Morocco - Part 2

 

 Letter No. 279

Dear all,

Our holiday to Morocco / Europe continued:

Day 7: Fez

We kicked off the day at 9:30am with a visit to the Royal Palace of Fez (Dar el-Makhzen). It’s a sprawling 42-acre complex of gardens and grandeur, but unless you are royalty or a locksmith, you must settle for admiring the gates. Fortunately, the gates are spectacular—bronze, intricately carved, and flanked by mosaic tiles that scream “imperial opulence”.

Next, we drove to the Marinid Tombs, 14th-century ruins perched above the city like a pair of historical eyebrows. Built by the Marinid dynasty, they offer sweeping views of Fez and a gentle reminder that even royalty eventually ends up as scenic rubble.

Then we went on to a traditional pottery workshop where artisans craft Fez’s famous blue ceramics. The process involves hand-chiselling tiny mosaic pieces with monk-like patience and assembling them into patterns so precise they make spreadsheets look chaotic.

The real adventure began with a four-hour walking tour of the Fez Medina, a UNESCO World Heritage site and the largest surviving medieval city in the Arab world. Enclosed by 14km of walls, the 9^th century Medina is a living labyrinth of over 9,000 alleyways, many of which seem designed specifically to confuse GPS. It is also a treasure trove of history:

·        Al-Qarawiyyin University, established in 859 AD by Fatima al-Fihri, is the oldest continuously operating university in the world. It’s still functioning today, proving that good education—and good architecture—can stand the test of time.

·        Chouara Tannery, one of the oldest tanneries in the world, still uses traditional methods involving natural dyes and less-than-natural smells. We were handed mint sprigs to mask the aroma, which worked about as well as a polite cough in a perfume shop.

·        The Souks were a sensory overload of spices, textiles, and the occasional camel meat shop—complete with two camel heads hanging outside like a very specific kind of welcome mat.

Despite the bustling chaos, the Medina’s narrow streets and thick walls keep things surprisingly cool and calm. It’s like stepping into a medieval air conditioner.

We wrapped up the day with a shower and dinner at a cozy local restaurant. Then off to bed, dreaming of mosaics, minarets, and maybe just one less camel head tomorrow.

Day 8 – Fez to the Merzouga Desert

We left Fez, the ancient city of scholars and artisans, with its labyrinthine medina and occasional donkey traffic jams, and headed for Ifrane—Morocco’s answer to Switzerland, if Switzerland had fewer ski lifts and more lions carved in stone.

Ifrane was built by the French in the 1930s as a cool-weather retreat. The architecture is all steep roofs and chalet charm, which feels mildly surreal in North Africa. We stopped for coffee near a giant stone lion, which looked like it had wandered off from Narnia and retired in Morocco. The ski runs were visible but, let’s just say, they wouldn’t give the Alps any sleepless nights.

Next stop: Azrou and its cedar forests, home to the Barbary macaques. These monkeys are wild, cheeky, and have no concept of personal space. One leapt onto my shoulder like it was auditioning for a pirate movie, then bounced onto Katie’s head. We were less enchanted than we had expected, though the baby monkeys were undeniably adorable. Still, we left with our dignity mostly intact.

Lunch was in Midelt, a town known for apples and minerals, nestled between the Middle and High Atlas Mountains, then we climbed through the Taighomt Pass, winding through rocky terrain that looked like it had been designed by a particularly dramatic geologist. The landscape shifted from scrubby plains to cedar forests, then to jagged mountains and finally to the golden sands of the Ziz Valley, where we paused to admire a lake that seemed to have wandered in by mistake and a series of lush oases that looked like they’d been Photoshopped into the desert.

