Making a mountain out of a mountain

 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!' was the wail on repeat as we clambered up chunky, uneven rock steps towards the top of Mount Snowdon's summit. We were in the guts of a thick cloud smothering the top of the 1085m peak creating zero visibility at best.

Not only couldn't we see anything but this stratus cloud was kindly soaking, freezing and battering us on our final final ascent to the peak.

'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!'

There it was again and I have to admit feeling bad. We'd lied to our eight-year-old that there was 'one last push' on a number of occasions and now, with just 10 minutes to glory she'd done believing us.

'Seriously you don't want to come all this way and not reach the top,' I said in a tone that even I felt excruciatingly annoying as soon as it left my lips. 'Nooooo!!!' she wailed.

More concerning than my eight-year-old was my six-year-old boy who'd been worryingly mute for the last 30 minutes of walking. A look of horror etched into his face as we trudged through cloud on a path surrounded by cloud under a roof of cloud.

Rewind 45 minutes and the climb up the Llanberis path - known as being the easiest, most popular and least attractive route - had been a dream. In fact our whole stay in North Wales was incredible, staying in arguably the nicest hostel - The Rocks in Capel Curig - we'd experience beach, castle, glacial lake, theme park, waterfall and of course...mountain.

'From rugged mountain trails and historic train lines to World Heritage castles and rejuvenated seaside towns, Wales' north holds its own against the arguably more famous attractions down south,' says Lonely Planet about North Wales.  

I couldn't agree more!

It was two weeks ago today we made the early start to Mount Snowdon. 5am early to be clear. We wolfed down breakfast and an all important coffee before slinging backpacks - packed within an inch of their life - to our backs and set out.

There was ample parking at the base of the Llanberis route, presumably because of its popularity and the station to cheat your way up or down on the Snowdon Mountain Railway. Because it was soooo early, humans were few and far between as we edged up the opening near-vertical road which takes you up to a breakout to the left and into the true mountain climb.

We were overtaken by a family of fell runners - as lean as greyhounds they were. Even the dad, who was trailing ever so slightly behind his kids, was as fit as a fiddle. I felt sluggish, carrying my lockdown kilo, until we saw some familiar, non-fell runners overtaking us. The competitive side of me said they didn't have two kids in tow, who incidentally were absolutely fascinated by EVERYTHING. We hadn't even hit the mountain path yet.

This was going to be a loooong old hike.

A range of groups continued to overtake us as we climbed, which was fine given the size of our tiny people's legs and Oscar's inability to just walk... needing to jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes. 'Very funny Oscar,' we said as time ticked away. We'd clocked 1km; he'd done about 4.

Our first warning of cloud at the summit actually came from an ill-prepared Bristolian dressed in his tracky on his way down. He'd lost his small black mongrel called Penny in the summit fog for half an hour. Luckily for him she was retrieved by a couple of runners who, we guessed, were the fell runners we'd seen earlier.

Dogs were in the masses on the walk. One of our favourites was Rex who we rejoined at the Halfway Hut after chatting earlier to his owners. Rex was a beautiful Alsatian who the kids were fascinated by asking numerous questions. How old is he? What's his name again? Have you any other animals? Are you from here? Do you have a hot-tub? They never fail to throw a random question in.

In fact questions to walkers were a common theme up to the Halfway Hut. A lot were happy to answer them, well one or two questions. But they had a mountain to climb and wanted to stride away, so there were times where Oscar was literally running behind people continuing his line of questioning.

A few kind, (very) patient walkers slowed to chat properly and let the kids have a pat of their canine friend.

The path had begun with a steep, rocky incline before flattening out and weaving up to the Halfway Hut. The sky was still clear and the views were incredible looking back towards lakes Llyn Padarn and Llyn Peris, with bright green mountains on either side of us. Then straight ahead with its tip currently (and constantly as it would turn out) smothered by a fluffy cloud stood Snowdon.

After a wrap, banana and chocolate, a drink and a relax of the legs at Halfway Hut, we were off for Part 2. However, at this point, unaware Part 2 was a longer, tougher, colder, wetter, ridiculouser version of Part 1.

