Mysterious Marrakech: why I never tire of Morocco’s Red City | Marrakech holidays
The rising sun sets fire to the snow-covered caps of the Atlas mountains. Within moments, the shadowy gorges are gleaming with warm terracotta hues. I turn my back on north Africa’s highest peaks and look north where Marrakech – nicknamed the Red City – rests like a jagged ruby amid the jade swathes of palms and the silvery sheen of olive groves. Swinging 800 metres (2,625ft) above the stony desert in a giant wicker basket, I try to imagine what this scene would have looked like when camel trains trooped this way, loaded with salt, spices and enslaved humans bound for Marrakech’s souks. The sky around us is filled with dozens of hot-air balloons, drifting like pollen on a Saharan breeze. The biggest of the suspended baskets hold 16 passengers, most of whom will have left guesthouses and riads in the labyrinthine old town before the dawn prayer call. “That’s the Koutoubia minaret there, to the west,” says our pilot Daniel Penet, founder of Ciel d’Afrique. “That shadowy area to the north of the minaret …
