22-Day Morocco + UK Honeymoon Wedding Photo Tour: Crossing Asia, Africa, and Europe in Search of the Little Prince
Now that the domestic epidemic has basically been lifted, looking back three years ago, just before the outbreak of COVID-19, we went to Morocco and the UK for a wedding trip. If we had planned any later, we might not have been able to make it. Now I’ve reorganized the travel notes, hoping that soon everyone can continue to travel and enjoy themselves. Below is the travelogue from three years ago, wordy as it is. Some friends said it’s like a novel; if interested, you can save it and read at your leisure. There are also plenty of pictures:
Let it be the first dessert of our marriage
Go to the Sahara to find the Little Prince
Count the stars under the night sky
Listen to the tales of One Thousand and One Nights in the ancient city of Fes
Will a magic carpet lift us up?
Search for Aladdin’s lamp?
Let us savor slowly
The smiles while dozing during the drive
The sacred moment of embracing at sunrise
Lift your long dress for you
Leaving our long shadows in a foreign land
——2019.10.16 Preface
This travelogue is dedicated to the hustle and bustle of my wife and me on our honeymoon trip and wedding photo shoot. The preface above was written after returning home, and it is also a poem I gave to my wife.
We dated for three years, went through all kinds of things together, big and small, and entered marriage this year. My wife is a thoughtful, innovative person who loves design, though her actual job has nothing to do with it. As for me, though I have been to many places, I had never been outside Asia. So early on, we wanted to go on a honeymoon to a very faraway place, for a long time—a real honey-moon, not a honey-week.
Why Morocco? Because we both love the book The Little Prince. The allegory of this fairy tale aligns with our values: the essential things are invisible to the eye. Especially the dialogue between the Little Prince and the fox moved us deeply. Only through taming can we make each other unique. Morocco has the Sahara Desert, which shares great background similarity with the author’s plane crash in the desert and the Little Prince’s appearance there. Moreover, we had heard that Morocco is very exotic, and the visa-free policy was also a major factor.
Our total itinerary: 2019, from September 20 Guangzhou—Hong Kong departure—Morocco—UK—Morocco—Hong Kong—October 11 Guangzhou, 22 days in total.
At first, we only planned to go to Morocco, not the UK. So a long, long time ago, we saw that the round-trip ticket from Hong Kong to Morocco around the National Day holiday was only over 3000 RMB per person. Yes, round trip! So we impulsively booked the tickets, with no specific plans yet. Around May or June, my wife said 22 days in one country was too long and suggested going to the UK midway. Then we started searching for round-trip tickets from Morocco to the UK… Morocco is visa-free, but the UK requires a visa with a long processing period. The key was that we had less than two months before departure. We debated whether to buy the UK tickets first and then apply for the visa, or wait for the visa to come through first. Good things come to those who wait (or misfortunes never come singly). At the end of July, I was injured playing football and fractured my lower leg, so I had to use crutches and a wheelchair. I needed daily medicated foot soaks and weekly doctor visits. Also, Hong Kong Airport was closed at that time, so we were unsure if we could fly out of Hong Kong smoothly in September. These issues worried my wife greatly. Even if the external environment was fine, we didn’t know if my foot would recover in time. If I couldn’t walk, the whole trip would be ruined. My wife was extremely downcast, after all, this was our wedding honeymoon.
The UK visa process from application to issuance takes at least a month. If we didn’t apply then, the UK trip might not happen, and whether we could go to the UK would affect our Morocco itinerary. Only then did we realize how terrible procrastination is! Why didn’t we apply for the UK visa earlier! The arrow was on the string, and I gritted my teeth and told my wife, “Let’s prepare the materials for the UK visa right away. My foot will heal, don’t worry. As for Hong Kong Airport, we should trust that the Hong Kong government will ensure its normal operation.” So on a rainy afternoon, I hobbled on crutches from my workplace to the UK visa center to meet my wife (the UK visa requires personal attendance for biometrics but no interview) and submitted the application. I won’t go into the visa preparation process; there are many online guides. In short, the UK visa required relatively few documents, and no interview, which is much better than the US visa. Next, we waited for over half a month and finally got the visa. But by then, we had only one month left before departure. We were traveling independently—no hotels booked, no tickets from Morocco to the UK purchased. Although we had skimmed some guides, the need to switch between countries, arrange wedding photos in Morocco, find a photographer, and have the UK itinerary affected by Morocco’s schedule… suddenly felt overwhelming. This damn procrastination! We are definitely faithful practitioners of “deadline is the first productivity.”
Since the round-trip tickets from Hong Kong to Marrakech, Morocco were already booked, we just needed to fill in the gaps between these two times. Our idea: the main purpose in Morocco was to shoot wedding photos; in the UK, there was no mandatory photo task, mainly for relaxation.
Then the problem arose: how to find a photographer in Morocco? Find one from China? The airfare alone would kill the idea of a cross-country wedding shoot, not to mention transportation, meals, accommodation, etc. So that was not feasible. Find a local foreign photographer? We tried that too; we contacted a few via VPN, but the language and cultural barriers were too great, and communication was difficult. Plus, our budget was limited. Cheap ones seemed unreliable, and famous photographers were very expensive—we didn’t want to spend 100,000 or 80,000 RMB just for photos. This problem really gave us a headache, especially since we are firm believers in “spending the least to achieve the best results.” Fortunately, I had been following an independent photographer for a long time—a Chinese person in Casablanca. We had contacted her online and seen her work; it seemed good. At first, we were a bit uneasy because she didn’t have a shop in China, so we didn’t confirm. Now time was running out, and we couldn’t find a suitable photographer, so we decided to go with her. Let’s call her K.
The photographer offered a package for 7 days within Morocco, with unlimited locations. That means within 7 days, she would follow us, taking photos while we traveled. Morocco’s scenic spots are scattered all over the country; if we wanted to shoot wedding photos at as many places as possible, we would have to circle Morocco in 7 days! Although the country is not huge compared to China, completing the circuit in 7 days while doing makeup, posing for photos, and changing outfits would be extremely demanding. Many women get exhausted just going out for half a day with photos; we were about to do a 7-day grand tour.