As we approached Merzouga, gateway to the Sahara, we stopped to try on traditional Berber attire. Katie looked regal; I looked like I’d lost a bet. Still, it was all part of the experience. We arrived at 5pm for a short 4WD jaunt over rocky terrain to meet our camels. Then came a 1.5-hour trek over the towering dunes of Erg Chebbi, some of them up to 150 metres high. Our camp was a circle of luxurious tents around a central fire pit, with lantern-lit paths that made it feel like a desert fairy tale. Dinner was a traditional Moroccan banquet—tagine again, but delicious as ever. The night ended with music, dancing, and a lively and rhythmic Berber performance. Midnight came, and we collapsed into our tents.

Day 9 – Merzouga to Todra Gorge to Boumalne Dades

We had the option to drive out of the desert by 4WD, but Katie had bonded with the camels, so we rode out the old-fashioned way. Our camel guide had slept next to the camels waiting to take us back. The morning was filled with the soft groans of camels and a sunrise that looked like it had been painted in warm tones.

We made a brief stop in Rissani, once the capital of the ancient kingdom of Sijilmassa, a major trading post on the trans-Saharan caravan routes. Today, it’s known for its bustling markets selling spices that smell like adventure and taste like regret if you’re not careful. Katie couldn’t resist the enticing smells and immediately bought some.

Next, we visited a fossil museum. The region is rich in prehistoric treasures, especially trilobites and ammonites. I fell in love with a polished piece about 1m tall, but at AUD$5,800, it was either that or our trip to Tasmania at Christmas. We admired the fossils and watched how they’re extracted from the rock—equal parts science and sorcery.

Then came the ancient underground irrigation canals, built in the 14th century to bring water from the Atlas Mountains to the desert villages. These qanats are marvels of engineering, though the one we visited looked like a great place to meet your doom if water ever returned. Still, fascinating stuff. The tunnels were 14km long and about 10m underground with vertical shafts every 20m for cleaning and water extraction.

We moved on to Tinghir and the Todra Gorge, where the river has carved a dramatic canyon through the mountains. Towering cliffs, cool water, and a sense of awe made it a highlight. The gorge is popular with rock climbers, though we stuck to walking and admiring.

Finally, we entered the Dades Valley, a wide desert plain flanked by mountains. Our driver promised a village ahead, which seemed unlikely given the vast emptiness. But then, over a small rise, like a mirage, an oasis appeared—lush, green, and improbably real. Our hotel was perched above it, complete with a pool that felt like the ultimate reward, and a restaurant that served Moroccan specialities with a fine dining rather than a traditional approach. It all felt very luxurious. We swam, dined, and collapsed into bed. A literal oasis in the middle of our trip as well as the middle of nowhere.

Day 10 – Boulmane Dades to Ouarzazate to Ait BenHaddou to Marrakesh

Another early start and we quickly left behind the arid plains of Boulmane Dades, heading toward the semi-lush mountain terrain that looked like it had just remembered how to photosynthesise.

Our first stop was the Valley of Roses, nestled in the Skoura Oasis. This place bursts into bloom during April and May with a rose festival that would make the Chelsea Flower Show blush. We were a few months late, but the valley still smelled faintly of romance and sunscreen. Historically, the oasis was a stop for caravans crossing the desert, and today it’s a fragrant reminder that nature occasionally likes to show off.

Next up was Ouarzazate, a town whose name sounds like a sneeze but is actually the Hollywood of Morocco. Before we got starstruck, we explored the Taourirt Kasbah—a traditional Moroccan fortress that once housed the powerful Glaoui family. It’s now a market where you can buy spices, rugs, and possibly a camel if you haggle hard enough. They also host a weekly donkey market, which we tragically missed. I’m still grieving.

Then came Atlas Studios, where the desert moonlights as ancient Egypt and medieval China. The Gladiator movies I and II were filmed here, along with scenes from Game of Thrones and many others. We wandered through sets that looked astonishingly real until you tapped them and realised they were made of papier-mâché and hope. It’s impressive what Hollywood can do with timber and a bit of paint.

