thai and Moroccan gourmet cuisine accompanied by an attractive menu of cocktails too. The service was amazing, as was the venue and the whole evening. Infact it was so good, we went back twice during the holiday.

The souks have just as much character as I remember and some of the store holders and waitors recognise me from when I was here last in March, seeming genuinely happy to see a customer return, as they grab my hand and ask how I am.

Today we found a different part of the Medina that I hadn’t seen before and wandered down alley ways that led through interesting streets. There were buildings with pretty tiled entrances and others that lean in odd directions with gnarled sandstone fronts.

From the roof terrace of our riad the beat of tribal drums can be heard in the distance and the sight of smoke wafts into the sky as the afternoon draws to a close. This is when the main square Djemma el Fna comes alive, as large crowds gather around story tellers and the street kitchens buzz with conversation.

I think that most of all we have been enjoying the tranquil environment of the riad, which is gorgeous with its blue tiled courtyard and geometric patterns which continue through each floor. The fabric covered frame is amazing and the staff here can cook a delicious tagine at lunchtime with chicken, lemons and fresh herbs. We also took a taxi to the ‘Supratours’ coach station and booked tickets to Essouira for Saturday which should be fun.

Storks nests at the Palace El Badi

On my last day in Marrakesh, I walked to the Palais el Badi, which is currently occupied only by storks. Their nests are balanced precariously on the top of the pink, sandstone walls. They sail over the courtyard like prehistoric pterodactyls, casting a menacing shadow as they go. The crumbling walls are surrounded by orange trees although they provided little shade from the piercing sun. I continued back to the darkness of the Medina.

Shopping in the Souks, Marrakesh

This afternoon in sunny Morocco it rained, large wet spots, as people scurried into doorways and merchants covered their stalls. This followed an overcast morning where I decided to take the Marrakesh tour bus around the city, hoping to see sights which I otherwise wouldn’t. It was a disappointment and turned out to be more a tour of the hotels and modern city than the old part that I was interested in. But I sat with the other tourists and listened to their opinions on the city. It always surprises me how clueless some people are on the culture of the country they are visiting.

I sat in my usual cafe, over looking the Djemaa el Fna square, with its orange juice stalls and crowds of tourists like insects, swarming around a honey pot. I ordered a dish of couscous accompanied by something else, the description was lost in translation, so I ordered, hopeful that it would be something nice. It turned out to be couscous covered by a selection of vegetables in an aromatic Moroccan sauce. It wasn't as good as last nights meal of Rabbit Tagine.

Deciding it was not a day for photography, it seemed like an oppertunity for shopping. I disappeared into the souks, to browse an endless assortment of dimly lit stalls with interesting objects and shiny silver jewlerry stalls. The sellers were friendly and I recieved the usual ‘Moroccan face’ comments. I did my best to play up to this and knew I was getting a good deal when the store holder put my chosen silver items on the scales to work out a good price for me. He told me I was getting English price not American, and I told him I was getting Moroccan price because I was an English friend. It helped that he had an older brother in Bristol and liked the English, but I came away with lots of pretty things. The glass lamps here are gorgeous, but the thought of carrying them back with all my other hand luggage doesn’t appeal. Instead I settled for taking photographs of them, glistening through their coloured panels in the darkness of the souk. I think I shall print them out big and stick them on my wall.

Henna in Marrakesh, Morocco

With the shutters closed and a bed covered in heavy blankets I managed to sleep for twelve hours. To the sound of chirping birds, I made me way to the roof terrace and ordered bread and jam. The mid morning sun felt intense as I sat there drinking orange juice.

Finally I gathered my camera gear with the intention of photographing the sand coloured architecture. I followed a long road through the medina, passing market stalls either side until I came to a court yard of palm trees opposite a dusty road.

Away from the touristy part of town, I wandered through the streets and found myself in the weekly berber market. At this point I met my first guide who took me to a friends spice stall, where I was introduced to various teas, herbs and incense. Despite telling them I had no money they were perfectly happy to continue telling me about the flavours they use in their cooking as we drank sweet mint tea. Eventually I left and made my way to the Jewish quarter where a young group of school boys offered to show me to the synagog and seemed bemused when I stopped to photograph a donkey eating grass. I chatted to a group of teenagers and told them we have no donkeys on the streets of London. They understood, but everyone laughed when I showed them the pictures.

