the red light district of Ramadan.

once upon a time there were four girls, and they were called Carrie, Miranda, Charlotte & Samantha and they went on holiday.

Wait. start again. that’s what we would like to think, but once upon this time there were four girls called Amy, Anna, Kate and Samantha, and they really were the best of friends, and they really did go on holiday (not just in a film). We went to Marrakech, the aladdin’s cave of Morocco, Africa. the reason why I mention sex and the city, is because basically it couldn’t have been any more ‘SATC’ if we had thought wonderful sunshine chic thoughts up in our damsel minds, filmed it on camera and narrated it ourselves.

I spent the London airport procedure in silent bursts of giggles as the girls got searched, body screened, drug tested, and I walked through as free as a bird. This, until karma of course, slapped me round the face with a lost bag at the other end of the runway. Meanwhile though, before realising this dark fact, still happy in the air, I had made some friends from Tokyo and we were busy eating dates and snapping the camera. peace! Also around this time the girls had created the saying ‘should have gone to Ibiza’ which we used at every opportunity, for example when flying on an old old wooden plane they called moroc airways and drinking the awful complimentary tea. However, Tonka toy plane-time over we landed and my bag ceased to come out of the black flaps of doom and onto the carousel where everyone else’s bags were trundling along. it turned out someone (who I can only describe as an idiot) got confused and took my bag. ‘Harding’ I hope you read this by fluke and reimburse me in some way for the taxi money I then had to pay to go back to the airport the following day after you realised you made an idiotic mistake! This part of the holiday was not so SATC but created great banter.

Cue Marrakech. We were staying in the beautiful Park and Spa http://www.marrakechryadsparc.com or as pronounced “Peiirk and Speearr” which was just out of the city and had the most amazing grounds, pools, bedrooms and importantly, food. EVERYONE spoke French, we were literally the only English in the whole resort, Kate and I pulled out our GCSE francais skills as much as we could, Anna got out her French App on the iPhone and Amy said ‘we should have gone to Ibiza’, but still in english. We mainly swanned around in maxi-dresses & large eclectic dangling earings and took delight in the buffet, chatted to the staff (who basically all loved us & did loads for us because apparently they said all the French residents they have are grumpy and are generally not four girls in their early 20’s, and probably because they wanted a British passport at the end of the day). However we loved them back, to mention names, Muhummad, Mustafa, Wetboy, Admin, Deano, Acrobat Boy, Sam aka greasy spoon, Fouad, our waiter, and last but not least, Tito. The latter spoiled us wit stories of London, offered free lunch, serenaded us with Mariah Carey and taught us Tito’s lessons in love which I have to pass on to the world; Number 1, 'we have the communication', Number 2, 'you make the sex', Number 3, 'concessions' (which translated is sacrifices) and Number 4, 'you have the trust'. Which all of us girls are sure not to forget and will maybe even live by forevermore.

We had a pool spot… classic brits on tour… which was a little palm tree planted island we of course called ‘Ibiza’ that we shot-gunned sunloungers on everyday to bask upon. We also had a table ready for us in the evening with the wine that we liked to drink and additional drinks that they knowingly knew we drunk in preparation of our arrival, whatever time that may have been, after we had finished beautifying ourselves in our gorgeous moroccan- styled bathroom. There were the most offbeat, unpredictably magnificent shows in the evening, which I will never have the skills to explain but, can compare it to the notions of falling in love with something that you really know you shouldn’t, but there is just something about it that just grips you… that was ‘the show’ and we will never see anything like it again and we literally lived for it, laughed all through, and they will never be thought of in our memories as anything but special. Calalay Pom Pom. Shortly after discovering the evening entertainment, as if a party stalk arrived one evening, we wondered down to the ‘boudoir’, the resident club, which we imagined much likea school disco hall, but turned out to be a luxury bar and dance floor with BANGING tunes. We had quickly turned our phrase from ‘should have gone to Ibiza’ to ‘you wouldn’t get this in Ibiza’ as these two gems came into our lives, the show & the boudoir, where we spent sweaty nights raving to the likes of Pitbull, Stromae & Shakira. because this is Africa!