                        

It wasn't long before we could see the kids would need a push through this section. They went from total hysteria, to friendly chats with groups (mainly with dogs) and mucking about with one another. Then back to hysteria.

The Haribo bribes worked to a point. The chocolate resources were running low. But to be fair to them as we entered an actual cloud after a long relentless steep incline to the final train station, this was actually pretty tough.

The stretch from the last train station to the summit was the most painful. We were wet, actually in a cloud so zero visibility, legs were aching and kids (mainly Jude) were upset and wanted to turn back.

We asked a man and his girlfriend how far to go who said '30 minutes...you're nearly there.' They were lying. Their intentions were good...but they were lying.

An hour later (approximately) we summited. Well, we sort of did. There was a queue for the small stairs to the summit landmark, but there was absolutely no way we were joining a queue for a photo of us looking like total shite surrounded by cloud.

We had done it though.

The mood changed instantly as we negotiated back down the unused trainline to the final station where the weather snapped back into bearable and the visibility visible as we reappeared out of the bottom of the cloud.

From there it was plain-sailing smugness as those on the incline asked us how long to go and we lied '30 minutes.' 'You're nearly there' (they weren't). 'You're doing really well' (they were struggling).

We knew the kids were back to normal as they majorly fell out en route to Halfway Hut. Jude took a route along the grass parallel to the path with a face like thunder. 'She won't be coming again,' a passer-by helpfully pointed out. Jude growled!

As we closed in on Halfway Hut we noticed people passing us with takeaway coffee cups which seemed totally bizarre. The cafe was open for takeaway at the hut, so we treated ourselves to a brew (adults) and hot chocolate (kids).

That final stretch was incredibly enjoyable. The kids were tired but in fine form realising they'd done it...oh, and they'd get ice cream at the base! We were also able to properly take in the views, stroll down at our own pace and chat to people as they passed us as Oscar would jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes.

At the base an ice cream van was conveniently and incredibly parked like an oasis in a desert right next to our car park. 99s all round and the 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK' a distant memory as we devoured them and felt dead proud of our achievement. 

Marrakech - ten years on

Our last time in Marrakech was ten and a half years prior.

Layla and I took the FRS ferry from mainland Europe (Farifa) to North Africa, mooring in Tangiers before travelling down the north east of Morrocco, through the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen to the country's cultural capital, Fez.

We then hitchhiked to Marrakech via Merzouga for a night in the Sahara and a Lawrence of Arabia-esque sunset camel ride into the famous Erg Chebbi dunes.

In Marrakech we stayed in a beautiful, traditional riad called L'Orangerie, before trekking into the Atlas Mountains where we summited the 4,167 metres of Jebel Toubkel.

Sounds peculiar even writing that. In fact, I hate the 30 year old me, he's a right tosser!

I'm saying this, here in Marrakech with mum, dad, brother, wife and two kids (8 and 6) celebrating my dad's 70th. A very different adventure, set with very different challenges.

It would have been very easy to constantly try and compare our previous visit to this. There was the danger of time exaggerating the experience we'd enjoyed in 2009 through rose-tinted Ray Bans. However, our start typified domestic, family life setting off from Birmingham after resolving a plumbing issue and refereeing a sibling boxing bout on the back seat en route to Manchester airport.

All this seemed inconsequential as we mazed through the Marrekech Medina, escorted by our host through the rabbit warren of alleyways to the door of our riad. A modest set of doors with the name Dar Damana above it opened up to an incredibly ornate palatial retreat.

After picking our jaws up off the beautifully detailed porcelain tiled floors, we ventured out, escorted initially by our amazing housekeeper Saida. First a pep-talk. Dos and don'ts (mainly don'ts) explained in French and translated through the art of hand gestures. She then helped identify six key landmarks which would help us navigate back from the iconic Jamaa El-Fnaa square to our riad.

