Monaco Grand Prix 2008

Sun 25th May

Tonight we have the satisfaction of falling asleep knowing that we'll remember this day for the rest of our lives: our first (and hopefully not last) Monaco Grand Prix.


The morning started off a little rocky. Since we were in secteur rocher, the general admission seating on a cliff face, we knew we had to arrive early to stake out a good spot. Arrive early enough and you'll have out-smarted the rich posers who paid €600 for a grand stand ticket. Arrive a little too late, and you're a dimwit who paid €75 to stare at the back of someone's head. It was a dangerously narrow line to walk.

Everything we read conflicted about the best time to arrive. Some websites said that they opened seating at 12am Saturday night so people could camp out to guard a spot. Others said that arriving first thing Sunday morning was plenty early. One report that didn't conflict was the weather forecast: heavy rain.

Taking our chances, we opted to arrive first thing Sunday morning, assuming most people would probably do the same due to the weather.

At 4am the alarm went off. The first train to Monaco was at 5:51am and we had a 3km cycle in the pitch dark and pouring rain ahead of us, not to mention huge crowds to fight. By 5:15, we were peddling down the road, grateful that the heavy rain hadn't started yet.

5:30am We locked up our bikes, purchased train tickets and felt mighty proud of ourselves that no one else had arrived at the train station yet.

5:55am We wondered why the train was late, and why we were still the first people at the train station.

5:58am We noticed that the train sign now said 6:28 suprime. Hmm... next train must be at 6:28. Damn...

6:30am we wondered why the 2nd train was late, and why we were still the first people at the train station.

Around 6:35am a few Swedish tourists arrived on the platform carrying huge amounts of luggage, obviously bound for the airport. After we established that no trains had arrived yet, one of them asked me what "suprime" meant in French. "Oh - it must mean it's a very large train... you know like 'supreme'. The Monaco Grand Prix is on today," I explained.

God I can be a right idiot sometimes. The Swedish tourist pulled out his French phrase book and our faces turned pale as he translated suprime to mean "cancelled". Our memories jogged back to Wednesday when we'd heard about train strikes, but had assumed it was a one day ordeal. Oops.

Panic ensued, with much running between train and bus stations. Thankfully a train turned up at 7:22am, but our hopes of a clear view were quickly fading.

8:3oam and we arrived at the top of Secteur Rocher, peering down the steep cliffside into a sea of umbrellas and tents. The twisting queue down the wall was at a standstill and the people around us started to give up, climbing further up the cliff or pulling a chair out on the spot.

Secteur Rocher

My best advice - whatever you do just keep looking for a spot! We pushed past the crowds and wandered to just behind the front rows where we found a small gap on a very steep slope with a perfect view of a turn, straight-away and a TV. It was horrifically uncomfortable, as everytime you sat down your butt just slid down the rocky muddy slope on the plastic bags, but the pain was worth the view.

Video: Our view in secteur rocher

The races started at 9:45 so there was barely any waiting time before the excitement began. First up was the Porsche Super Cup - basically some really flash cars getting you warmed up for the big event that afternoon. The rain was bucketing down, but the driving was intense, followed shortly by the Formula Renault 3.5 at 11am.

Around 12:45am, the fanfare really kicked into full swing. A huge flat-bed truck carrying all of the drivers pulled on to the circuit like a ticker-tape parade. The crowds went wild while celebrities and sports club owners poured off the yachts (all viewable on the big screen TVs) to watch the Formula 1 teams prepare. It was like an international superbowl, but with everyone in white suits and sunglasses on floating box seats.

Formula One drivers parade the circuit. Lewis Hamilton is 2nd from the top, upper left corner.

As the drivers warmed their tires with a few opening laps, the rain got heavier. Keeping your footing became impossible on the muddly slopes and I started to check my watch for how much longer we'd be enduring such bad weather. My bum was covered in mud, my hands were covered in mud, my feet were covered in mud... misery was starting to settle in despite the upcoming race.

