We’ve just arrived by taxi to the Ibis hotel in Marrakech, and after wash and brush up will probably head out to find food.

It was a short hop from Gatwick to Marrakech, and we had an especially strong tailwind (apparently) so the flight was about three hours 10 minutes (not including the now obligatory 20 minute cheap-carrier boarding delay).

I have to say, the more I travel now the more blasé I feel about flying, so much to the point that it feels almost as ordinary as taking the bus (especially when going by the cheap orange airline). I still get jumpy during dodgy landings and turbulence, but no more so than the 52 bus driver’s lightning reactions to moron drivers circumventing Notting Hill Gate.

On arriving at Marrakech airport, I couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of deja vu - there was a distinct feel of familiarity to the place as we walked off the plane and headed across the tarmac to immigration. The palm trees, the reddy-brown buildings all had a familiar equatorial taste to it. The only thing that was missing was humidity; it was about 20 degrees celsius, and it had been raining just moments before we arrived.

Getting through immigration and finding our bags was as effortless as it could’ve been, and I was relieved at the lack of porters in the baggage hall - I was expecting to be leapt upon by the local freelancers offering to carry our luggage for a nominal fee, but was thankfully spared the awkwardness of fighting them off.

Now for the first scam of the trip - we thought it was a good idea to check how much a taxi ride was going to cost to get to town, which according to a large sign outside the airport was around 60dh. Not entirely surprisingly, the taxi driver we tasked with whisking us off to our accommodation wanted twice that amount… because there was two of us.

I guess we should be thankful that he didn’t charge us a separate fare for taking our bags as well.