Keen for our next taste of Morocco, a bite from another tagine if you will, we checked into our second hotel.
You can’t go wrong with a Four Seasons, and this was certainly no exception.
Just check out the view from the room!
The checking in process meant being led into a cavernous, light & airy room.
The cheerful staff fuss around pouring mint tea from great heights and waving pastries under your nose.
But what really struck me was the sound.
The place was awash with the songs of twittering, happy little birds.
You don’t have to peer far to find them in their palatial, white homes.
We abandoned our bags and clothes in the room and raced each other to the pool.
(Literally raced, I stubbed my toe in the process, but I won so I quickly forgot the pain. No guts, no glory!)
We wallowed and lunched.
It wasn’t long before we were joined by our travel buddies.
Dan is a complete petrol head who was desperate to get out into the desert and feel the roar of an engine beneath his buttocks.
He convinced us to pull on some shorts and head off for some quad biking. Sand dunes, palm groves, beautiful vistas and “some sweet air” were promised.
We regrouped in the lobby and set off.
We didn’t exactly make it to “the desert”.
Our guide said it was way too far and took us to what is essentially, the suburbs.
We were greeted by some very cuddly camels.
While the local guys ripped open bikes and sparked leads together, bringing the engines spluttering into life, we had to wonder what we’d signed up for!
But were chipper nonetheless.
^ Hot engine burning legs, 35c heat, helmet that smells of camel… all set for the time of my life.
We set off and followed our guide along a dusty track.
We trundled along at about the speed that Hector reserves for chasing particularly fat rabbits (not all that fast, but enough to make them think he could catch them if he wanted to.)
We had to stick in a straight line.
Strictly no overtaking or funny business.
If you took your thumb off the throttle for a second, the bike conked out and we’d all stop and wait for the engineer to come back, give it a kick, shout a bit, and fiddle with the engine again.
Then we’d be on our way again, back into the cloud of baked sand.
Have you ever done bikram yoga?
Basically it’s yoga class inside a hot, steamy room. You spend an hour being pushed to your limits. I’ve been in sessions where some of the fittest people I know have thrown up from the exertion. It’s a nightmare, but you feel amazing afterwards!
If you’ve done bikram then you’ll know heat. The sort of heat where every single inch of you sweats. You glisten. You find that you sweat from places you didn’t even know you could.
Quad biking was hotter.
We ended up driving around like this, just trying to pick up something of a breeze!
But then someone would break down again.
Dan thoroughly destroyed his bike, so was moved to a fool-proof option.
Much more suited to his abilities!
After two hours of driving around at a glacial speed, I was about ready to kill someone.
It was starting to feel like the worst idea we’d ever had.
But then, as we started getting further and further away from the city, signs of life started popping up.
We came across little terracotta towns and grinning locals.
Things started to look up a bit!
It was so lovely to briefly meet the kids from the towns.
They all raced out to greet us, chattering away and waving furiously.
We stopped for mint tea in a gracious, local host’s courtyard.
Jumbled through a conversation in misunderstood (on both sides) French, which simply ended up in lots of smiling, nodding and rudimentary mime.
When it was time to say goodbye the kids ran along next to us and shouted their goodbyes.
An experience worth every second of searing heat, scolded legs and dust filled lungs.
If you go biking in Morocco, book a hammam as soon as you get home… you will need a serious deep clean! (And they don’t get any deeper than a Moroccan hammam.)