Our next stop was Ait BenHaddou, a ksar (fortified village) that’s been charming UNESCO since 1987. It’s a maze of earthen buildings stacked like Lego bricks on a hillside. The top was under repair, and donkeys were hauling rocks like seasoned construction workers. This place has starred in more films than Meryl Streep, including Lawrence of Arabia and The Mummy. It’s dusty, dramatic, and utterly delightful.

Next, it was time to cross the High Atlas Mountains, peaking at a breezy 2260 metres. The landscape was all rocky gorges and dramatic cliffs, like nature’s version of a mood swing. The 2023 earthquake had left its mark—landslides had carved up the road, and we navigated some temporary diversions that felt like they were designed by someone with a grudge against civil engineering.

We finally rolled into Marrakesh around 6pm – dusty, weary, and slightly traumatised by the mountain roads. Our tour was over, and Katie had splurged on a hotel that looked like it had been plucked from a Bond film. Baths were drawn, travel aches were soaked away, and cocktails were consumed on a rooftop bar with views that made you forget how much your knees hurt. At 8pm, the call to prayer echoed hauntingly across the city, with dozens of mosques chiming in like a spiritual symphony. We had another relatively early night.

Day 11 – Marrakesh

After several non-stop days of travel, we decided to take it easy. We only walked a few kilometres, dodged a few cobras, and watched our credit card cry softly in a gift shop.

Our day began at the Jardin Majorelle, a beautiful botanical garden. Originally created in 1923 by French Orientalist painter Jacques Majorelle, the garden was his life’s work—a lush oasis filled with exotic plants and a Cubist villa designed by Paul Sinoir. Majorelle even invented his own shade of blue—bleu Majorelle—which is now splashed liberally across the garden like a Smurf’s dream.

In the 1980s, fashion icon Yves Saint Laurent and his partner Pierre Bergé rescued the garden from neglect, restoring it to its former glory. Today, it’s home to the Berber Museum and the Yves Saint Laurent Museum, as well as a gift shop where Katie, unsupervised, made several bold financial decisions. Let’s just say the local economy is grateful.

Next, we ventured to Jemaa el-Fnaa, the beating heart of Marrakesh’s medina. Established in the 11th century by the Almoravid dynasty, this square has seen everything from public executions (cheerful!) to UNESCO recognition as a Masterpiece of Oral and Intangible Heritage. Today, it’s a sensory overload of market stalls, performers, and—because apparently someone thought this was a good idea an enormous number of snake charmers with cobras. We observed from a safe distance!

An afternoon at the hotel pool was in order, and in the evening, we ascended to the El-Fenn rooftop bar - originally a derelict riad discovered in 2002 by Vanessa Branson (yes, Richard’s sister). El-Fenn has evolved into a sprawling labyrinth of 13 interconnected riads, 41 rooms, and a rooftop worthy of a Vogue photoshoot. We sipped cocktails, nibbled tapas, and tried not to look too impressed by the decor. The theme was red and white with an abundance of crimson sofas. Katie was wearing a dress in the exact same shade of red and was so well camouflaged that I kept losing her.

Throughout our Moroccan travels, I was struck by the sheer number of ruined houses and forts dotting the landscape. Many date back to the Almoravid and Almohad periods, when Marrakesh was the imperial capital and everyone was very busy building walls, gates, and towers to keep out invaders. These rammed earth structures have aged with a certain rustic charm—like architectural cheese.

Also, speed cameras. So many speed cameras. We counted over 20 in a single day, and every day was the same. It’s unclear whether they’re for safety or simply a creative fundraising effort for the upcoming 2030 World Cup stadium. Either way, our driver drove like a saint.

Morocco really was the best adventure. Highly recommended for food, history, camels, culture, architecture, exciting driving, and the opportunity to eat your body weight in olives.

Cheers from Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa

Morocco - Part 1

 

 Letter No. 278

Dear all,

In early August, while trimming the hedges out front, I noticed a large hole in the trunk of the very large liquid amber tree in our front garden. I reached in with mild dread and discovered that the entire thing was basically hollow. From the garden, it looked perfectly respectable, but inside it was essentially a wooden façade.

