Marrakech, Morocco: Beauty & Chaos

The Drive South: Rain, Roads & Arrival

The drive from Casablanca to Marrakech took around three hours. Heavy showers rolled across the motorway, wipers on full speed, visibility dipping in and out. The landscape flattened into grey tones, the kind of drive that demands focus rather than daydreaming.

As I got closer to Marrakech, the rain didn’t ease. If anything, it doubled down. My Airbnb was set within a golf resort complex on the outskirts of the city with gated security, lots of green space, within residential blocks. 

By the time I finally located the right block, the unloading of the car began, suitcase, bags, dog gear, groceries, all in territorial rain. But that moment when the door shuts behind you and you're settled in? Worth it.

I dried off, unpacked properly, and called it a night. Clay Oven indian takeway delivered dinner to the door, exactly what the evening required.

I was here for five days. The forecast showed two more grey ones to begin. Not the postcard Marrakech entrance, but maybe that’s the point. Beauty and chaos don’t ask for perfect lighting.

Rain Days, Work Mode & Wine Evenings

The first couple of days in Marrakech weren’t headline weather with heavy skies, on-and-off rain, puddles gathering along the paths but having green space right outside the door changed everything. The golf course became our loop. Roly sprinting regardless and even in the rain, it felt expansive.

I leaned into work mode. Laptop open, projects moving forward, calls scheduled around coffee refills. That’s the rhythm of this life, travel doesn’t replace work, it just reframes it. Marrakech became my backdrop while deadlines still got met.

In the evenings I cooked in the Airbnb, the kind of meals that make a place feel temporarily yours and poured a glass of red. I watched 14 Peaks, a documentary that feels fitting when you’re on your own version of a long-haul journey. 

It wasn’t the cinematic Marrakech people picture, no golden sunsets over the medina just yet but it had its own kind of satisfaction. Grounded. Productive. Reset without being static.

Morning at the Park

When the rain finally lifted in the week and a slice of blue pushed through, we moved fast. We headed straight to Park Arsat Moulay Abdesalam, just minutes from the Medina with red gravel paths and palm trees stretching high.

The park is almost theatrical in its symmetry. Long walkways framed by clipped hedges, fountains catching light, benches positioned for conversation. Roly was instantly recharged, sprinting ahead on the red earth, nose down, tail up while I fell into easy conversations with other people doing their morning laps.

It felt social without being crowded. A shared pause before the city ramps up and being so close to the Medina, you sense the shift waiting just beyond the gates; calm greenery on one side, sensory overload on the other.

Sun back. Energy restored. Marrakech, finally, starting to show itself.

Into the Medina: Noise, Colour & No Holding Back

From the park, I walked toward the Koutoubia Mosque, its sandstone tower cutting clean into the sky. As you get closer to the Medina, the pace shifts. Pavements thicken. Carriages roll past, horses trotting through traffic. Vendors call out. The air tightens with movement. This is where Marrakech fully reveals itself.

I stopped at an ATM before going in properly because once you’re inside, cash makes everything easier.

At the front edge of the Medina, women sat with their boards offering braids. I took a seat and let them work; quick hands, tight plaits, no hesitation. Around us oranges pressed into juice on demand, men led monkeys through the square, carts stacked with souvenirs, spices and scarves. Cafes and restaurants lined the corners, terraces leaned over the action below.

It’s not subtle. It’s not curated. It’s layered, loud, dynamic.

This side of Marrakech doesn’t ease you in. It opens the gates and lets you decide how deep you’re willing to step.

Marrakech Medina: Into the Maze

One minute you’re standing at the edge of the medina, sunlight pouring over dusty pink walls, and the next you’re inside a living maze of sound, scent and movement.

Scooters come first. You hear them before you see them, a sharp rev behind you, a quick beep, and suddenly they’re slicing through the crowd, weaving between tourists, locals, carts and wandering children like it’s choreographed. No hesitation. No slowing. Just instinct and flow.

