Morocco

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• The butler did it - Bahrain
• Dazzled by Dubai - Dubai
• Dubai’s must-do half dozen - Dubai
• The Day Chris tried to swap me for a camel - Egypt
• Ten great wonders - Egypt
• Keeping up with the Joneses - Jordan
• You CAN afford star treatment… - Middle East
• The hippy haunts of Hendrix - Morocco
• Souks you, sir! - Morocco
• Travelling in the sands of time - Oman
• OMAN! What a desert oasis - Oman

JIMI HENDRIX FIRST PUT THE Moroccan port of Essaouira on the tourist map, forming a Sixties’ commune which attracted like-minded rock stars such as Bob Marley and Cat Stevens.

Kaftan-clad groupies espousing peace and love flocked to join them on the ancient ramparts which resembled an Aladdin film set. But although the hippies have all but disappeared, the magic of the resort remains.

It swarms with colourful musicians, poets and craftsmen. They show off their talents night and day, offering wise words on making the world a better place … usually while trying to sell you something.

‘Jimi was a personal friend and far-out man,’ enthused Mustafa, an ageing artisan, expertly sculpting a chest of ‘very good price’ drawers from thuja, a local wood.

‘You stay in Essaouira and become healthy, happy people,’ he added in his muddled American-English, pointing to smiling fishermen in brightly coloured boats circling limestone rocks below the Portuguese ramparts.

Despite Mustafa’s inevitable hard sell – he offered to throw in a couple of chess sets if we paid in dollars – it was hard to dispute his view

Shortish haul destination

My wife Alison and I agreed it was the perfect shortish-haul destination. There was frost in the air in England, but in Morocco in January you can expect temperatures pushing 20°C (68°F) and superb light all day – we wore T-shirts and sunglasses throughout our week-long stay.

Flights to Marrakech take three-and-a-half hours from Heathrow or Gatwick.

From the airport, we took a taxi along one of the straightest roads in North Africa to Essaouira, a couple of hours’ drive and a negotiable £80 return fare away.

With the heat and dust of teeming Marrakech behind us, the vast white sand beach which dominates Essaouira appeared and the clean sea air combined delightfully with scents of mint, cinnamon and jasmine.

Before Moroccan independence from France in 1956, Essaouira was called Mogador, and its dramatic ocean backdrop attracted the very rich from Paris and Lyon.

There is still an unmistakeable Gallic chic to the blue-shuttered, whitewashed houses on the sweeping promenade which spreads towards ochre-pink turrets in the town’s old quarter.

The town is fanned by soft, warm Atlantic winds, the perfect antidote to the scorching desert of southern Morocco. According to Berber mystics, they have healing powers.

But Essaouira’s biggest draw is its exotic old town – the best place to contemplate the sea crashing on to the rocks below as you chill out in the style (to an extent!) of Jimi, Bob or Cat.

Away from the seaside and port, the town is a shadowy, medieval labyrinth, full of primitive workshops, women selling ostrich feathers, children spinning cotton and cats nibbling sardines from the daily catch.

Almost everything is for sale, from mountains of saffron to beautiful rugs and masses of furniture bearing the golden glow of polished thuja.

Cars are banned from the old town because of its narrow streets. Even irritating mopeds, which plague Marrakech, are all but non-existent.

Pungent smoke from open stoves, sweet stews rich with cloves, and the screech of seagulls make the place hugely atmospheric in early morning, when sea mists sweep in, or at dusk, during the call to prayer.

We stayed at Dar al Bahar, a traditional guesthouse next to the sea walls, where we had a charming suite. It is within a guitar solo earshot of a decaying sea fort once owned by Hendrix, which, locals claim, was the inspiration for the song Castles Made Of Sand.

Traditional tourist hotspots, such as Fez, Marrakech and Agadir, are remarkably safe. Apart from hushed offers of ‘hashish’ in late-night alley-ways, we did not feel threatened. The King of Morocco has formed a ‘tourism police’ to keep an eye on visitors and they have almost eradicated the previously persistent hustling

Scores of restaurants

Morocco is very religious, but strict Islamic edicts are not imposed on visitors. Alcohol is available and there are scores of restaurants, from traditional Moroccan to modern European, mostly around the Place Moulay El Hassan, the main square.

We ate lobster, stingray, crayfish, crab, shrimps and almost any other fish or shellfish you care to mention. The best place for seafood was one of the quayside open huts. Your choice is barbecued and served with salad and drinks for about £8 for two, or less if you negotiate.

At Chez Sam, a famous portside restaurant, the walls were plastered with autographed celebrity photos.

Inevitably, an image of Hendrix took pride of place above our table. Our waiter said ‘Jimi loved it here and was always coming back’.

And with all this enchanting corner of Morocco has to offer, who could blame him?