With our 5½-week holiday in the Northern Hemisphere fast approaching, we decided it had to go. I managed to get a tree removal crew in a few days before our trip, and four hours later the tree was gone, plus part of the front hedge which had also needing trimming. The streetscape of the house has now changed dramatically—less leafy mystery, more architectural honesty—but given the tree’s habit of randomly dropping large branches, it was probably for the best. Still, losing two massive trees in one year does feel like a passive-aggressive hint from mother nature.

Friday 8 August was Katie’s last day as Clubs & Societies Coordinator at The University of Queensland. She had a farewell lunch at work, and many of her students came by to say goodbye and brought gifts—flowers from the Muslimah Students, a tamborine from the Chinese Cultural Dance Club, home-baked cookies from the Bakeology Club, and a range of other eclectic cards and gifts from many other club execs. It was bittersweet for Katie, but she was nevertheless very touched by the outpouring of support from students, and many other staff members.

On 12^th August we left for our epic Northern Hemisphere adventure. Here is a blow-by-blow travel blog of the first leg of our trip - Adventure in Morocco.

Day 1: Brisbane to Doha

The journey begins. We checked in at Brisbane International around 7pm, buzzing with pre-trip energy. The Qatar Airways flight left at 10pm — smooth boarding, and soon cruising at 35,000 feet on a 14-hour haul to Doha. A long flight, but decent food, good movies, and a few naps.

Day 2: Doha to Casablanca

After a three-hour layover in Doha — complete with rainforest gardens and surprisingly good coffee — we boarded our flight to Casablanca. The entertainment started before we even left the gate. Just as we were settling into our seats, a heated argument erupted in the aisle next to us. Within seconds, it escalated into a full-blown fight. Six passengers jumped in to break it up, and the cabin turned into a movie scene. The crew handled it well, but we were stuck on the tarmac for an hour waiting for airport police to arrive and escort the troublemakers off the plane. Not the kind of turbulence you expect.

Eventually, we took off and made it to Casablanca in one piece. A quick 35-minute taxi ride brought us to the Radisson Blu. Swim, shower, reset.

We took a short walk into the Old Medina — a maze of narrow alleys, market stalls, and crumbling whitewashed walls. Originally built in the 18th century by Sultan Sidi Mohammed Ben Abdallah, the Medina is one of the last remnants of pre-colonial Casablanca. Although smaller and less polished than those in Fez or Marrakesh, it is full of life and local colour. A quick dinner and a cocktail at the Grand Hyatt wrapped up the day before an early night.

Day 3 - Casablanca

After an 11-hour sleep we emerged from our hotel room blinking into the Casablanca sun, ready to explore. Our mission: visit the Hassan II Mosque. Our actual experience: intercepted by a charming local who led us, like lambs to the loom, into a carpet shop. There, we were treated to the full Moroccan hospitality package: mint tea, a guided tour of every rug ever woven, and the subtle pressure of centuries-old salesmanship. We escaped with our dignity mostly intact and a bracelet for Katie.

We wandered the perimeter of the medina, Casablanca’s old city, where cannons still point out to sea as if expecting a surprise naval invasion. The medina itself is a maze of narrow lanes, crumbling charm, and the occasional goat, although less intense than other Moroccan cities. Eventually, we reached the Hassan II Mosque—an architectural marvel and the third-largest mosque in the world. Built partially over the Atlantic Ocean (because why not?), it’s a stunning blend of marble, mosaics, and ambition. The tour was excellent, though we did spend a fair amount of time wondering how they clean the chandeliers.

From there, we strolled to La Corniche, Casablanca’s beachside promenade, for lunch. It’s where locals go to see and be seen. A taxi returned us to the hotel for a swim and a snooze by the pool—because cultural enrichment is exhausting and chlorinated water heals all.