Cue the red light district of Ramadan. True to the film-type sketches that were naturally occurring on our holiday, we found ourselves one evening being lead down to the staff quarters of the hotel and towards a door & room illuminated by a single red light bulb. This is where four girls sat on a bed, their perturbed faces staring opposite at a Ramadan feast, engulfed in cigarette smoke, and put to the sounds of an crazed Arabic film on a tiny TV set. Awkwardly, we left as soon as we thought polite and despite their kind gesture to let us experience their lifestyles, are not sure to this day who was more disturbed, ourselves the spectators, or themselves, having four white girls watch them desperately eat after a starved day. Still, the calamari was nice.

A must-do in Morocco, which I personally have always been enchanted by, is the tradition of camel riding. There are many all over Marrakech, scattered at road sides, free to jump onto on a whim, but we wanted to go further out into desert-land, so that we did. We trekked across partly barren land, in full Arabic costume as a string-brigade of camels, along with a free roaming baby camel, named ‘baby’, and a dog (who looked much like a dingo, so this is what he was named), lead by a extremely tanned French guy, we also liked to call ‘dick!’ (excuse MY french) This is because he told us happily that he can speak English but he thinks “it is ‘orrible” and didn’t really want to so basically he didn’t. The ride itself though, I really enjoyed, especially going through a poorer working village and being bundled by a load of gorgeously exited kids, which I proceeded to persuade all do the peace sign for one of my favourite images to date!

Last but by far least, in fabulous conclusion to our cultural recess, are the famous souks (markets) of the city. We travelled for some traditional north african shopping to the main souk, Djemaa el Fna, known as ‘the square’ to most visiting. The first time we went, I promptly got squared up by an Arabic shop keeper & was shouted at for not purchasing something I took interest in, proclaiming nervously “I haven’t got a price, I haven’t got a price” as he continued to shout and swear, the girls swiftly pulled me away and he was left laughing amongst other stall holders! Classic. On our second visit, we arrived in style in a horse carriage and dived into the thick of the market with more confidence than our first timid outing. It is a colourful maze of leather bags, spices, lanterns, clothes, rugs, paintings, cushions and shoes for everyone! We had also learnt some Arabic by now too so that we could converse, mainly to say ‘la, la, la’ which translates as ‘no, no, no’ as we were bombarded by their favourites “I give you good price”... ”this is a gift for you”... but all in all they are lovely people, you just need to get used to their barter- loving mannerisms, and my, we did play their game and barter. shukran ☺

On our final evening we found a little sanctuary, up high above the hustle & bustle of the markets below, lead from a stairway to the rooftops of the red city, Café Arabe
http://www.cafearabe.com. This terrace bar had stunning views & was furnished with stylish booths, lanterns, draped with fabric and had a genius cooling system of mist that was released from the ceiling at intervals, now this was sex and the city. We sat with cocktails and watched the sun go down on beautiful Marrakech. Before the night was over we experienced the food markets that were in full swing as we descended from café arabe heaven (where Jamie Oliver had recently filmed part of a food series), and met two arabic born & bred guys with THE best cockney accents in town who incidentally had a picture with the pukka chef himself on their mobile phone! Our final mise-en-scene, was the humbling sight of a sea of citizens bowing down at the mosque as the call of prayer sung out over the city night.

Much to our surprise Tito arrived at the airport to say his goodbyes just as we were going through security, and amy, bless her heart, conveyed all of our sadness about leaving this magical place by sobbing through take-off. It was then at this moment that an anonymous lady behind us, you would not believe asked us how our holiday was, to which we all courteously replied ‘amazing thank you’ and then I kid you not she said “Oh good, its just I was sat behind you on the way out and I thought you said you should have gone to Ibiza!”