“I believe that Marrakech ought to be earned as a destination. The journey is the preparation for the experience. Reaching it too fast derides it, makes it a little less easy to understand.” ― Tahir Shah, In Arabian Nights: A Caravan of Moroccan Dreams
It was dusk, but the dry air still had a velvety warmth about it, and was filled with the intrigue of a great city. Dust wandered on the breeze, mingling with the smell of roasting kebabs and the soft sounds sound of an earlier age, drifting across from the nearby Jemel el Fna. I stood next to my Classic Rover P6, heat billowing from its engine bay as its exhaust ticked contentedly, as it always did at the end of a long day on the road.
We’d left the UK ten days previously, and traveled 1,500 miles to reach Marrakesh. En-route the Rover had taken us across the High Atlas mountains to the fringes of the Sahara, through the Todra Gorge and the imperial city of Fez, and even to the Kasbah-town of Ait Benhaddou. It had taken all this in its stride, and carried us to the most evocative Saharan town of them all. Marrakesh. As the soft light faded to black and the temperature dropped to comfortable, Marrakesh came alive around us. It was certainly a moment to cherish. And the best bit was, we’d earned it.