Evening plans began at Sqala, a restaurant set in the fortress walls where we’d planned to have a drink before our nearby dinner restaurant. It wasn’t licensed, so we wandered the medina again and were surprised at the kittens - so many kittens. Suspiciously few mother cats. Possibly a feline uprising in progress.

Also noted: a surprising number of people in casts. Apparently, motorbike accidents are a local epidemic. Helmets optional, consequences not. We had another mint tea and watched the world go by before our dinner at Da Dada, a restaurant that sounds like a dadaist art movement but is, in fact, a full-blown sensory experience. Tucked inside the medina, it’s housed in a beautifully restored riad that feels like stepping into a Moroccan fever dream—soft lighting, ornate tiles, and staff dressed in traditional attire who glide rather than walk. The food? A fusion of Moroccan classics with just enough flair to make you feel fancy without needing a glossary. Tagines, lamb, fish and meze were all top-notch, and the service was so attentive it bordered on telepathic. We were feeling a bit jet-lagged despite the long sleep the night before and the afternoon nap so were tucked up in bed by 9pm.

Day 4: Casablanca to Rabat to Chefchaouen

Our expedition began when our driver Said arrived at 8:30am. He took one look at our names, decided they were too hard, and dubbed us Mohammed and Fatima. We returned the favour and christened him Bruce. A cultural exchange of the highest order.

We drove for about an hour to Rabat, Morocco’s elegant and spotlessly clean capital city. A stark contrast to Casablanca, which felt more like a post-industrial shrug. Inside Rabat’s Medina walls, we found a charming bazaar with sweeping views of the harbour and what might be the widest beach this side of the Sahara. The beach was guarded by a menacing row of cannons in the fort walls.

Next up, the Hassan Tower—a 12th-century minaret that was supposed to be the Eiffel Tower of the Islamic world, but someone forgot to finish it. Construction began in 1195 under Sultan Yaqub al-Mansur, who had grand plans for the world’s largest mosque. Sadly, he died in 1199, and everyone else just gave up. The tower stands at 44 metres tall—half its intended height—and is a monument to architectural ambition and poor project management.

Next door is the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, which is both stunning and heavily guarded. Speaking of guards…we cruised past the Royal Palace on the way out of Rabat, which is home to King Mohammed VI. The palace walls stretch for kilometres, and there’s a machine-gun-toting guard every 50 metres. More guns on display than in most action movies.

As we left Rabat, the landscape turned lush and agricultural. We passed aqueducts that would make the Romans jealous and more donkey carts than a biblical epic. Also, more police than you’d think possible. Said/Bruce claimed they were collecting “contributions” to fund new stadiums for when Morocco hosts the Soccer World Cup in 2030.

We stopped for a basic lunch at the only restaurant in a 4-hour radius that didn’t look like it doubled as a tyre shop and then arrived in Chefchaouen around 4pm. We were immediately smitten. This town is what happens when a Smurf village and a Mediterranean dream have a baby. Perched in the Rif Mountains, the town is famous for its cobalt-blue buildings, cobbled streets, and shops that sell everything from handwoven rugs to “authentic” Gucci bags. I think it is the most beautiful place I have ever been. We wandered the Medina and eventually sat down for a mint tea that turned into dinner. We just watched all the people go by for two hours before heading off to bed.

Day 5: Chefchaouen

I forgot to mention yesterday how hot it is. Not “oh it’s a bit warm” hot. No, this is “the sun is actively trying to murder us” hot. Yesterday, en route to Chefchaouen, the temperature hit a balmy 46°C. When we arrived, it had mercifully dropped to a mere 42°C.

On the drive, we discovered that Moroccan road rules are more like polite suggestions. Three-point U-turns across four-lane roads over double white lines with buses barrelling toward you? Apparently fine. Overtaking donkey carts on blind corners? Also fine. Our driver wasn’t the culprit, but we witnessed enough vehicular tomfoolery to make a stunt coordinator weep.