Then we were thrust into the Medina lanes. Teems of people made up of Moroccan locals, daytrippers, street traders, tourists, bikes, scooters, motorbikes, tuk-tuks, trailers, were all bustling in, around, weaving and bobbing within the width of a street pavement. And it sort of seemed to work...if you stuck to Saida's rules of course.

Once we arrived at Jamaa El-Fnaa, we were delicately released into the wild by our kind housekeeper, into the main square where we waved, turned and got hit with chaos - and chaos it was - utter carnage in fact. But in a good way.

The kids faces were a picture as they were faced with snake charmers, monkeys on leads and all sorts of artefacts thrust upon them for 'very good price'. Add to this the smells of spices wafting and the sounds of the pungi echoing around the square, they were mesmerised.

A circuit of the square before a coffee overlooking said square must surely be THE first morning thing to do in Marrakech. We did this before successfully ticking off each Saida inspired landmark on our orientation challenge back to the riad.

Yves Saint Lauren was never my brand of choice. More of a Fred Perry man when it came to polo shirts. However, the fella sure knows how to pick a garden. I can say this now I've visited Jardins Majorelle - gardens the former fashion designer used to own.

It was definitely full of the Marrakech hip-brigade. The gardens had 'great Insta-fodder' written all over them. In fact I caught Tom Bowell say: 'Beautiful spot though and incredible use of the Majorelle blue which flowed through the whole experience.'

Once the gardens were ticked off the Lonely Planet Top Tips list, we headed back for food on the infamous rooftop of Cafe Arabe. The Casablanca beer didn't hit the sides and the tangines were to die for. The bill was also to die for, but we justified it as our 'premium brand' day.

Day two saw us part ways with my folks and brother. They hit the Badia Palace and we ventured out of the city walls to waterpark Oasiria. Only, there was one problem realised upon arrival - it was closed for the winter.

Fortunately there was a large heated pool we could pay to use, and this kept the kids content. There were six visitors to the park that day...and we were four of them. I'd never visited a closed slide park before and the kids had a ball with free reign using the water slides as normal slides. I'm pretty sure I had dreams of this sort of scenario as a kid.

Next day was a full day tour into the Atlas Mountains. Accompanied by our amazing driver Khalid from Trendy Travel, we ventured up into Berber villages where we got to witness the making of Argan Oil used for cooking and cosmetics.

We continued on, welcomed into a Berber home. Whilst slightly uncomfortable and a tad contrived, the lunch they cooked us was sensational with views from 2,000 feet down to the lake. Paragliders were in their masses hovering over our heads, offering lunchtime entertainment as we tucked into charcoaled chicken skewers, cous cous, lamb tangines.

Next up we wound down the hillside to the lake, before heading for a sunset camel ride. My camel aptly named Matthew had had 15 wives, our guide informed me. 'How many wives have you had Matthew?' our camel handler asked me. How we laughed!

Sunset was a photographer's dream as we enjoyed dunes with the backdrop of the snowcapped Atlas Mountains. We then drove back to Marrakech having had an amazing day outside the city walls.

The final day was spent shop-shop-shopping. We'd been eyeing up our purchases over the course of our trip - each Medina venture further refined our shopping list. The day was therefore spent converting our purchases through the art of haggling. The routine was haggle, have a breather and then haggle some more. Rugs, lamps, throws, belts, shoes, drums, we got the lot.

Full of adrenaline and excitement about our home mimicking a poor man's riad, the highlight of the day was in-fact landing on a value lunch option where we clambered up to an attic-like rooftop to be served Moroccan scram that filled the ever-expanding belly for £15 for all the family. Take THAT Harvester!

The ladies enjoyed some spa action on the morning before our flight at Hammam De La Rose. Scolded and scrubbed down in the name of pampering. They loved it!

The last task of the trip, blagging our ridiculously inflated baggage as hand luggage onto our EasyJet back home. We did it! Where we're going to put it all is a job we'll worry about back in Birmingham.

How did our trip compare to 2009? Totally incomparable on so many levels. But what a place to take kids. In fact, tear up every preconceived idea you have about Marrakech and give the sucker a go.