With no other option, we took a mission-oriented approach to the Morocco trip and drafted a detailed route: Marrakech—Ouarzazate—Merzouga—Fes—Ifrane (short stop)—Chefchaouen—Casablanca—Edinburgh, UK—London—Marrakech—Hong Kong.
Simply put, we would finish Morocco in 7 days.
Before departure, we rented a car on a certain universal e-commerce platform, which would follow us throughout Morocco. Looking back, this was probably the most brilliant—though expensive—decision. It saved us a lot of energy and time, and came with a local driver named D (we called him that). He was from the Sahara, a Berber man who could communicate with us in simple English, which was already rare since most locals speak only Arabic and French. We couldn’t pronounce his name accurately due to the Berber guttural sounds. But D was a very nice driver: responsible, hardworking, polite, and attentive. He would rush to open doors for us. In one word: very reliable!
Thus, our wedding photography team of four was formed: me and my wife, K, and D.
When we booked the tickets at the beginning of the year, we never imagined the situation in Hong Kong. We were a bit anxious before departure, but later felt relieved when the court granted an injunction for the airport. To avoid unnecessary trouble, we chose to take a ferry from Nansha Port to Hong Kong. The reason is simple: after arriving by ferry, we could directly enter the airport restricted area without going through the terminal.
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September 20: Guangzhou - Hong Kong - Transfer in Munich
September 21: Transfer in Munich - Marrakech
September 22: Marrakech
September 23: Marrakech - Ouarzazate
September 24: Ouarzazate - Sahara Desert (Merzouga)
September 25: Sahara Desert (Merzouga) - Ifrane - Fes
September 26: Fes - Chefchaouen
September 27: Chefchaouen
September 28: Chefchaouen - Casablanca
September 29: Casablanca - Edinburgh
On the night of September 20, we took a flight around 11 pm. We arrived at Hong Kong Airport smoothly by ferry from Nansha in the afternoon. After checking in our luggage, we breathed a sigh of relief: the first step was successful. Currently, there are no direct flights from China to Morocco, so we first flew about 10 hours to Munich for a transfer. We couldn’t leave the airport, so we stayed there for 5 or 6 hours before flying to Marrakech.
Lufthansa was a large aircraft, but spending the night on the plane was a bit tough. Fortunately, there were movies to watch, and we dozed off and on, so time passed quickly. When we arrived in Munich, it was only 3 or 4 am local time. The airport was big but had little to see. We strolled around and video-called family. Lufthansa served German bread—maybe pretzel bread or salted bread—which was harder than other bread.
The flight from Munich to Marrakech was almost entirely white passengers, with very few Chinese! That was rare, considering it’s hard to not see Chinese people anywhere in the world now. It shows that Morocco hasn’t become a top choice for Chinese yet, or maybe they weren’t on our flight.
We couldn’t help but feel emotional when we saw the African continent from the plane. Flying over Asia and Europe, we saw trees, water, and mountains. But over Africa, there were only patches of gray and red soil, with some green vegetation that looked like it could be swallowed by the surrounding desert at any moment—very dry.
Several things happened as soon as we arrived in Morocco that showed us another side of it. First, when we landed at Marrakech Airport and picked up our luggage, we found that our suitcase had been opened! It was locked before check-in, and we hadn’t packed any prohibited items. We could only guess that it was done by internal staff in Morocco, because if it had been opened in Germany or Hong Kong, it would have been reported during the next leg. Fortunately, nothing was missing. We had mentally prepared for such incidents in Morocco, so we comforted ourselves and went to buy two local SIM cards, as planned. Later, we found out that even the SIM cards were a rip-off, which I’ll mention later.
After leaving the airport, we headed straight to the hotel. Here, we naturally stayed in a riad in the Medina (the old city of Marrakech). A riad is a traditional Moroccan courtyard-style house; it is said that only the wealthy could live in them in the past. Now many have been bought by Europeans and converted into guesthouses. These hotels are usually in small alleys that cars cannot enter. At the entrance, there are usually people with flatbed carts who will help carry your luggage for a fee—about 20 dirhams is fine.
Because we were tired from the journey and it was already afternoon, we walked to Jemaa el-Fnaa square for a quick look. We bought a juice that didn’t taste fresh, and the boss deliberately gave us less change—very frustrating. We hadn’t been out long when the photographer said she had arrived at our hotel, so we went back to meet her. On the way, we bought some cactus fruit to eat. Without experience, we got thorns all over our hands and spent a long time picking them out. We briefly discussed the photo itinerary with the photographer and didn’t go out for dinner that night.
Our self-booked private car wouldn’t start until the day after next. But my mother-in-law had some enthusiastic Moroccan friends who, on their own, booked a car for us to tour Marrakech. However, due to language barriers, we couldn’t contact the driver or friends. Worse, one of the two SIM cards we bought at the airport ran out of call minutes after just two minutes of calling, even though we were told it had 100 minutes! The other card was mainly for data, with only about 10 minutes of talk time. So we had to ask the hotel receptionist to help us make calls. After a lot of trouble, we finally managed to arrange a meeting with the driver. That night, we didn’t even have dinner; we just went upstairs to rest and organize our luggage. Morocco has many good qualities, but the quality of people varies a lot. These two incidents served as a warning. Fortunately, the hotel staff were reliable, which gave us some peace of mind.
The next day, we started the shoot-shoot-shoot rhythm. Because of language issues, there were more small problems. The night before, we had arranged with the front desk guy (a slightly chubby version of Jon Snow) that breakfast would be served at 8 am sharp. My wife and the photographer needed to do makeup, so I went to the rooftop first to eat. I told him I would eat first while my wife did makeup, and she would eat later. But Snow was really slow. After waiting a long time, he finally served breakfast. After eating, I went downstairs and said my wife took too long with makeup and had no time, so could we pack some breakfast? Snow seemed unhappy and said something about our driver waiting for an hour and us being late, adding that breakfast also took 30 minutes to prepare, shaking his head. What? He waited 30 minutes for me? I thought I waited for them! I got angry and said I waited 30 minutes for them. But Snow couldn’t accept it. Eventually, he went to the rooftop to pack breakfast for us. Clearly, communication was poor; both of us had mediocre English.
