Return to Morocco

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Cancer and Covid have conspired to keep us from foreign travel for four years, so it’s a joy to finally take a proper trip. We have a smooth flight from Gatwick to Marrakech, arriving an hour early. The plane crew mostly look like they’re on work experience – is this a sign of us getting old? The first officer in particular was struggling with his announcements, telling us first that Morocco was an hour behind the UK, then that it was an hour ahead and finally, with a degree of embarrassment, that it was the same time zone as the UK. Meanwhile the young stewardess was struggling to remember what destination we were travelling to!

We were quickly at our hotel, a pleasant riad whose one downside was its extremely close proximity to one of the city’s major mosques. The 10pm call to prayer was to be expected, as was the 4.00am call. The 4.10 and 4.20 calls – both of which sounded as if the muezzin was just outside our room – were definitely not expected or appreciated!

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