And so as with all good things our trip comes to an end. Today is a red letter day in your intrepid explorers travels. I will be entering the domain of the matron of Dar Charkia. Samira will be teaching me to make the Berber pancake, the M’ssemen, More of that later first some last night pictures.

A good sleep for a change. I slept through the first of the days call to prayer but my fellow traveller tells me later that she was awake just before. We shower and clean up and do a bit of sorting ready for packing after breakfast. First ones down again. We come to the conclusion that things don’t happen early here, in the hotel or outside. Seems rather unusual, as hot countries we have been to before tend to get things done early, then sleep, then do more things in the evening. Morocco does not follow that pattern, at least not from what we have seen.

Packing and tidying the room, kit sorted, I finish off and publish Wednesdays posting. I pack away my computer and camera gear and start to read my book as I see Samira walking around the courtyard below looking for me for the training session. I go down to the kitchen where the house ladies are in joyful mood. Abdul the taxi driver is also in the kitchen awaiting my lesson.

Samira is now standing next to her mixing bowl in which she has placed a quantity of plain flour (not strong) and a smaller quantity of semolina flour. She then adds a good quantity of salt. I would imagine at least two teaspoons for the quantity of dough she is working. She adds water little by little and brings the dry ingredients together to make a moist dough. She kneads this for about ten minutes getting more vigorous as she goes. She then adds more water to the bowl. At first the mixture seems too wet and sticky, but as she works it the dough takes up the water. She repeats this two more times, then the dough is left to rest for about ten minutes.

Once rested the dough is made into golf ball size portions by folding and squeezing the dough between a pinched forefinger and thumb using plenty of vegetable oil. This is repeated until all the dough is used.

Now to make the pancakes, and this is where my participation was required. The dough is well oiled and placed on an oiled worktop, pressed out with the tips of the fingers to make a circle of dough as thin as possible, but without tears. Once done, the circle is spread with softened butter and some dry semolina flour is sprinkled on top. The dough is folded, the top third to the middle, the bottom third up over first fold to form an oblong, and then each end is folded to the centre to end up with a square shape, about two inches square, which are put to one side ready for cooking.

Prepare a very hot plan, squash out the pancakes approximately double the size and put in the pan. Turn frequently until slightly browned, with some bubbles and blisters similar to a British pancake.

Samira cooks two. One hers, one mine. I believe mine to be every bit as good as hers, but the assembled ladies, including my fellow traveller point out that the novice pancake has very untidy edges. Samira’s are much tidier.

We finish packing, and bring the cases down. My companion has instructed that I bring the heavy cases down so as not to injure the ladies. She seems convinced that we have an issue with the weight of our cases as a result of the amount of Marrakech we are bringing home with us. As it turns out, although we are taking one more piece of luggage back than we arrived with we break no limits.

We have a relaxing lunch freshly prepared for us by Samira after the pancake session. My companion has a splendid selection of Dar Charkia tapas. I have a tuna sandwich (with cheese!).

The bill is paid, and we relax awaiting arrival of our taxi to the airport. The carrossa man arrives a little early, but we are ready. We bid our farewells and off we go, the smell of grilling meat wafts pass us as we leave the Dar Charkia.

Abdul the driver who watched the pancake session earlier is waiting for us and loads the cases into the back of his vehicle. Michael the Dar Charkia owner appears from nowhere. He embraces and kisses Abdul four times each side, the Berber way and my companion twice, the continental way (he is German after all). Michael bids us farewell, and we depart. Just along the road we spot the Posh and Becks thrones which were being made a few days before. They are now available for sale, on the pavement, getting wet.

On the journey to the airport we are stopped by a white coated policeman who allows a motorcade with about a dozen large white motorcycles to u-turn in front of us. We are informed that the Moroccan King is in town, and that is the reason for the military and police wearing their finest uniforms.

So, I finish this in the lounge of Marrakech Menara airport just as we are about to board our flight home. We leave as we arrived, under grey skies with rain falling, but with both of us much enriched by our visit to this country. Chaotic, frustrating, sometimes troubling but highly enchanting.

Morocco, Ma’a ‘salama

وداعا المغرب