Morocco was absolutely beautiful and I had the most amazing trip with my girlfriends. As so many of you have messaged me to enquire and ask about it, I thought I’d give an honest but brief description of our itinerary.
We landed on Wednesday morning and, after a complimentary mint tea that, whilst delicious, wasn’t even close to being alcoholic enough, headed for the pool. Our day generally consisted as a standard ‘Ravens on tour’ day would – with belly laughs, lots of food, the telling of secrets and a considerable amount of alcohol, both spontaneous and not so. We dined at the hotel in the evening, and paired our duty free gin and tonics with perfect renditions of our favourite Disney classics and dancing on the beds and balcony in the hotel rooms. As part of our holiday package, we had a complimentary massage, which allowed me to enjoy my first ever couples massage, with one of my huns, which ended up being one of the best massages I’ve ever experienced. Troubling in that the masseuse didn’t speak any English (only French), and therefore couldn’t ask for my consent, but surprising in that ‘full body’ is exactly what they meant. Now, I am a very touchy feely person. Ask my boyfriend or girlfriends or family; I can’t stop hugging and kissing and touching people I love. So I like that to be reciprocated, and I just love being touched (consensually, of course). So when my masseuse pulled my hair, massaged my earlobes and paid special attention to my bare breasts, I was fully on board and immersed in relaxation and satisfaction.
Thursday morning saw an early souk tour. Gals, if you’re thinking of doing something similar, please ensure you get a guide. It changed the whole experience for us and made everything much more safe and enjoyable. Plus, you’ll almost definitely get lost without one. It’s a sensory overload, but boy is it beautiful. Think narrow winding roads (fucking loads of them), shanty-type stalls and just about every souvenir you could ever consider in every beautiful and brightly coloured variation. There are people everywhere, a whole host of different smells and donkeys and mopeds screeching through the tiny streets at break-neck speed. Having a guide allowed us to roam through the back streets, visiting ‘behind the scenes’ and witnessing first-hand the local people creating their crafts. A personal favourite was the lighting area, and watching the local Moroccan men hand making these incredible pieces of art was amazing. After we’d left the Souk, having spent every last dirham on ceramics, art work and various potions, we headed back to the hotel for lunch, as at this point, the heat was so staggering I almost stopped breathing. Not to be dramatic, of course, but I can think of better ways to go than keeling over and ending up under the hooves of a carriage yielding stallion. That afternoon solely focused around perfectly timed dips in the pool, balcs time (my very favourite, complete with prosecco, crisps and banter) and scaring off the other hotel guests by discussing (and if you know me, you’ll know my voice is of a similar decibel to a foghorn) threesomes, our in-laws and penis sizes. Not necessarily in that order.
We opted to dine out only once, and when we did, it was so fucking worth it. The cocktails were delicious and we all looked hot as fuck, but nothing could prepare us for how goddamn beautiful the restaurant was. There was a pool. A pool. An actual pool, right in the middle of the dining area. And we were surrounded by greenery and glistening lanterns and, honestly, I could have moved in right there and then. Plus they did a burrata starter. We followed our dining with a trip to a cocktail bar, where we sipped on extravagant drinks and gazed in awe at the belly dancing entertainment before shimmying our own full tummies back to the hotel for a long and well needed sleep.
Friday saw the group split for the first time so far, three went back into Marrakesh to visit the gardens and the souk for a second time, and three decided to be lazy as fuck and stay back, baking themselves in the sun like rotisserie chickens with better arses. The only problem here was that those more active than us had taken all the decent sun cream with them, and so we were trying to fend off the rays of the 42degree sun with factor 6 tanning oil. Needless to say, the other half of our group returned to three ripe, pink prawns, lying by the pool covered head to toe in towels. This was followed by (you guessed it) yet another afternoon in the sun, early evening balcs time and a dinner on the roof terrace, where we drank and laughed and soaked up every last minute of our final night on vacay.
Of course, the day we were travelling home I awoke at 4am shitting through the eye of a needle, but that’s by the by. It was a short but perfectly sweet girls trip and has left me in high spirits for our next. Sometimes getting away, even if only for a night or two, makes all the difference and refreshes you completely.