The driver waited in the lobby for a while, then went outside. We weren’t familiar with the area and had trouble communicating with locals, so we didn’t know where his car was parked. Eventually, we asked Snow to contact the driver. The driver said he couldn’t find a parking spot and had to park by the roadside near the archway. When we found the car, we saw two girls inside. Was this a shared ride??? Since everyone was going to Majorelle Garden, we set off together. But when we arrived, the driver asked when to pick us up. The girls started to complain that they had paid the same amount and didn’t want to adjust to our schedule. We thought about it: we hadn’t intended to book a private car anyway; it was just arranged by my mother-in-law’s friend. So we didn’t bother arguing and said they could keep the car for themselves.
We arrived at Majorelle Garden after 9 am, and there was already a long queue, mostly Europeans. I thought, “Finally, a famous spot without Chinese people!” But we were too naive; once inside, we saw plenty of Chinese.
Majorelle Garden is the private garden of Yves Saint Laurent, founder of YSL. He loved it during his lifetime; it was the Eden of his love with his partner Pierre. Pierre spent the most wonderful moments here, and for YSL, the garden was a source of design inspiration. After his death, his ashes were scattered here, and there is a tombstone. The most famous feature is the blue color called Majorelle Blue, extracted from a local plant, unique and paired with bright yellow accents. With clusters of giant cacti and other plants everywhere, the garden exudes fashion and exoticism. The sun was bright, and there were many people. We changed into two outfits for photos and didn’t want to go anywhere else.
When we changed into wedding dress and suit, we attracted a lot of attention. We looked for different angles to shoot. What moved us was that every time a foreign passerby saw us, they either smiled or gave us blessings. In a foreign land, an Asian couple, in an African fashion garden, receiving blessings from strangers from Europe, America, and around the world—it was quite interesting.
We shot under the sun until the afternoon, then returned to the hotel to eat some instant noodles we brought from China. After resting a bit, we decided not to go to other attractions. Our riad itself had strong Moroccan character, with a small pool in the courtyard. The photographer suggested we wear Moroccan traditional clothes and shoot the architecture in the riad. We had returned late from Majorelle Garden, and we were still jet-lagged, so we rested longer. Finally, we decided to let my wife take some swimsuit photos in the riad’s small pool. My wife had strictly controlled her diet to the point I couldn’t bear to watch; she loved snacks but had held back for months. If she didn’t show off the results, she might be upset. So I also changed into Moroccan traditional clothes and watched the photographer look for angles from every corner of the riad. This kind of architecture is unique: every such building has a small pool in the middle (which at first sight only makes me want to wash my feet), combined with many Moroccan mosaics, creating a distinctive style that only the wealthy could afford. Speaking of mosaics, I marvel at how Arabs use them ingeniously. Mosques, schools, residences, even public floorings are covered with mosaics, all exquisitely combined. It reminds me of Arabic numerals—Arabic people are truly intelligent.
After shooting, my wife changed into a Moroccan traditional dress, and we went out to find food. Along the way, locals kept singing to us. K said it was a Moroccan tradition: when they see our clothes, they know we are newlyweds, and they sing local wedding songs to bless us. So we shamelessly walked through the streets of Marrakech, constantly receiving friendly blessings from locals. It was a wonderful feeling. Finally, we found a small restaurant nearby. The menu was in French; we used a translation app and the owner’s broken English to order the famous tagine and taco, which had a lot of meat—we couldn’t finish it—and a salad that nobody liked because it had green peppers, not the usual leafy salad.
The cost of living in Marrakech is quite high. First, hotel prices are above average; second, taxi fares and food prices don’t seem like those of a poor African country. This might be due to the thriving tourism industry.
It was only the first day, and we were already exhausted. K told us to pace ourselves because it would get tougher later; her previous clients often didn’t want to shoot anymore due to lack of energy. So we returned to the hotel to rest. The next day, we would head to Ait Benhaddou—Ouarzazate, the filming location of Game of Thrones.
Our route was a counterclockwise loop of Morocco. So from Marrakech, the next stop was Ouarzazate. As a Game of Thrones fan, I naturally wanted to visit Ait Benhaddou to find traces of Daenerys freeing the Unsullied.
Early in the morning, D came to pick us up and helped carry our suitcases. Before departing, we bought water and some food at a Carrefour in the city. Maybe because Morocco was a French colony, French influence is everywhere. The only large supermarket we saw was Carrefour. I heard that the high-speed railway between Casablanca and Tangier was also funded by France.
We drove all the way and arrived at Ait Benhaddou around noon. Driver D took us to a local Moroccan restaurant for lunch; it was a bit expensive, and we couldn’t finish the bread. During the meal, we chatted with D. He is a Berber, a man from the Sahara Desert. He has been driving for a tourism company in Marrakech for 10 years—an experienced driver. After eating, the sun was scorching hot. K knew the owner of a Chinese restaurant where we could do makeup and change clothes, and then walk up to the fortress village for photos when the sun was weaker, avoiding the heat and capturing the sunset. The restaurant owner, a Chinese man who seemed to be single, employed locals. I even took a nap there. Wishing him a prosperous business.
Let me quote an online introduction: Ait Benhaddou, built in the 8th century, consists of six kasbahs. “Kasbah” is a popular local architectural form where residences and granaries are built like fortresses. The kasbahs are typically decorated with geometric patterns at the top. Ait Benhaddou has a defensive wall, and the houses inside are made of mud bricks. The process of making mud bricks is simple: mix mud and straw, pour into wooden molds, and dry in the sun.