Two laps in and a Formula 1 car spun out on our turn, smashing into the wall. (No I didn't catch it on video, but I proceeded to video nearly every lap the rest of the race hoping it'd happen again.) Somehow the driver recovered and carried on, but I found myself on my feet hooting and hollering. Now I understood the weather factor... this was going to be a good race!!

Video: Several cars cornering in front of secteur rocher

Long story short, it was an incredible day and I do hope we'll get back to the Grand Prix again. I was worried it'd be a bunch of rich wannabe's showing off - and they were definitely there. But the crowd in secteur rocher was brilliant, the atmosphere was humming and hearing the roar of the cars through your ear plugs and smelling the burning rubber just can't be conveyed on TV.

Formula One cars in the rain

If we went back again next year, I wouldn't change a thing -- except maybe checking the news for train strikes first.

Lewis Hamilton's victory lap

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Photos & Video

View all Monaco Grand Prix photos

Note: I'm still waiting for some of these videos to finish uploading, so I'll update the links as soon as they're done. Video quality isn't great, but hopefully it gives some sense of what it was like to be there!

Video: GP Porsche Super Cup 2008
Video GP Renault 3.5 2008
Video: Pit teams practicing for Sunday's race
Video: Rain starts early in the race
Video: Several cars cornering in front of secteur rocher
Video: 360 degree pan of the secteur rocher crowd
Video: Lewis Hamilton in 3rd place
Video: Spectators across Monaco
Video: Our view of Lewis Hamilton's win

Monte-Carlo, Monaco

Getting ready for Sunday's Grand Prix

Fri 23rd May

Some of that good karma we earned back in Portugal is finally paying off. With no forward planning what so ever, somehow we ended up in Cannes for the film festival, and in Monaco for the Grand Prix.

Such strokes of luck don't come around often so we decided to throw the travel budget out the window and buy Grand Prix tickets. Just 70 euros each with a 10 euro booking fee in Secteur Rocher, which is basically a general admission area on a cliff side overlooking the city.

We wandered into Monte-Carlo today to get a look at our seating area and the view is actually pretty good. Only problem is that the cliff side looks a little precarious, with the lowest rock ridges about 2 stories above the streets below. I'm not good with heights and the area looks like it'll get quite crowded so I'm pretty sure we wont be seated next to the Beckhams.

Here's some video and pics from today. Much more to follow after Sunday.

FERRARI TEAM PRACTICING FOR SUNDAY

Ticket holders for Saturday or Sunday can visit the pit lanes and walk the circuit in the afternoons.

THE CIRCUIT

The racing circuit snakes through Monaco's steep and winding streets. Several residents hire out their apartment terraces for up to 150,000 euros for the week.



SECTEUR ROCHER

Otherwise known as the cheap seats.


VIEW FROM SECTEUR ROCHER

We're hoping for a view this clear and close on Sunday, but it may involve camping overnight. Fingers crossed.


MCLAREN PIT LANE

No sign of Lewis, but we did spot his pit lane.

Cannes Film Festival

Sat 17^th - Sun 18^th May

I went to the Cannes Film Festival and all I got was this lousy photo.

The Cannes Film Festival is about 3 things:

• who you know

• how you flaunt it

• and the height of your ladder.

Who you know

We pulled into Cannes around 2:30pm, and the first thing we noticed was that we weren't part of the club. Men, women and even young children no older than 11 walked the streets wearing photo ID badges around their necks. By the way people were strutting around and the labelled clothing they wore, we deduced that the more badges you have, the more important you are. Clearly I had to get a badge but we weren't entirely sure why you needed a badge. Where could you go with the badge? Why does everyone wear them all the time, even if it's walking to the bathroom to take a shower back at the camp site?

We walked into the Tourist Information Centre and I decided to play dumb American. “So this is our first time to Cannes and I'm just curious how it all works.” She looked at me very confused and didn't respond, even though I'd already established that she spoke English. “Yah – I guess we want to see some movies? How do we do that?”