The synagog was interesting but not very photogenic. The boys seemed proud to have taken me there. I wondered if they aspired to be tour guides when they were older and wanted to practise their English skills. I didn’t pass a single tourist while I was with them.

With so many alley ways I am always curious to see what appears around the next corner. Where I am seems to be residentual with a school and an old stone bakery. Children play in the street and older men lurk in doorways. A young man tells me there is nothing ‘this way’, and takes me through the souks to a Jewish cemetary. I meet another man who’s job it is to look after the cemetary and tells me some of its history. It consists of hundreds of raised mounds in the earth, stretched over a field sized piece of land.

My new guide tells me he is studying medicine and we begin to talk about life. He asks if I would like to drink tea with his brothers and sisters, so I accept. I remembered the tales of Summer, my tour leader from a previous visit, and her Moroccan ‘family’. We go through a small wooden doorway with a stone floored basement covered in diamond shaped tiles. In a typical style for Moroccan houses there is a narrow staircase which leads up to a courtyard, filtering off to the kitchen and living room. I am introduced to his sisters, brother and mother who sit on low down sofas watching tv. They seem completely relaxed at my presence and Braheim brings everyone mint tea. I photograph the silver tea pot and Braheim takes my photo with his little sister who wraps her arms around me and seems delighted to be photographed.

As we talk, my new friend asks if I have tried henna tattoos and I tell him I want to get one before I leave. He tells me he knows a berber woman who is very good and we set off to find her. As we walk through the streets, young boys kick a football around and a group of men are throwing playing cards into a circle. Women chatter amongst each other and teenagers hang around on bicycles. The pace here is slow, with much warmth and compassion for others. Braheim yells ‘Jamelia’ into several doorways and we walk up and down the street a few times before he asks an older woman who appears with a wild looking berber woman, with thick straight hair and fierce eyes.

I take the oppertunity for Jamelia to mix a solution of sugar, water and henna as Braheim tells her I want traditonal brown henna. This seems ideal as I sit in the woman’s home, under the recomendation of locals, feeling as if I am being accepted into their community. She is very good compared to the women that work in the heat of the main square. She probably takes half an hour and begins adorning my hands with swirls and petal shapes. While I wait for the henna to set, an older woman makes the four of us mint tea and we sit chatting, with music playing in the background.

They treat me as a friend and tell me I have a Moroccan face and look like ‘Fatima’. I find this amusing but it seems that they see me as one of them, and feel happy to talk to me and show me around without money. Apparently because I have ‘Moroccan face’ and ‘nice smile’. I shake hands and leave my new found friends to head back to the hotel. Everywhere I look people are generous, helpful and welcoming.

Marrakesh, Morocco

We left Harrow in the crisp night air to arrive at a nearly deserted Luton airport. By six am I was on the way to Marrakesh, not sure whether to sleep or stay awake. The night time seems a blur. I ended up repacking my bags as no liquids were aloud and managed to smear my kaftan in deodrant as I was too tired to realise I was wearing it under my fleece.

A few hours later I found myself chatting to a couple as we waited in line at passport control. They were heading to the Medina also, so after happily being reunited with my baggage we made our way to the taxi rank and haggled mildly over the fare.

Everything I had remembered about Marrakesh seemed emphasised. It was somehow brighter, more alive and even the architecture felt more intense. I felt welcomed once again to this Medieval city, flowing with character. This time, it is no longer Rammedan and people are going about their daily routines in a way that seems to have changed little over the centuries.

I paid a young boy to find my hotel, which turned out to be a beautifully ornate riad with Moorish archways adorned in blue tiles. We wove our way along narrow streets and dusty alleyways, passing donkeys carrying colourful woven bags and locals selling fresh mint leaves. The atmosphere is both magical, exciting and alluring, with souks to explore and old walls to photograph. Everywhere I look is paradise to my unfamiliar eyes.

Hotel Essaouira, Marrakesh.

