The Moor the merrier

Close your eyes tight as you leave the road south of Marrakech. The 15-minute drive across a rubblestrewn earth track towards the Caravanserai hotel was not promising, as our car bumped its way through an impoverished village and past a group of disconsolate children. As the taxi driver put it, you turn right at the camel-dung heap.

The car drew up in front of the narrow wooden front door of a low-built Arab house. Typical of the entrance to a traditional riad, you have little idea of what awaits you. Two sharp turns out of the tiny reception and you come to the hotel's star attraction: a magnificent courtyard edged with giant terracotta pots, olive bushes and shady alcoves. Cool white linen curtains hung from the arched entrance. In the middle of the courtyard was a huge heated swimming pool.

Our first-floor room, very spacious and with high ceilings and air conditioning, led to a separate seating area and a long, shaded terrace which overlooked the pool. In the bathroom there was the best linen, musk-scented candles and a vast stone bath. Living in this sanctuary away from dust and dry heat, I knew we were well placed to enjoy the best of Marrakech.

Sun-seekers wanting to escape Europe's bland resorts without long flights and changed time zones have over the past 60 years made Marrakech a favourite bolthole. Winston Churchill was among the first Englishmen to eulogise about the city's intrigue, gastronomic delights and magnetic decadence after his first visit in late 1935. Thereafter, he famously revisited the city to rest and paint. Ever since, the allure of Marrakech has been enjoyed by a growing community of Europeans, settling in the city and the surrounding countryside in the foothills of the Atlas mountains.

After hiring Almedi, the taxi driver, to be our permanent guide for just £30 a day, we enjoyed a quick swim and headed back into the city. Marrakech's major daytime attractions are its souks and palaces. The souks are smaller than those in Damascus or Istanbul, though at least in Marrakech the salesmen are less aggressive.

After wandering through the different areas selling spices, gold, leather slippers, lanterns and live poultry, I arrived at the famous rug dealers. "This carpet is special price for you," smiled the salesman. "Only $250." Having learnt my lesson long ago that counter bids should be ridiculously low, I offered $100. "I'd die if I took that!" screeched the Moroccan.

A donkey plodded up the cobbled pathway between boutiques offering fruit and knives, narrowly avoiding the kilim carpet. "$200, last price," shouted the salesman. "$100," I smiled and walked away, glancing at the row of sheep's heads in the butcher's and a metal worker fashioning a lamp. "OK, $100," said the carpet salesman breathlessly after a short chase.

A problem had arisen. I didn't want the carpet at any price. "I'd like it," I replied, "but my wife wouldn't." Quick as a flash, the salesman replied: "No problem. Change your wife!"

Keeping my wife would be cheaper than buying his carpet. I laughed and headed to Jemma El Fna, the vast central square that is the heartbeat of the Red City. Throughout the day and particularly after sunset, the area packed with stalls selling fruits and spices is a magnet for snake charmers, fortunetellers and herbalists.

The greatest pleasure was to be found in Marrakech's restaurants. Enjoying the Arab experience cannot be better than in Le Yacout (79 Rue Sidi Ahmed Soussi, 00 212 24 382929), the city's most expensive and grandest restaurant. In a converted palace in the middle of the Medina, we sat by a log fire on jewel decorated cushions and enjoyed an endless succession of local dishes - including spicy aubergines and chicken tagine - and unlimited wine, for £45 each.