“Oh, sorry they are all private. Here is the schedule of movies for the public that they are showing on the beach at night, and here is a map of the city,” she said as if the public referred to a local leper colony.

“Yah – but I see all of these people with badges – how do I get one?” I asked.

“Press only. NEXT,” she responded.

PRESS ONLY? My big white American bum. I hold a degree in journalism and even worked at a magazine company so clearly I have more credentials than that group of 11 year olds over there picking their zits and yet they are wearing badges! I WANT A BADGE!

We later found a queue to buy temporary badges with a big sign overhead that said “PRESS ONLY – 20 euros per day.” My best guess after 2 days of badge envy is that badges categorise you into 3 groups: Premier Screenings, which means you are so famous that you don't even need a badge. Market Screenings which is what all the people wearing 3 piece suits, floating in from the yachts and appear ready to dump their money into financing a new film are wearing, and finally press screenings which means you're a genuine journalist or an 11 year old school news reporter and you need to review the movies. Last but not least are we lowly tourists who have access to a patch of sand down on the beach with no pass required but they do play pretty good classical films at night if you get there early enough to nab a seat.

How you flaunt it

They say less is more and this rule definitely applies to clothes in Cannes. Let's just say that Bevan took more photos here than in any other city, and I don't think he used anything but the zoom lens. While I was keeping a lookout for Brad, I suspect that he was shooting the topless sunbathers on the beach.

Even if you never score a badge, the visit to Cannes is worth it just for the people watching. The beaches in Cannes are narrow, but at least 65% of the beach front is covered in all day clubs and restaurants which are fairly visible from the main street. Half the fun of Cannes is walking this strip ogling at everyone who is or thinks they are important.

The entire bay was full of the biggest boats & yachts I have ever seen in my entire life and they seemed to send out little inflatable boats to the beaches to pick up bikini-clad women, then haul them back to the massive boats in the harbour. It was hedonism just as you imagined it, but no amount of sucking in my belly or trying to hide the farmer tans on my arms resulted in an invite to the yachts... Either way, I think Bevan walked away with a lifetime of “memories”.

How tall is your ladder

I've been to a few film premiers and awards shows in my day – not as an invitee but as one of those die hard fans willing to endure hours of waiting in harsh weather conditions for a moments glimpse of one of my favourite celebrities. It's all pretty tangible in London, assuming you're willing to wait for an hour or two. Everyone lines up behind the fences and if it's raining, it's common courtesy to close your umbrella and even duck your head to give the other guy behind you a quick chance to snap a photo.

But the celeb spotters at Cannes were an entirely different breed and we soon realised that the friendly Kiwi and soft spoken Coloradan would be no match. My ugliest moments of this trip took place at the bottom of that red carpet and I'm still embarrassed at the profanity I yelled and how Bevan cowered behind his lens pretending that he didn't know me.

It all started at 3pm when the crowds cleared a bit and I found a perfect 165 degree view of the red carpet area. This is what dreams are made of and even though I knew I'd have to fight for my territory, I had no idea it'd get so vicious. The Vicky Christina Barcelona premier was at 7:30pm, so just 4.5 hours of guarding and I'd have a clear view of Scarlett Johannsen, Penelope Cruz, Javier Bardem and Woody Allen walking the carpet, not to mention any other Hollywood stars who decided to tag along.

5:30pm marked 2.5 hours of waiting in the same place. Bevan looked like a broken, very bored man but there seemed to be activity on the red carpet as various film crews set up their cameras and dance music started to play. I started to groove to the music as this was clearly going to be a night to remember.

6:00pm and some random red haired girl whom no one recognised stepped out of.... well somewhere (pictured above). I don't think anyone confirmed if it was an actual limousine or if she was just a spectator but she danced and pranced around the red carpet like she was a 1999 Paris Hilton.

