The plan was simple. Pack picnic along with the luggage, go to see Jools Holland at Westonbirt then carry on to the airport and snatch a few hours sleep on a bench there before the 4.30am check-in opened.
Best laid plans were thrown completely awry on arrival at Westonbirt to find the concert cancelled. Nothing for it but to turn round, head home and have the picnic in the flat with a cd of Jools Holland. After a slightly longer, and more comfortable sleep (possibly the last for a week), drove to Gatwick in the early hours. On the way, we picked up a copy of the new Harry Potter, to be read in the seclusion of the Atlas Mountains, minimising the risk of anyone giving away the ending.
We did feel a bit out of place on arrival at Marrakech airport, in temperatures in the high 30s and rising, wearing our ski-jackets.
Quick change at the hotel then made our way to Djemaa el Fna. Jenny wondered what all the fuss was about, seeing it in daylight. Had the first of many mint teas near the Katoubia Mosque then, after lunch, ventured into the souks. The impression is of a cool labyrinth of shops and bazaars piled high with all manner of goods: carpets, jewellery, pottery and tourist tat alongside everyday items of food and spices. Some shops seemed to go back and back forever.
Eventually emerged out the far side and visited the Ben Yousseff Mederza, where up to 800 scholars studied the Koran in a warren of small cells around a beautifully decorated courtyard.
We made our way back through the souk and less crowded back streets, where we felt completely safe in a way that would be unthinkable in equivalent parts of major ciies in the UK.
In the evening we returned to Djemaa el Fna and now Jenny understood why it is so famous. The square was full of bustle, people, hawkers, story-tellers, dancers, noise and smoke from the host of stalls cooking food on the spot. We passed booths crammed with people eating anything from sheeps heads to snails. We didn't brave the stalls (food-poisoning on day one of a camping holiday...doesn't bear thinking about) but ate in a restaurant with a terrace overlooking the square.
On Sunday we took a taxi into Riga which dropped us by the House of Blackheads. We took the lift to the top of the tower of St Peter's church for a view of the old city.
Unsure of the arrangements for getting to the church, other than the fact that there was a coach laid on for all guests staying at the Baltic Beach, we got up early. It transpired the coach would be there at 11.45am. It would take us to the church, not the Roman Catholic cathedral as we had expected but Riga's small C of E Church of St Saviour. Apparently the English catholic church had failed to convince the Latvian catholic church of the bona fides of Robert's catholicism. The C of E had stepped in at the last minute as it was wholly indifferent as to the religious beliefs of all those taking part.
11.45am came and went. We duly gathered in a state of confusion, and wondering at the Latvian contingent who seemed to be all laden with flowers. Was this some Latvian wedding tradition that we had failed to uncover in our researches? No, simply that the florist to whom Alina's mother (herself a florist and who had done the flowers for older daughter Olga's wedding) had delegated responsibility for decorating the church had pulled out at the last minute. So the relatives were all doing their bit to make the church look the part. Jennifer Susan's mother and the full contingent of her aunts (L-R Anne, Jen, Valerie, Rosemary) sat in the sun until the coach eventually turned up to take us at 12.45pm.
The service was concise to the point of abruptness but the bride looked lovely. All the more remarkable since her make-up and hair were done by a last minute replacement after the original pulled out.
We land at 7.20am in a field north of Bristol. We are in the "front" and so end up below those in the "back" when we land. We crawl out.
We help pack the ballon away while we wait for the keyholder from Bristol City Council to be got out of bed and come to unlock the gate to allow us to get out of the field. 
Drove back to Marrakech where we spent the afternoon haggling in the souks. We bought a lampshade for 50 Dirhams, much to the disgust of the shopkeeper who originally asked 1500 Dirhams. We also bought three tagines (a decorated one for Rob and Lee for their new home, a plain one for Mark to use, and an unglazed one for Jenny for its aesthetic qualities) for 260 Dirhams with the deal being concluded with kisses for Mark from the shopkeeper (we must have paid too much) but Jenny was too quick for him and fled the shop before he could catch her too.
An easy day. Leaving Tachddirt we climbed to the Tizi n'Tamatert pass then descended into the Ait Mizane valley. After a long lunch break (major progress made on Harry Potter) we continued down to Imlil then climbed the other side to reach our camp at Aroumd. 
Apparently real camping involves putting up your own tent. Mark found it hard to understand why then he had been given a tent designed for a dwarf and was expected to share this with Jenny, when neither of them fitted in it lengthways.
After a long descent into the Inemame Valley, with the camp coming into view then tantalising disappearing out of sight behind another outcrop, we reached Tacheddirt (2300m).
The plan was simple. Pack picnic along with the luggage, go to see Jools Holland at Westonbirt then carry on to the airport and snatch a few hours sleep on a bench there before the 4.30am check-in opened.
In the evening we returned to Djemaa el Fna and now Jenny understood why it is so famous. The square was full of bustle, people, hawkers, story-tellers, dancers, noise and smoke from the host of stalls cooking food on the spot. We passed booths crammed with people eating anything from sheeps heads to snails. We didn't brave the stalls (food-poisoning on day one of a camping holiday...doesn't bear thinking about) but ate in a restaurant with a terrace overlooking the square.