We set out at 7:30am before it got too hot. Chefchaouen is behind a huge mountain, and the sun doesn’t hit the town until about 9am. We hiked up to the Spanish Mosque, only around 40 minutes up into the hills. A friendly dog joined us, presumably as a guide, or perhaps just to judge our cardio. The mosque, built by the Spanish in the 1920s during their brief colonial flirtation with northern Morocco, offers panoramic views of Chefchaouen that are absolutely worth the sweat.

Back by 9:00am for breakfast, which felt like a reward for surviving the hike. Then off to the Kasbah Fortress, a 15th-century structure built by Moulay Ali Ben Moussa to defend against Portuguese invasions. It now houses a museum and a tower you can climb, offering great views of the medina between the castellations.

Afterwards we wandered the blue streets, which are so photogenic they make Instagram influencers weep with joy. The blue is said to symbolize the sky and heaven, or possibly was started just as a clever mosquito deterrent. Either way, it’s like walking through a dream painted by someone with a serious commitment to the colour palette.

Mint tea was consumed, as is legally required in Morocco. For lunch, we were welcomed into a local home (arranged by our tour company) for a traditional Moroccan meal. The hospitality was warm, the food was warmer, and the temperature outside was trying to outdo both.

Post-lunch, we retreated to our room to avoid spontaneous combustion. In the evening, we re-emerged for drinks in the Medina centre, watching the world go by at a pace that matched our energy levels—slow, contemplative, and slightly melted. Chefchaouen is a place where the streets are blue, the tea is minty, and dogs are unexpectedly loyal.

Day 6: Chefchaouen to Volubilis to Meknes to Fez

We left Chefchaouen at 9am, heading toward Volubilis, an ancient Roman city that has been partially excavated—about one-third, to be precise. The rest is presumably still hiding under centuries of dust, secrets, and a few confused goats.

Volubilis was once the capital of the Kingdom of Mauretania. It flourished under Roman rule from the 1st century AD, boasting temples, basilicas, triumphal arches, and Roman houses with mosaics so intricate they’d make your bathroom tiles weep. The city thrived on olive oil production, which explains the abundance of olive presses and the general slickness of the economy.

Now, about the temperature: 51°C. That’s not a typo. That’s the kind of heat where your shadow tries to crawl under a rock. We staggered through the ruins like dehydrated archaeologists, then collapsed into air-conditioning like it was the Second Coming. Still, very impressive.

Next stop: Meknes, a city surrounded by fortress walls so grand they make Game of Thrones look like a backyard fence. These walls were the brainchild of Sultan Moulay Ismail, who ruled from 1672 to 1727 and had a flair for dramatic architecture and absolute power. He transformed Meknes into a city of monumental gates, palaces, and ramparts—earning it the nickname “Moroccan Versailles”. The walls stretch up to 15 metres high and were built to impress and intimidate.

We visited the Mausoleum of Moulay Ismail, the final resting place of the Sultan himself. He’s remembered as a unifier of Morocco, a builder of empires, and a man with a fondness for Zellij tilework and very large doors. The mausoleum is a serene, sacred space with courtyards, fountains, and mosaics. Non-Muslims can’t enter the inner sanctum, but the outer areas are more than enough to make you feel spiritually inadequate.

Lunch was a delicious Moroccan affair in the Medina, full of tagines, couscous, and the kind of bread that makes you question your relationship with gluten.

We rolled into Fez in the late afternoon, where our hotel room greeted us like a sultan’s guest chamber: 6m high ceilings, 4m carved wooden doors, and mosaics on every surface. After such a huge lunch we skipped dinner and instead found a British pool bar, had a glass of wine, and contemplated the day’s journey. It was still 38⁰C at 8:00pm.

Cheers from Derek, Katie, Matt, Jessie, Molly & Pippa