Phnom Penh, Cambodia

There must be a special trick to peeling mangoes but I don’t know it. Instead I cut off a piece at a time and enjoy this sweet, juicy treat. I came back from Psar Thamei market with bags of fruit, some of which I don’t even know the names, in various colours and textures. I have fresh lychees too and clementines. I know that when I return the thing I’ll miss the most will be, being able to buy fresh tropical fruit at any time of the year. Mangoes in the supermarkets at home are never as good or as cheap. Maybe I will develop an a taste for English fruit and learn to appreciate apples and pears.

I’ve been feeling better and decided to veture out to the largest market in Phnom Penn, with its huge dome shaped roof which covers a hall full of jewlery sellers and their brightly coloured jem stones. Spiralling off in all directions are various clothes, food and electrical stalls. I spent a few hours browsing, slowly taking in the smells, the sight of fresh meat being prepared. The trickles of blood that run silently along the dark, stained floors. Shiny, plucked chickens hang from wires, next to tables of golden apples. The gentle smiles I recieve are refreshing, once the tourist stalls of endless scalves and sarongs are left behind. I find baskets stacked high with squeezably ripe mangoes, bananas and an indistinguishable selection of leafy green herbs and root vegetables.

I pay a dollar between two stalls, run by wise, hardened women who have lived through a lot but their eyes remain eager and their lips upturned in good humour. As my fruit is placed on the scales I am offered various samples to try. I add some prickly fruit to the basket before handing over my riels. I leave the women to their chatter and feel inspired by the contentedness they display in simple but peaceful lives.

Ho Chi Minh City and the Mekong Delta, Vietnam

My first impression of Ho Chi Minh City was the vastness. The night train had chugged along for miles through urban sprawl. I arrived in the backpackers area of De Tham and started looking for somewhere to stay. I began to get worried when all the budget hotels were full but a moto driver found me a cheap room in a private house. It’s been really interesting staying with a family who spend the majority of the day cooking food in big pots to sell on the side of the street.

Yesterday I took a tour of the Mekong Delta, which was dissapointing as we spent too long on islands with souvenir stalls and not enough of seeing local life along the river. However it was still a good way to spend time away from the suffocatingly noisy city of Ho Chi Minh. I spent a while getting to know some Japanesse girls and a Khmer family who shared a custard apple with me. The Delta is full of unusal fruit.

For the final part of the tour we took a small wooden boat and weaved our way through narrow parts of the Delta, covered with leafy archways. There were some beautiful butterflies too.

I arrived back in time to find the New Year celebrations were just beginning, as various manned dragons paraded up and down the street, dancing in time to the tribal beat of a drum. The atmosphere was electric as locals and tourists a like were out to have a good time.

The pavements were lined with colourful food stalls and street vendors. Not long after sitting down I was joined by a group of British travellers. We all got on well, so we decided to head off to a top Vietnamesse night club, Apocalpse Now. The bar was adorned with red silk lanterns, the dancefloor packed with a friendly crowd and there was even a tropical garden area serving food. It was a brilliant night with the usual count down to midnight where baloons filled with sparkly streamers were released and lots of happy faces beamed. A raffle followed with a top prize of a refridgerator which we found slightly strange, and pitied the poor girl from Bangkok who had to contemplate getting her new prize home. By three am things were winding down and we finished the night off with a basket of chips at the indoor garden. As places go, Ho Chi Minh City has been a surprisingly happening place to spend New Year.

Nha Trang, Vietnam

I had expected not to like Nha Trang, from what I had heard it was a beach resort with a happening night life scene. Two things I hadn’t come for but to my surprise the town is small and although I could only describe it as peaceful if I was able to block out the jarring horns, traffic fumes and motorbikes, it does have its own charm. The beach is long and beautiful, the sea mesmerising and the horizon dotted with fishing boats. The town is lined with both cheap and expensive restaurants, many serving delicious fruit shakes and tasty noodle snacks but its not a place I could call pretty.

It felt so refreshing yesterday to escape the bustle of Nha Trang and head off into the countryside with my guide. I had a lovely day of driving through rice fields, seeing waterfalls and stopping off at fishing villages. It was a beautifully sunny day too and it felt perfect for seeing mountains covered in luscious green foliage and then stopping off at a beach with turquoise waters and fine white sand.