6:30pm and the “real” press took their places on the steps of the red carpet.

6:35pm and the first black Renault pulled up. It only took two minutes and suddenly my dreams were shattered. The people sitting on the step ladders just in front of us shot up like an impenetrable fortress of legs and denim butts.

“Three hours!! I've stood here for 3 hours just like you and yet you stand on ladders in the front row?? That is not cool! You hear me, that is not cool!!”

Of course they didn't hear me and instead focused on snapping photos of the French celebs stepping out of the cars. I turned to Bevan in an exasperated shrieking mess, but it would only get worse. Within seconds, a French woman and her mother walked up next to us and spotted the small gap on the ladders in front of us while I still reeled in shock. Like a shot, the 30-something daughter scampered up the ladder and shrieked with delight at her mum. What luck! She had a bird's eye view and had only just tripped past. I started yelling profanities again, but it did me no good other than to convince me to learn French. The lucky woman now 100% blocked our view and if I hadn't spent so much time cursing, that spot would have been mine.

I screamed, yelled, and coughed the most phlegm filled spites of anger towards this troupe of discourteous front rowers but it did no good. All we could hear were their screams of delight as star after star piled out of the cars. Jumping up and down, I caught a rare glimpse of the big screen TV and my only comfort of missing such an event was that I recognised no one. They were all foreign stars.

7:20pm Over 1.5 hours of screaming profanity and trying hap hazard cheerleading pyramid towers with Bevan had passed. I was beat.... the movie was about to begin and Bevan had confirmed that there were no more limos to pass. The French spot stealer climbed down from the ladder and scuddled off. I sat for 5 seconds, then decided to try to climb the ladder to at least witness what I had missed before someone else from the crowd nabbed the spot.

7:27pm I climbed onto the narrow ladder step... legs shaking so violently from the lack of stability that Bevan grabbed them from behind... and as I looked down into the mass of incoming black cars, I suddenly heard the words I'd been waiting for all night. “Pan- elle---ohh--pee! Pan – elle – ohh – pee!”

The car door opened and out stepped Penelope Cruz in a glistening white gown. “Bevan – the camera! The camera!” I screamed from my precarious perch. He knew right away and nearly threw the camera at me despite how the ladder shook.

The resulting photos are not great and I never spotted Brad Pitt or Harrison Ford, but the magic of Cannes swept me as soon as I saw Penelope step out of the car in that gorgeous gown just below me, answering to the the screaming press, and then witnessed Woody Allen following suit in the pouring rain.

Bonterra Park Campsite, outside Valencia, Spain

Mon 5^th - Thurs 8^th May

We needed some time off -- time off from our 6-month holiday. Boy I can just feel the sympathy oozing out from each of you as you read this entry right now. But anyone who has travelled for more than a few weeks knows that after a while you crave just staying put for a few days.

Besides, I've been intrigued with European camping since I moved here and wanted some time to study and understand it. What possesses people to leave their comfy homes in the city only to line up along small patches of grass directly next to each other like chickens in a hen house and call it a holiday?

Back in Colorado, camping has an entirely different meaning. Camping means driving for 4 hours to the most back mountain road you can find, crossing small rivers and listening to the underside of the VW van scrape against the dirt road as you bottom out on a trail that's solely intended for 4-wheel drive vehicles. You park up in a meadow completely surrounded by nothing but wilderness, circle the cars with tents in the middle and tell the kids not to wander off due to the mountain lions and wolves. There's no shower block or toilet. Instead you bring baby wipes to clean your arm pits in the morning and feel thankful that Uncle Oscar brought the customised chair with a toilet seat, dug a hole beneath it and stuck a roll of toilet paper on the nearest tree branch.

Don't tell Bevan, but when we first started planning this trip I wasn't exactly excited. Camping for 6 months across Europe only brought back visions of Colorado and my 30-something self felt a longing to take a shower rather than appreciation for the the beautiful surroundings. Couldn't we just save a bit more cash and stay in hotels?