We wore suits and a white wedding dress and climbed up. As before, people sang and blessed us along the way. The TV show “Journey of Styles” with Lin Chiling and Shen Teng also visited here. It’s a very interesting and distinctive village.
After shooting, it was dark. D was waiting for us outside the restaurant. My wife, wearing a long wedding dress, was exhausted from climbing up and down. After changing, we went directly to the hotel.
Because we had a car, we booked a castle hotel a bit far from the city center—cheap, and we wanted to experience the castle atmosphere. When we arrived, we were pleasantly surprised; the hotel was really awesome! First, the front desk girl wore a traditional headwrap, and the bellboy looked like a local farmer in a long robe. The hotel entrance was inconspicuous, and the surroundings were quiet. Inside, we saw a garden-style courtyard with small tables and candlelight flickering in the darkness. Many people were having candlelit tea. It made us forget we were in a poor African country. It was incredible that such a romantic castle hotel could exist in this remote area. The staff led us to our room, and we liked the hotel even more: the interior was clean and slightly mysterious; seeing the staff’s long robes gave a mysterious organization vibe from movies. The hotel was renovated from an old castle, with exquisite decorations. When we entered the room, we were delighted again; every detail seemed carefully designed, and the air was filled with a pleasant fragrance. We regretted not arriving earlier, because we had to leave early the next morning for the next destination.
The next morning, we packed up and went to the courtyard for breakfast. In daylight, the courtyard looked like a small garden, very beautiful, with a pool. The staff were very friendly. Moroccan breakfast is characterized by various breads and dipping sauces, with knives and forks—a Western approach to Moroccan food, perfect for plating and photos. There were juice, coffee, and goat milk—very rich. This stay cost only about 300 RMB per night with breakfast! Great value. Next time, we would definitely stay here again. This time, we only had K take a few quick photos during breakfast before heading to Merzouga. Next stop: the Sahara Desert!
The road from Ouarzazate to Merzouga passed through mountain passes. We wanted to visit the famous Dades Gorge (specific name unknown, just heard it’s famous), but due to a slight miscommunication with D, he took us to another small gorge that didn’t seem interesting. If we went looking for the gorge, we might arrive at the Sahara late in the afternoon, so we gave up on the big gorge and went straight to Merzouga. But, but! Serendipitously, we passed an unnamed gorge that was magnificent and spectacular, so we stopped for a photo session—very epic, wasn’t it?
So it goes with travel: you think you’ve missed something, but you end up finding something better.
After driving for a while, leaving the gorges and mountains behind, the road became flat. The scenery on both sides was truly desolate: sparse vegetation and occasional houses, otherwise open wilderness. The road stretched into the distance, seemingly endless. But as we got closer to the Sahara, we became more excited. Finally, at the end of our sight, mountain-like black shadows appeared and multiplied. D told us that was the Sahara! Finally, we saw the legendary Sahara Desert. Those were the sand dunes, higher than the ground. As we drove forward, more and more dunes appeared.
D took us to a large café-like place in the town (also desolate) and called the owner of the tent we had booked. About 20 minutes later, a curly-haired, slightly chubby Arab guy in a 4x4 appeared. The town is on the edge of the Sahara, and the tents we would stay in are deeper in the desert. You can only get there by camel or 4x4; our regular car couldn’t go in. Our tent package included pick-up and drop-off.
The guy was a typical Berber. He played lively Arabic music in the car. K was still carsick (she gets carsick easily; she slept through half the Morocco trip). The guy kept teasing K, asking if she was uncomfortable, singing loudly to her, and driving the 4x4 aggressively over small dunes, tilting the car so much we feared it might tip over. We saw other tourists on camels, and our car roared past them; I waved at them. It was around 4–5 pm, and the desert was like an oven. Riding a camel into the camp would take at least an hour—a torture. We were glad we chose not to take a camel. The car had no A/C, so we enjoyed the hot Sahara wind, listened to the music, and watched the guy laugh and liven up the atmosphere. It felt like riding a rollercoaster into the camp. Here, there was only sand and scorching sun, with no sign of life. But the guy’s hearty laughter made me feel that to survive in the desert, you need more passion than the sun!
The tent we stayed in that night was very basic. Inside, it was stuffy and hot, with no air conditioning, like an oven. The camp had only 8 tents (8 rooms), but there were showers with cold and hot water. After settling in, we decided to do makeup while waiting for the sun to set, then shoot outside the camp. Sunset and non-sunset were two completely different worlds here.
The staff, all young locals, kept shouting “Africa” at us, very interesting. We shot until it was completely dark, then the boss guy arranged dinner.
Morocco is magical: a poor country, but never lacking romance. The guy set up dinner tables in the open area in the middle of the camp, with Moroccan-style night lights. The temperature was just right, neither hot nor cold. The surroundings were quiet; we were under the stars, enjoying a romantic Sahara candlelit dinner. There weren’t many guests—only about 5 or 6 tables: Canadians, French, all foreigners, only our table Chinese. The guy was hilarious. He went around joking and chatting, livening up the atmosphere. When he came to our table, he couldn’t stop teasing K, loudly declaring he would marry her. We said he would have to come to China and get her parents’ approval. We laughed the whole time. He kept praising K’s beauty and introduced her as “my wife, my wife” to everyone. Very funny guy.
Dinner was abundant: meat and vegetables. The three of us couldn’t finish it. After dinner came the traditional bonfire party. The guy sat with several staff and the cook, playing African drums and singing. We lay or sat on cushions on the sand, gazing at the starry sky. In the distance, we could hear drumbeats and songs from other camps—some even livelier. So throughout this part of the Sahara, the sound of African drums floated, echoing late into the night.
The next morning, we got up at around 4 am for makeup and costume changes, preparing to go to nearby dunes to wait for sunrise and start formal shooting. We woke up the guy, as arranged the night before. The sky still had stars. The guy had gone to bed late and was clearly sleepy. When we arrived at the dunes, he parked, told us to shoot by ourselves, and then lay down on the sand to continue sleeping. Yes, he dug a hole in the sand and slept in it—hilarious.
