Marrakech, Morocco
The doors at Arrivals part yet again, as they've been doing relentlessly for the past 45 minutes and finally he appears. "Coman!!" I shout and a look of startled surprise sweeps across his bleary-eyed features. Having had a 3am alarm call for his ridiculously early Ryanair flight from Stansted, Coman was expecting to make his own way to our hotel as the likelihood was I'd have been out celebrating the end of our ride late into the night and still be in bed when he landed.
But with events having taken a different turn I'm up and feeling much better, so decided to surprise him as a welcoming committee at Marrakech airport. Suitably happy to see me we hop in a cab back to the Sofitel and grab some breakfast together. Most of the other riders are up by now so come and say hi, glad to see colour back in my cheeks and Paul and Rod both welcome Coman to Morocco.
Once we've eaten (still only a few mouthfuls in my case) we go up to the room and I pack my bags to check out, but the hotel is far too beautiful to leave so, despite the slightly overcast skies, we settle ourselves on the glorious daybeds and chillout in the gorgeous surroundings for a few hours.
I'd told Coman to only bother packing clothes for ridiculously hot weather but for the first time since we arrived the sun's not baking down and he's almost disbelieving when we recount the conditions we've cycled in and quite how hot it was yesterday. In fact he wraps a second towel around him declaring it to be rather cool and curls up to grab some zzzz's.
Finally about 3pm Paul, Coman and I take our leave of the Sofitel and get a cab over to the Riad Palais Soltan in southern Marrakech where we'll be staying for the next three days, having our belated summer holiday. We've been looking forward to this for months as we've not had a proper break since January. However on arrival at the Riad my worst fears come true.
We'd booked it due to a mix-up with reservations at the Sofitel a few weeks ago when it became obvious it was going to cost more than three times what we'd originally been quoted. So the "luxurious, 5-star riad" Paul had found on lastminute.com for just over £50/nt seemed a fabulous bargain. The official pics looked great but my concerns had risen with every new review on Tripadvisor. Too late, we'd paid in full so are committed to staying there now.
An unprepossessing concrete building from the outside, with building work going on around the entrance, inside it reveals itself to be very pretty and full of character. Modelled like a traditional riad with rooms around central courtyards and gorgeous Moroccan architecture and motifs, our room boasts a fourposter bed and lovely decorative touches. It's very romantic.
But a visit to the much-vaunted rooftop terrace makes the heart sink. Billed as an Ibizan-style chillout zone with a funky bar, gorgeous beds to lounge on and a beautiful pool, it's actually so far past its sell-by date I fear you could get salmonella just by sitting down.
We ask the very helpful and charming woman at reception if we can order any lunch and sheepishly she admits there are no restaurant facilities, just food at breakfast time. Confessing that the only eating options are in the shopping centre behind the hotel she takes us outside to point the way. Even she seems dismayed at the abandoned and decaying building site behind us, rubbish-strewn and with boarded-up buildings that may once have been other hotels.
We cross this wilderness and enter the shopping centre where the options for food include a Chinese takeaway called Tiki Ming, a Japanese called No Sushi, a closed down TGI Fridays and our eventual choice, Pizza Hut Express. Dejectedly the three of us sit at a plastic table and await our rubbery slices of goo wondering how it's come to this.
Downstairs we investigate the Carrefour supermarket, surprised to find it houses a well-stocked off-licence where the local Moroccans are merrily loading up on booze, despite the Islamic laws of the country. We grab some beers and mixers for the vodka we have back at the riad plus a six-pack of water and trudge back across the rubble to the riad past some dodgy looking youths on bikes, stopping to look at the nightclub attached to the riad called Apostrophe which Paul instantly renames Catastrophe. It's the final straw...
Jumping online Paul and I sit in reception, the only place we can get a signal, and scroll through websites searching for alternative hotels. After much discussion we settle on the Novotel, directly opposite the Sofitel we stayed at last night, and flex our credit cards.
As we do the deed Faisal, the riad's manager, wanders over to ask if there's a problem so I tell him we're only going to stay one night not three as we're not happy with the location or lack of facilities. He nods and very graciously apologises for not meeting our standards offering to refund us for the two nights we're not staying. He even speaks to the lastminute.com call centre in India to confirm this, before booking us both a taxi and a table at one of Morocco's top restaurants for tonight. What a gentleman. As a result we've not lost a penny and feel saddened that we're depriving such a decent man of his income. But not sad enough to change our minds!
At the gorgeous neo-colonial restaurant that evening, Le Grand Cafe de la Poste, in the Gueliz district, I enjoy my first proper meal in 48 hours - beef skewers and potato gratin. It's delicious but I manage only half the plate, with no such qualms about finishing the fine bottle of red before us. Coman decides he's going to be vegetarian for the weekend to avoid getting ill but Paul, in true carnivore style opts for beef carpaccio followed by a "grilled" steak tartare. Hmmm, raw meat followed by raw meat, slightly heated up. Let's hope that doesn't come back to haunt him.
Back in our four-poster bed at the riad we drift off to sleep to the strains of Moroccan Top of the Pops on the old TV in the corner. Tomorrow we'll be checking into the sixth hotel of the trip. Please Allah we'll finally be able to settle down and enjoy the marvels of Marrakech.