I dreaded the day that he actually wanted to depart, until Adam and Davina sent home a few photos and stories of their camp sites while they were doing the same route 2 years ago. They were photos of Adam flying down a water slide and sitting next to a pool under one of those tiki umbrellas with a beer in hand. Wow... maybe camping had changed since I was 15 years old.

We pulled into Bonterra Park along the Costa Blanca and immediately you could feel our excitement pulsing through the van. The beach was just 200 metres away, a huge supermarket was across the street with every type of meat you could dream of barbecuing plus an extensive selection of beers. The grounds had a huge pool, a library, a bulletin board with daily events and even a large screen TV to watch nightly football matches.

My next few days followed a similar routine of heaven:

First sunlight
Look at your watch. If clock says 7am or earlier, return to sleep. If clock says 8am, assess state of tiredness. If feeling okay, proceed to next step. If tiredness persists, return to sleep.

8:00am
Roll over and notice that Bevan has been awake for 2 hours, but is reading a book. Bevan says he'll make coffee while you go to the showers. Smile happily.

8:45am
Morning shower routine has taken so long that not only is the coffee made, but Bevan has cooked poached eggs on toast. Smile happily.

9:30am
Wash dishes to say thanks to Bevan, then assess weather. If sunny, pull on swimmers and head to beach. If raining, grab laptop and head to reception to use WiFi.

12:00pm
Return to van from beach / library / games room / internet terminals. Cycle to supermarket across the street and pick out fresh bread, cheese and meat for lunch. Cycle home and enjoy a ham and cheese sandwich with beer.

1:00pm
If sunny, return to beach. If cloudy/rainy, check activities board. It's paella cooking day so cycle to the restaurant area and find a seat near the big cooking pot.

1:02pm
Realise that everyone else brought a bottle of wine to watch the cooking class, so quickly cycle back to van and pick up wine supplies.

2:00pm
Paella is cooked and tipsiness has settled in. Pile paella onto your plate, enjoy a second lunch and smile happily.

3:00pm
If sunny, return to beach. If cloudy/rainy, choose either more WiFi, reading a book in the van, playing the PSP or cycling into town for a bit of shopping.

6:30pm
Return to van and make guacamole. Eat guacamole with chips and beer.

8:00pm
Finally it's Spanish supper time. Cycle to supermarket and pick out food for grilling / barbecue. Pick up more beer / wine if needed.

9:00pm
Dinner is ready. Eat and drink outside under the awning and smile happily.

10:00pm
Gather beers / wine into the canvas carrying bag and walk to the social room to watch the nightly football match on the big screen TV.

12:00am
Walk to shower block, wash your face and brush your teeth. Return to van to find that Bevan has made up the bed. Smile happily and promise to put bed away in the morning as a thank you. Fall asleep to an episode of Flight of the Conchords on Bevan's laptop.

Granada, Spain

3^rd - 4^th May

I never really wrote anything for Granada before we'd moved on so far that I feel a little silly writing this 2 weeks later. So I'll be brief and just summarise that Granada is on my now rather lengthy list of most liveable cities. The city is nestled against the Sierra Nevada mountains with much of the town built up along the foothills. Perched at the top of a hillside is the Alhambra – a UNESCO World Heritage Site which is the biggest draw for tourists.

We were warned at our campsite to book tickets in advance as the queues could be very long and it was even unlikely that you'd get in on the same day. Not to mention that we'd turned up on a bank holiday weekend, so the crowds were especially thick. Unfortunately we found all of this out around 9:30am on the morning we were planning to go and the man at reception gave a little chuckle when we asked about going that day.