We chose several spots and angles for photos and waited for sunrise. My wife and I sat high on a dune, leaning on each other, facing east. The Sahara was silent; dunes stood still. It wasn’t hot yet. Occasionally, we heard distant shouts—maybe other people watching sunrise too. It was hard to believe we were so far from the “mundane world,” in this sacred Sahara Desert, like a dream. The whole world seemed to slow down. This moment belonged only to us, eternal. The sun gradually rose, casting light everywhere. We saw that the Sahara sand was reddish, not the yellow we imagined—even more unique. We clicked away frantically, afraid of missing this magnificent scene. Under K’s direction, we posed in many ways until the sun rose higher. It was only 8 am, but it was getting hot. My wife’s face looked pale; she was exhausted. Since landing, we had been constantly on the move, changing cities or locations almost every day, plus makeup and shooting. Getting up so early today with little rest took a toll. She forced herself to take two more photos, then almost fainted. We immediately stopped, helped her into the car, and returned to camp. On the way, watching my wife doze off, I wondered if every woman would push herself to such extremes for beautiful photos.
Back at camp, other foreign guests were checking out and leaving. They looked at us, curious and surprised, as if wondering what we had just gone through—like refugees, haha.
We helped my wife lie down and gave her some yogurt and fruit. She gradually felt better. The desert was getting hotter, nearing noon. We still had to head to the next stop: the ancient city of Fes. When K showed some photos to my wife, she perked up immediately. The photos turned out great—her fainting in the desert was worth it. We gave the guy 100 dirhams as a tip. He was a very nice person, waking up early with us and even sleeping on the sand. After a nap, he was energetic again and drove us to the large café where D was waiting.
On the way to the town, the guy regained his Berber enthusiasm and started “pursuing” K again, asking her age and if she would consider him. K said he probably had a wife already and was just joking. He said he was 28 and not married. We didn’t believe he was that young. Without hesitation, he pulled out his passport (or ID?) from the car to prove he wasn’t lying—he was born after 1990! Haha, with his beard, we thought he was in his 30s or 40s. He was really funny. We felt he worked hard in such a harsh environment, driving in and out, taking care of guests, managing the tent business. The most commendable thing was his unwavering passion, not wilted by the scorching heat.
D picked us up and drove to Fes. As the car gradually left the dunes, I looked back at the red sand shrinking and disappearing from view. I told my wife I felt like crying—maybe moved by the people here. Such a harsh desert, yet such beautiful scenery. The people here seem full of zest for life. This feeling is impossible to experience in a big city. Life is truly magnificent. And we left the mark of our new love here—an unforgettable experience. No wonder Sanmao traveled thousands of miles to the Sahara and wrote romantic poems. She must have loved it too.
The journey was smooth. Near Fes, there is a small town called Ifrane, between the Sahara and Fes. We passed by and stopped to have a look.
Ifrane is known as the Little Switzerland of North Africa. It looks completely like a European town, including architecture and management—clean, bright, not at all like Africa. It’s a ski resort; many Europeans come here specifically for vacations and skiing. It’s a very pleasant place. We ate ice cream as we walked on the street, feeling a bit dazed. That morning, we had been fainting in the harsh desert; now we seemed to be back in a civilized, peaceful modern world. The contrast was so huge it felt surreal.
After an hour of strolling, we got back in the car and continued to Fes. That night, we stayed at the Ibis Hotel in Fes—the first time in a proper modern hotel in several days. Though small, it felt somewhat modern.
Morocco has four imperial cities; the oldest is Fes, the most ancient city in Morocco. It is the third largest city after Casablanca and Rabat, and a famous religious and cultural center in the Arab world. The ancient city of Fes was built in 808 AD and is described as a living “One Thousand and One Nights.” Inside, there are countless alleys; maps are useless once you enter.
The next day, we slept in and adjusted. We did makeup in the hotel lobby, then headed to a hilltop overlooking Fes. There were ruins, reportedly an ancient tomb, offering a panoramic view of the city center. Many fashion magazine models have shot covers here. The hilltop was very sunny, with few people. The view of the entire ancient city was spectacular.
After shooting, we planned to change into traditional costumes and wander through the old city alleys. Since we had already checked out, we decided to change clothes in the car on a quiet roadside, with D waiting outside. Fortunately, the car was spacious, making changing easy. I think the car played a huge role throughout the journey, solving many problems and saving a lot of time. D was especially supportive, providing professional service all the way.
So K led us into the old city alleys to take candid shots. As soon as we entered, our attire attracted attention from locals; they stared, and some sang blessings. The alleys were dirty, but it was clear that most were the living spaces of original residents, selling everyday items. However, because we drew so much attention, a man approached us, speaking English and offering to guide us. Before coming to Morocco, we had heard about scammers and tricksters—like walking with you and then demanding money for “guide fees.” The man looked like a typical villain from TV, with a strange demeanor, not like the pure friendliness of other locals. So we decisively chose the opposite direction. But he followed us wherever we went and bothered us again. Feeling very uncomfortable, I told him we wanted to be left alone. He said “oh” and walked away with a creepy smile. I regretted wearing such conspicuous clothes in these alleys. Our wariness of strangers in Morocco, fueled by online stories of unpleasant encounters, proved justified when we encountered this weirdo and were followed. It was unnerving. We decided to head out, but then we realized we had lost our way—the map didn’t show the alley routes. So we had to brace ourselves and navigate through the maze. The legend of the labyrinth is true; we hadn’t believed the descriptions before, but now we did.
