Marrakech, Morocco: The problem with bucket-list destinations is that you often only visit them once and then move on to the next must-see place, having merely scratched the surface but not got to see or do everything you'd hoped to in a short space of time. So it's exciting to be descending once more into Marrakech, flying over a sparsely populated patchwork of arid lands, with dried up riverbeds snaking through the dust and giant snow-capped peaks in distance. 

It’s terrain I got to know five years ago when I cycled through ferocious heat and severe food-poisoning to raise money for charity. The subsequent few days I got to spend in Marrakech with Coman were somewhat marred by sickness and questionable accommodation but we’re back to explore the city’s beating heart and relax in the mystical Atlas Mountains in a more enjoyable way.

 The enjoyment doesn’t quite start on arrival however as the queues at immigration are simply enormous, taking almost an hour to clear, while one of our bags has gone missing, only to be found behind the carousel, covered in dirt, along with a number of other passenger’s luggage. So much for the glistening new terminal which opened last year!

 Our luck continues with no sign of our driver outside arrivals so, after a fruitless 20 minutes of searching, a call to the manager of our Riad ensues and miraculously he appears, clutching a signboard with Coman’s name. To compound our frustration, he proceeds to blast out the hits of “YouTube” (as the announcer repeatedly claims), including the ubiquitous Ed Sheeran, as we painfully slowly make our way through the snarled-up traffic towards the Bab Dakkalouh district in the north of the city.

"Marrakech is full,” explains our chauffeur. “The whole world is here!" And it does indeed seem as if half of Morocco, along with tourists from across the globe, have descended on the city for New Year’s Eve. What should be a half hour journey takes almost twice that with roads around the centre closed or at a standstill, and police directing irate drivers circuitous routes to try and keep the traffic moving.

We drive through the Hivernage area of Marrakech, past some of the hotels we stayed in previously, marvelling at the fashionable opulence on display in the area’s restaurants and bars, before entering the narrow streets of the ancient medina, where an altogether less glitzy vibe prevails. Eventually we pull over in a little square and Mohammed, the manager of our Riad, appears to help ferry our luggage through the maze of alleyways until we arrive at Ambre et Epices, our home for the next three nights.

 After a restorative mint tea we are shown to our room, which is cute but very small, looking down into the pretty courtyard at the heart of the Riad complete with pool and arches. We have a reservation at Dar Essalam, a famous restaurant, covered in decorative tiles and boasting traditional entertainment, that hosted the celebratory dinner at the end of the cycle ride which I was too ill to eat, but by now it's far too late to get there. Mohammed suggests we eat at Le Comptoir du Pacha instead which is only a few minutes walk away. 

We find it easily enough and are seated on a balcony over an interior courtyard. Carols and Christmas songs are piped over the speakers before a young guitarist, with a flamboyant finger picking percussive style, starts to serenade the clientele. After what seems an eternity our couscous with vegetables arrives - I suspect the first but by no means the last time we will find it to be the only vegetarian option on the menu. It does the job and sends us wearily to bed on a full stomach, ready for our adventures to come.