Books in hand to keep us preoccupied in the lengthy queues, we arrived around 10:30am and wandered around trying to figure out where to buy tickets. A huge queue snaked from the main ticket building and looked like at least a 2 hour wait, but then I noticed another obscure sign pointing the opposite direction for reservations. We followed a maze of barricades to the back of a building that wasn't visible from the street and stumbled upon a row of 4 ticket machines with 2-3 people queueing. Surely this wasn't right, but we hopped in line and walked up to the machines, purchased 2 tickets and out they popped, complete with a reservation to see the most beautiful part of the palace at 18:00. The rest of the grounds were open to browse throughout the day. Feeling quite proud of ourselves, we walked past the hundreds of people still waiting in the other queues, vowing to share our secret to any fellow Kiwis or Americans in the crowd.

The sun beat down on us but the Alhambra grounds are so vast that it literally took us until 4pm to explore them. Gardens, a massive mud bricked fortress and the views overlooking Granada are definitely worth fighting through the crowds, and the Islamic/Spanish architecture in the main palace certainly sums up why the site is now so heavily protected. I'll let our photos tell you the rest of the story, but Granada is definitely worth a long weekend break if you haven't visited this intriguing town.

Granada Photo Album

Marrakech, Morroco

Mon 28th April - Fri 2nd May

"I can help you find! I can help you find! This way madame! This way!"

If there's one thing I learned in Marrakech, it's that you should never look lost. The trouble is, it's virtually impossible not to be lost in Marrakech. Picture the maze of streets that is Venice, then remove all of the street signs and throw in thousands of people who are willing to help you find your way for a very good price.

We arrived in Marrakech on Tuesday morning feeling exhausted and sticky after leaving the van in Spain and taking a ferry from Tarifa, then a night train from Tanger to Marrakech. Not a bad train journey at all -- it's only 11 hours and you board at 9pm then arrive at 8am so there's really nothing else to do except read a book and go to sleep. Walking out of the train station, we said goodbye to our Polish friend who had shared our sleeper car and watched him confidently walk off heading west to find his hostel in the Medina. We had no accommodation booked, no guidebook and no idea which direction to walk, so we asked inside the train station and they pointed us east. Feeling a bit bad for our comrade but hopeful that the train information desk was correct, we started walking east.

Our first morning in Marrakech was a mixture of running across roundabouts hoping that we hadn't overlooked a scooter screaming towards us, wandering narrow mud streets and praying that we wouldn't be peed on by a passing chicken, then wondering why on earth we didn't invest in that Morroco Lonely Planet guidebook back in Spain for 28 euros. But being cheap can eventually pay off and in our confusion, we stumbled across one of the most comfortable and beautiful guest houses I've ever stayed in for just 70 euros a night - Dar Rayhan.

Oooh la la - this riad (a.k.a. guest house) was heaven! We had the place to ourselves which included a roof deck with cushions in a large tent, a balcony with curtains to block the sunshine and last but not least, a dipping pool in the courtyard. After checking in and taking a cool shower, we decided to hit the town. Our host only spoke French and neither Bevan or I can articulate past "bonjour" so we were on our own for directions again. Fortunately the first book store we stumbled across had a Lonely Planet guide for Marrakech in English, and a very friendly French woman who was kind enough to point out where we were on the map. Yes! We had landed within the Medina - tourist central!

So we had a map, a list of highlights to see and even a dot to indicate where we were standing. You'd think that this would be all we needed to take Marrakech by the horns and tick off each tourist attraction within a few days... The saying "it's all about the journey, not the destination," couldn't be truer in Marrakech. While the architecture and museums were stunning, my most vivid memories will be the experiences we encountered whilst wandering around trying to find them.

One of our first stops was the Djemma El-Fna, a large square in the centre of town filled with Morrocan street performers and the site of a massive evening barbecue. But in order to get there, we had to pass through the souqs which is a winding maze of covered markets packed with everything from spices to carpets to designer handbags. The hilarious bit is how the guidebooks so blatantly make no effort to help you negotiate the most confusing parts of the city. We even had a larger "detailed" map of the souqs which looked more like a plateful of spaghetti with no road names. Within 1/2 block we had completely lost our orientation and any reference as to where we were standing on the map. But despite the slightly panicky feeling in your stomach when you know you're lost in a strange city, you can't help but stare in awe at the chaos and energy surrounding you. Thousands of locals and tourists swarm down the streets shouting at eachother to negotiate prices, when suddenly a scooter comes screaming out from behind a crowd yelling for you to get out of the way and you're jumping into a shop to avoid getting hit while a donkey cart mosies past.