While wandering through some alley, we came across a group of children playing and a few sturdy young men chatting nearby. Honestly, I briefly feared they might rob us, trapped as we were in this cage. Just as we passed them and thought we were safe, I turned back and saw one of the young men quickly approaching us. My heart tightened again. What did he want? But then he pulled out his phone and asked in English if he could take a photo with us. We breathed a sigh of relief. The guy, though strong, didn’t seem rash and spoke politely. We gladly agreed. K suddenly asked if we could gather the children for a group photo. The young man said OK and shouted at the children. They obediently surrounded us and took a photo. Instantly, we felt much better about him—he was a kid leader. We asked for his help to find the exit. He looked at our phone navigation and said we were heading the wrong way, going deeper. He pointed in another direction and explained the route. Then, perhaps worrying we might still get lost, he offered to take us to the main road (still an alley, but busier).
We walked and chatted. I asked where he learned English, since many locals don’t speak it. He said he learned at school, mainly French with some English. He asked us to send him the photo from K’s camera. Did he have WeChat? No, only Facebook. We said we couldn’t use it, so we asked for his email. He said we could walk along this main road to exit. We shook hands and said goodbye.
Now the alleys were much more crowded, even congested. We quickened our pace, wanting to escape. Suddenly, someone tapped me. I turned around to see an old woman with a stick, reaching out for money. I ignored her and continued. After a while, the crowd grew thicker. I started feeling anxious. The people here seemed unfriendly. If I were alone, it wouldn’t matter, but my bride was with me, and I didn’t know how to protect her in such a crowd. Too many incidents today. Then a child—probably the most memorable kid I’ve ever seen—kept walking in front of us, looking up and stretching out his hand. We dodged him, but he crawled in front again, blocking us, his eyes showing a greedy adult expression. He looked only 3 or 4 years old! In China, I might have kicked such a brat, but here I didn’t. Better to avoid trouble. I really couldn’t understand what these people were thinking. But just then, a man pushing a cart came from the opposite direction and accidentally bumped into the kid. The kid immediately fell to the ground crying. This made us even more nervous. With such a crowd, if his parents came over and blamed us, we couldn’t explain clearly. So we hurried forward. I looked back and saw the kid was probably just hurt from the bump, not seriously. The cart man stopped to check on him. Though we felt a bit sorry, we couldn’t stop.
When we reached the gate we entered from, it felt like the joy of seeing the light at the end of an adventure. We kept wondering if the kid’s parents would angrily chase after us. Until D picked us up, we were still shaken. Where was the fairytale feeling of One Thousand and One Nights? It was completely different from our imagination! The people here were strange—even though there were good people like the young man, there seemed to be more odd “bad guys.” We didn’t even visit the famous tannery; we didn’t plan to anyway, and wearing such conspicuous clothes, we didn’t want to bother searching. We heard you need a guide to find it, so we gave up.
So, Fes old city, see you again if fate allows. Maybe next time we won’t dress so prominently…
Next stop: Chefchaouen.
We calmed down and drove north for several more hours, finally arriving at the blue town. Chefchaouen is a mountain city built on a slope, famous for its buildings painted in unified blue. This small and fresh style attracts many girls to take photos here—a true internet-famous spot.
The town itself has elevation differences. D parked in a small square where cars can’t go further. Our hotel required climbing many stairs. With over 20 days of trip and photo equipment, we had a lot of heavy luggage.
In the square, there were many “porters” who immediately surrounded us, asking to carry luggage. Still traumatized by scams in Morocco, we negotiated with them through D and finally settled on 2 people, 20 dirhams each. Two local lads worked quickly, hoisted our big suitcases, and strode up. At the hotel (another small courtyard-style guesthouse), they were sweating profusely. My wife gave them 50 dirhams, expecting them to split it and not expecting change for the extra 10. But they didn’t show gratitude; instead, they complained about how heavy the luggage was and demanded 100 dirhams, asking for more. I was furious. Hadn’t we agreed on the price downstairs? We told them the hotel name, and now they wanted more after the job. I wasn’t going to tolerate it. I shouted at them that I had already given 10 more than agreed. Seeing my strong stance, they grumbled and went down. So, in Morocco, when hiring porters or paying for goods, it’s best to prepare exact change because some (not all) have no intention of giving change. (Most shops are reliable.)
We planned to stay two nights in Chefchaouen. The previous itinerary had been too fast, changing places every day. We deliberately scheduled this as a breather. For price and photo needs, we booked two different hotels for the two nights. The first one was chosen because K had shot wedding photos there for other clients, and we liked its looks.
That evening, we strolled around. We hadn’t eaten Chinese food since arriving in Morocco, and my wife was suffering. Especially without leafy vegetables, eating only bread and tagine every day was torturous for a Guangzhou native who loves fresh ingredients. We found several Chinese restaurants. Using a popular domestic app, we found one called “Castle in the Sky” for dinner. Yes, Chinese are so resourceful that domestic apps work here too; many Chinese have been here!
The restaurant’s decor matched Chefchaouen’s blue theme. The waitstaff were locals, and the owner was a young Chinese man with glasses. Since we had eaten a lot of meat along the way, my wife’s eyes lit up when she saw stir-fried greens. We also ordered tomato-scrambled eggs and a fried rice—all vegetarian. The meat dishes were expensive—about 100 RMB each—and we didn’t know the taste, so we skipped them. In Morocco, we often heard about “saving the Chinese stomach.” Arabic cuisine feels similar to Xinjiang food: lots of meat and bread, not as varied as traditional Chinese dishes. Many Chinese have trouble adapting. I adapt easily; I even enjoy Moroccan food because here, despite the heat, eating barbecue doesn’t make me feel “heaty” like in Guangzhou. So I treasure this rare opportunity to eat so much “hot” food. But my wife couldn’t adapt, constantly craving greens and sour pickles… Even without meat, this meal cost 140 RMB, making us realize that eating Chinese abroad is a luxury.
The next morning, after breakfast at the hotel, we changed into wedding dress and suit and did makeup and photos at the hotel. The hotel was exquisite, with a small courtyard that was very pretty.
At noon, we checked out. I moved our luggage with D to the second hotel, then started shooting on the streets. The sun was strong, and being in the mountains made it stuffy; our clothes were suffocating. As noon passed, more people appeared, and many popular photo spots had queues. We had to walk around and find less crowded places.
