I visited Marrakech very briefly while on holiday in the south of Spain last year. It was a fantastic trip, although one of the most tiring I have ever been on. Our plan was to sleep on the train down from Tangiers to Marrakech, have a day looking round, and then sleep again on the way back.

We were foiled by the simple problem of the train’s berths being fully booked. However, being the intrepid explorers that we were, we decided to risk it.

We arrived first thing in the morning and leapt in a taxi that took us straight to the centre of the city. We spent most of the day exploring the incredible souqs whilst fuelled on strong sweet coffee. There was so much to buy and so little time- my advice is go with a few spare days and a few extra bags.
Having said that, it was as much about the experience as anything else… the food, the smells, the incredibly refreshing orange juice, the haggling, the hassling, the light filtering through the canopies, the other shoppers.

As evening approached, we headed back to the train station. To be honest, I can barely remember the journey north; it all seems very surreal looking back on it now.

At some point in the night when we’d just dozed off (somewhat warily because of the extremely odd couple sitting opposite us), the train stopped and a guard rushed into our compartment, turned the light on and shouted something incomprehensible.

Panic followed as everyone grabbed their luggage and bolted from the carriage, running at full pelt down the platform to re-board the train further down. Startled and confused, we followed suit. There was no space to sit so we ended up stuffed in the vestibule with barely room to move (for about 4 hours!). The door was open and, as we left the station, several young boys ran alongside and jumped onto the outside of the train. They were refugees trying to get north and into Europe.

So. All in all, a very exciting experience, but I wouldn’t do it again without booking a bed in advance.