The streets narrow quickly. Overhead, wooden lattice panels filter the light into patterned strips across the ground. The air feels warm and busy. Every few steps, something changes.

Spice bins spill colour onto the pavement. Next to them, shelves stacked with oils, soaps and glass jars. Then leather bags hanging in tight rows. Then football shirts. Then silver jewellery catching the light.

Vendors call out casually, not aggressively, just enough to hook your attention.

• “Where you from?”
• “Good price for you.”
• “Look only, no problem.”

There’s no single lane for walking. It’s shared territory. Scooters. Handcarts. People carrying boxes. It all moves at once, somehow without collision.

And then there’s the mix of Arabic conversation layered with French, English, Spanish. You turn a corner and it shifts again.

A quiet alley with textiles hanging floor to ceiling. A glass case filled with pastries. A barber pole spinning slowly in the shade. A sudden view of a minaret rising above the rooftops against a blue sky. It’s chaotic, yes but not random.

There’s a pulse to the medina. A confidence. A kind of organised intensity that only makes sense once you surrender to it.

You don’t walk through it in a straight line.

• You drift
• You adjust
• You step aside
• You get swept forward again

And somewhere in the middle of it all between the scooters, the spices, the call to prayer echoing faintly over the rooftops, you realise this isn’t a place you observe. It’s a place you move with.

Above the Medina: Lunch with a View at MÖ-MÖ

After a few hours inside the medina, I’d worked up an appetite and followed the signs up to MÖ-MÖ Restaurant, tucked just off Jemaa el-Fnaa. A short climb up the stairs and suddenly the energy shifts. From above, the square becomes theatre. You watch the choreography instead of dodging it.

The terrace is colour layered on colour with mosaic tables in greens and reds, striped awnings, soft peach walls, woven chairs, and staff moving calmly between tables in deep green uniforms. I ordered a meat tagine, slow-cooked and tender, served in a clay dish with warm bread on the side. Simple, rich, exactly what was needed after the sensory overload below.

Marrakech doesn’t do half measures. It gives you the maze and then it hands you a balcony to look back at it from.

Beauty & Chaos, In Real Time

The next day the sun was already out and Roly and I headed onto the golf course paths for a long walk. Along the walk, Roly made friends with two small dogs darting across the grass. What started as a walk turned into a sprint session. It felt open. Light. Easy.

I came back to the apartment late afternoon and had a chilled day, working and cooking at the airbnb. 

And then, as the light started to fade into evening, the shift came. I was in the bedroom when I heard a loud crack followed by rushing water. By the time I reached the kitchen, it was already spreading, a pipe had burst, water pushing quickly across the tiles and seeping toward the living area.

I called the host immediately. He said he was on his way, but he lived an hour out. By the time he arrived, the floors were soaked. There were no plumbers available that late in the evening, so the water had to be shut off entirely. 

Roly and I retreated to the bedroom, the only dry space left and waited it out. It wasn’t dramatic in a cinematic way, just frustrating and inconvenient.

The next morning was my last full day in Marrakech, so I left early and let the host and plumber deal with the flat while I went out determined to enjoy the rest of the city and not let it dampen the rest of the trip, no pun intended.

The longer hassle came afterwards, trying to negotiate a refund through Booking.com. Calls, repeated explanations, conflicting information. Eventually they agreed to issue some credit toward a future booking which was minimal compared to what I’d paid.

It was a useful lesson that not all booking platforms respond the same way when things go wrong. In my experience, Airbnb tends to step in more quickly and compensate more fairly.

Marrakech really does give you beauty and chaos. Sometimes it’s in the medina. Sometimes it’s in your own airbnb kitchen.