Compared to Fes, Chefchaouen felt safer, even in similar alleys with similar prominent outfits. The locals here were friendlier, and their stares were not as creepy as in Fes. No strange men approached us. But Chefchaouen was very hot and stuffy. Combined with the previous days of intense shooting and travel, and lack of rest after the desert, I felt slightly heat-struck. My wife was even more exhausted. After forcing a few more shots, we decided to go back to the first hotel’s public sofa area to rest. My wife had a slight fever since a couple of days earlier. At the “Castle in the Sky” restaurant, we had asked the owner’s local staff to write down symptoms in Arabic on a note. Now it came in handy. The hotel owner, despite our checkout, kindly took me to a local pharmacy to buy medicine. The medicine was in powder form, and the owner provided cups and water. Big praise!
After resting, we went to the second hotel, where my wife lay down again with fever. She woke up later, worried that she might have caught some disease, being in Africa. I comforted her that she was just tired, but she was still anxious. What to do in a foreign country with no acquaintances and language barriers? I called the Chinese consulate. I had heard there was a Chinese medical team in Chefchaouen. Perhaps through the consulate, we could find help. The staffer said there might be a medical team, but I should ask the owner of “Castle in the Sky” restaurant for details. That was the restaurant we had just eaten at! So the owner was well-known; even the consulate recommended him. There was hope.
I called D (he wasn’t staying in our hotel), asking him to drive us to the restaurant. I helped my wife slowly downstairs; she was shivering with fever. D came quickly, looking worried. He drove us to the restaurant. I remembered the location and directed him to a small alley where we got off.
Inside, we explained the situation to the Chinese owner. Without hesitation, he pulled out his phone and gave us a number. But my phone couldn’t make calls. He called the medical team number for us. The person who answered said he was no longer in Chefchaouen; the contact info was old, and the new person was unknown. So the owner called his capable local waitress, “Second Sister,” who had written the note for us yesterday. She offered to take us directly to the hospital. I said we have a car and driver. The owner called D and had Second Sister communicate with him. We rushed out to find D. At the alley entrance, D was very anxious and scolded Second Sister. I later learned that D had told her to hurry, but she was wasting time on the phone. The road was narrow, allowing only one car to pass. D endured honks and curses from blocked cars behind him until we got in.
At the local hospital, there were many patients. Second Sister led us to the counter, explained the situation, and medical staff took us to a courtyard at the back. We saw people playing table tennis. It was our Chinese medical team! It reminded me of the movie Wolf Warrior 2, though not as dramatic, but I was very moved. We briefly described my wife’s condition. The doctor checked her and said it was nothing serious—just too little rest and a slight fever. He gave us some medicine. My wife instantly perked up, seeing our Chinese doctors gave her confidence. That year was the 70th anniversary of the People’s Republic. After thanking the doctors, we took a group photo in front of the five-star red flag on the wall. This was one of the most unforgettable experiences of my life. Thank you, fellow Chinese doctors abroad. You work hard under tough conditions.
That night, my wife still had a fever. We had to transfer again the next day. After dropping Second Sister at the alley, we returned to the hotel to rest. We didn’t have time to thank the owner in person. I am writing this to silently promote his restaurant, “Castle in the Sky.” Wishing him prosperous business and good fortune! Future visitors to Chefchaouen can search for “Castle in the Sky” and support him.
I also want to mention the second hotel owner. He was very controlling, strict but funny. Due to space, I won’t elaborate.
After breakfast, we didn’t linger. We set off for our last Moroccan stop: Casablanca. Leaving the mountains, the terrain flattened, approaching the sea. For the first time, we saw a highway! For the entire week, we had driven on regular roads—good condition but surrounded by primitive landscapes. Seeing a beautiful asphalt highway was refreshing.
For most people who haven’t visited Morocco, Casablanca is the most famous city, thanks to the movie Casablanca (also called “The African Expedition”) and the song. I first knew about the city from the movie. Many think Casablanca is the capital, but it’s actually Rabat. We passed through Rabat but didn’t have time to stop.
The drive was smooth; we arrived at the hotel at noon. K said she would take us to a seaside spot in the evening for photos. D said his mission was complete and he had to return to Marrakech for his next job the next day. I said we still needed him to take us to the beach at 5 pm since we would be in suits and wedding dress and couldn’t take taxis easily. He agreed after some persuasion.
Casablanca is a big city. Our target was clear: the Hassan II Mosque, reportedly the second largest mosque in the world, built by the sea. Our plan was to shoot at a beach about 5 km from the mosque at dusk, with the mosque as a distant background. Then early the next morning, we would go inside the mosque, because K said guards might stop us from taking wedding photos inside during the day. Our hotel was right next to the mosque, a 5-minute walk away. It was an apartment-like hotel in a building, spacious and well-located, about 400+ RMB per night—good value. We ate instant noodles from China, changed clothes, did makeup, and went straight to the beach 5 km away.
It was near sunset. The tide was low, revealing many rocks. We could see the Hassan II Mosque in the distance. There was fog over the sea, making the mosque look like a mirage—very surreal.
To get closer to the water, we inched over wet, slippery rocks in leather shoes and wedding dress. We were lucky that day: the mist provided a natural filter, and the golden sunset light fell on us, making us feel like we were in a fairyland. On the shore, many people stopped their cars to watch us, and a few scattered tourists searched for shells among the rocks. Everything was dreamlike. I recalled the TV show where Shen Teng and Lin Chiling also strolled along this coast. K took photos with her SLR, and I greedily snapped with my phone. Besides the Sahara, this was the place I took the most phone photos.
After shooting, D drove us back to the hotel. Reflecting on the 7-day journey, D had been fully dedicated. The four of us formed a small team by fate, so we took a group photo as a souvenir.