A long 45 minutes later, we stumbled out of the spaghetti pie and somehow landed in the big square. Within 30 seconds, Bevan was dragged off, draped with snakes and posing for a photograph with a very smiley snake charmer. I snapped a picture, mostly in complete shock that Bevan was allowing his photo to be taken and then the whole charade changed very quickly. Evidently taking a photo with snakes is a very expensive proposition in Morroco and the man started demanding 20 euros for the privelege. We laughed it off but he was completely serious and wouldn't stop grabbing Bevan's arm and shouting until we pulled out our wallets. I offered 50 euro cents and he was very unhappy as he had a very large family to feed. We quickly did the math and realised we'd already paid him twice the cost of an earlier lengthy taxi ride so clearly 50 cents was A LOT of money to pay for a photograph. We scurried away from his shouting, convinced not to go near any more snake charmers.

No such luck. I made the mistake of looking at the map again when someone grabbed my arm and pulled it straight. I presumed it was Bevan dragging me in the right direction, so you can imagine my shock when something warm, fleshy and furry landed on my inner elbow... EEEK - It was a monkey's ass and I nearly dropped the poor thing when I tried to yank my arm away from the man who held the other end of his chained leash. What on earth could be entertaining about seeing a poor little monkey being dragged around the square by a chain around his neck?

Next stop was the most recognisable landmark in Marrakech - the Koutoubia Minaret just across the big square. By sheer luck, we happened to be walking past when the call to prayer started, which is a special treat as it's one of the few mosques that still uses a live singer rather than recorded music. We stopped to listen for a few minutes, enchanted by the echoes of the surrounding mosques across the city.

Back when we were securing our valuables in Spain, we made the strategic decision to leave our laptops behind from fear that they'd be stolen and / or pretty useless in Morroco due to the lack of internet connectivity. What a mistake! While wandering home for the day, we stumbled across the Cyber Park - a massive landscaped oasis from the city that is completely covered with free WiFi. I could see Bevan nearly clawing at his skin in regret and he insisted on lying on a bench in the park just to soak in the atmosphere, even if we felt pretty sheepish for undermining Morroco.

Clearly we had a lot to learn about this country and unfortunately it would be all through trial and error. Learn from our mistakes:

• Never pull out your map in public. Risk opening the map, and you'll instantly be surrounded by locals who will follow you offering directions until you finally pay them to leave you alone or lead you to the nearest tannery owned by their cousin.
• Morrocans are incredibly language adept. Stating "I don't speak French - I am Chinese," will only prove that you don't speak Mandarin.
• Shopping in the souqs is fun, but allow at least 1/2 day to find your way back out again.
• Don't freak out if you find yourself in a strange neighbourhood. Spot a tourist and follow them from at least a 200 metre distance until you're back in the Medina again.
• Bring your own alcohol or buy it in duty free on the way there. It's hard to come by and when you do find it, prices aren't listed on the menu. A few pints can cost as much as 3 times more than your meal so don't plan your bachelorette party in Marrakech.
• Just because it's cheap, doesn't mean the food is bad and just because it's pricey doesn't mean the food is good. Our most expensive meal was fairly average at the Afric'n Chic club and cost over 60 euros for two people (although it did include 3 beers each). Yet our cheapest meal at Alahbab Fast Food on Prince Moulay Rachid Ave near the big square was incredibly tasty for just 8 euros for two people.
• No matter who is asking, no - this is not your first visit to Marrakech.

Marrakech Photo Album