A Soft Landing: Brunch, Beauty & One Last Sunset at Kechmara

My final day began gently with breakfast at Brunch Terrasses, tucked into a relaxed pocket of Gueliz known for its wide pavements, modern cafes and low-rise buildings in warm terracotta tones. It's Marrakech, but without the medina intensity. The kind of neighbourhood where you can sit outside, sip fresh juice, and watch the city wake up at its own pace.

From there I drove further into central Gueliz, the more modern, European-influenced side of Marrakech. Less maze, more grid. I got my nails done, a small act of restoration after stepping through floodwater the evening before. Order restored, at least aesthetically.

Then I headed to Kechmara for lunch and cocktails on the rooftop terrace. And this is where the day properly unfolded. The sun poured through the bohemian canopy, woven lampshades suspended overhead, natural plants spilling from corners, leafy prints across the cushions. It carried that effortless late-afternoon energy. No rush. No agenda. Just being exactly where I was.

I ordered food. Then a cocktail. Then another. The air felt lighter again.

A group of Belgian men were seated at the table beside mine. Conversation drifted across. Tables merged. Suddenly the afternoon stretched into early evening in the easiest way. Stories, laughter, travel tales, card games; the kind of spontaneous social moment solo travel quietly makes room for.

It was fun. Unscripted. A fitting end to a stay that had swung between polished rooftops and flooded kitchens.

Marrakech had given me markets, terraces, golf course walks, burst pipes, fresh manicured nails and new acquaintances, sometimes all within the same 24 hours.

Not a bad way to close a chapter.

Marrakech Neighbourhoods at a Glance

Marrakech shifts dramatically depending on where you base yourself. Here’s how it breaks down:

Medina

The historic heart. A dense, looping maze of riads, souks, rooftops and constant motion. You’re steps from Jemaa el-Fnaa, the Koutoubia Mosque, and the full sensory overload Marrakech is famous for.

• Best for: immersion, rooftops, atmosphere
• Not ideal if you: need quiet, drive daily, or have a dog (access can be tricky)

Gueliz

Modern Marrakech. Wide streets, grid layout, boutiques, brunch spots, sushi, nail salons, rooftop bars. European influence is visible in architecture and lifestyle.

• Best for: digital nomads, longer stays, cafe culture, easier navigation
• Dog-friendly. More manageable than the medina, but still limited indoors.

Hivernage

Polished and upscale. Five-star hotels, private villas, manicured gardens, nightlife spots. Feels more curated and resort-like.

• Best for: luxury stays, pool days, polished evenings

Palmeraie

Palm groves and private compounds on the outskirts. Space, quiet, villas with pools. You’ll need a car.

• Best for: privacy, retreats, decompressing

Golf Resorts / Outskirts (like where I stayed)

Gated complexes, green space, security, parking. Practical if you’re road-tripping with a car and dog. Feels removed from the medina chaos.

• Best for: driving travellers, digital nomads needing space, slower mornings before heading into the city

Quick Take:

• Want intensity? Stay in the Medina
• Want balance? Base yourself in Gueliz
• Want quiet and space? Head outward

Marrakech isn’t one mood. It’s several. Choosing the right neighbourhood changes everything.

Notes from the Road: Marrakech

Marrakech doesn’t introduce itself gently. It throws you straight into colour, sound, heat, negotiation, beauty. 

It’s a city of extremes. The medina runs at full voltage: scooters threading through crowds, spices stacked in pyramids, terrace views above the noise. Then you step into Gueliz and the pace shifts to grid streets, brunch spots, nail salons, sushi bars, rooftop cocktails. Same city, different frequency.

For me, Marrakech was exactly what the title promised: beauty and chaos. It’s not polished. It’s not linear. But that’s the point.

• Would I stay in the medina next time? Maybe.
• Would I choose Airbnb over Booking.com after a plumbing incident? Definitely.
• Would I come back? Yes, without hesitation.

Marrakech is layered, kinetic and unapologetic and if you let it, it leaves a mark.

Now, it’s time for the next route.

Next stop: Essaouira