We said goodbye to D at the hotel entrance and gave him double the tip. Without D, this trip wouldn’t have gone so smoothly. As we talked, I saw people across the street waving at us. A group of local young people, cheerful and lively, seemed curious about our wedding attire and kept waving. I gestured for them to come over. They rushed over like happy birds. K suggested a street shot. That photo became one of my favorites of the entire Morocco trip—you can feel their enthusiasm and energy through the picture, and their sincere blessings were evident from their smiles. We asked; they were students. No wonder—youth is full of vitality, and Moroccan youth even more so, pure and passionate. This became a memorable episode at the end of our Morocco photo tour.
After D left, K returned to her home in Casablanca. That night, it was just my wife and me for free time. We planned to wander around. I had heard that someone recreated the cafe from the movie Casablanca. It wasn’t far, so we decided to check it out.
It was dark; the streets seemed full of idle people looking around. My wife and I were a bit nervous, but nothing happened. At the entrance of the Rick’s Cafe, we saw a group of Chinese tourists waiting for their bus. There were two security guards at the door. We just took a photo outside; we weren’t interested in going in with so many people. We continued walking and discovered a huge shopping mall! We nearly cried—finally, a modern mall in Morocco after such a long time. We had dinner there. The mall was big; the second floor was a large food court with KFC and other familiar chains, very crowded. We ordered Thai fried noodles and some snacks, then walked back.
On the way, a boy around 10 years old greeted us in Chinese: “Ni hao?” I replied “Hello.” He froze with a confused expression, as if saying, “I used Chinese, you used English?” Haha, hilarious. Morocco has bad people but also many warm-hearted ones—ice and fire coexist.
Early the next morning, K came to our room to help with makeup. We took advantage of the quiet early time and relaxed security to shoot our final set of photos at the Hassan II Mosque.
The sun was rising. The mosque was right next to the hotel. There were few people. The mosque has a large plaza, very grand. In the thin mist, we entered the mosque complex and were amazed. Besides grandeur, it was extremely exquisite! I also felt it had a sci-fi architectural style, like Thor’s home? I especially loved the huge doors with Arabic arched tops. The mosque is a complex; the interior wasn’t open, but the exterior was enough for photos.
Unfortunately, we had a flight to UK at noon. After shooting for about an hour, we had to head back to the hotel. Throughout, we saw security guards watching us but not stopping us.
Thus, our entire photo trip concluded. Today we would fly to Edinburgh, connecting in Madrid.
———————————— Divider ———————————————
September 29: Marrakech - Edinburgh
September 30: Edinburgh
October 1: Edinburgh - York
October 2: York - London, evening watch The Phantom of the Opera
October 3: London - Cambridge (day trip)
October 4: London - Oxford (day trip)
October 5: London - Bath (day trip)
October 6: London city: Tower Bridge, Tower of London, watch Arsenal Premier League match
October 7: London city: Westminster Abbey, Royal Mews, Buckingham Palace, Windsor Castle
October 8: London city: British Museum, National Gallery, Thames River cruise
October 9: London - Marrakech
After checkout, we hurried to Mohammed V Airport. There are many flights between Morocco and Europe. We chose to transit in Spain for timing and price, and also to experience another country even if only at the airport.
I was wrong. Madrid airport transit was very complicated. We walked several kilometers inside the airport, passed at least 3 or 4 security checks, and once a staffer gave us wrong directions. From landing to boarding, we never stopped; we went straight to the gate. Very frustrating. We only had time to buy McDonald’s to go and eat on the plane (no free meals on this flight).
When we arrived in Edinburgh, the whole atmosphere changed. In Africa, it was sunny every day; in the UK, it was gloomy and overcast. October in Edinburgh was already cold. After customs, we took a tram (similar to Guangzhou’s Haizhu tram line) from the airport to the city center, with many stops along the way. We had booked a homestay for two nights; the hosts were a lesbian couple, and we had contacted them beforehand.
In the city, it was drizzling. We used Google Maps and contacted the host. Seeing the streets of the UK was exciting—not only because they were beautiful, but also because our previous trip was mostly in deserts and mountains, harsh environments. Suddenly arriving in a developed country felt like switching channels and styles. In Morocco, although we were shooting, it felt more like “shoot” than “travel,” with tight schedules. In the UK, we finally felt the honeymoon had truly begun.
The streets were a bit chilly, not as clean as I imagined, with scattered litter. But the buildings on both sides were refreshing to us. Developed country, better quality of people, fewer troublemakers—we didn’t have to be constantly on guard like in Morocco. That alone gave us peace of mind.
We found the homestay. It was a regular residential building, no elevator, 4th floor. That was tough—two large suitcases, each carefully packed and very heavy. I made two trips to carry them up. Inside, it was cozy. There seemed to be 5 or 6 rooms, all with wooden floors. It looked renovated; the walls were new, but the floorboards creaked. The hosts were a lesbian couple: one petite and cool called Lily, the other tall and warmer called G. Lily showed us around, explained house rules, then they went to their room.
Our room was clean, with carpet. The decor showed the hosts’ taste. The kitchen was large, big enough for a dining table and plenty of space. In the UK, tap water is drinkable, but as Chinese, we boiled it.
The next day, we slept in. Lily and G had showered and left for work. Edinburgh city center is small, with concentrated attractions, mostly walkable. Our place was about 2 km from the center, so we wandered slowly toward it. We had breakfast at an Italian restaurant on a corner. We decided to go to Waverley Station first to check it out for tomorrow’s train and to get a Two Together card. This card is a money-saver for train travel in the UK—a discount card for two people traveling together. You apply on site with a form and photo; it costs £30. After getting the card, we went to Edinburgh Castle. At the entrance, we saw the price was high, so we quickly ordered tickets on a domestic app, but it wasn’t instant. We had to wait a while outside before the tickets came through.
A quick Baidu intro: Edinburgh Castle sits on top of an extinct volcano, visible from all corners of the city. It became a royal fortress in the 6th century. After Queen Margaret died here in 1093, it became an important royal residence and administrative center. It remained one of the key royal castles in Britain through the Middle Ages.
The castle was historic, majestic, and on a hill with great views overlooking the whole city. It was easy to defend, impregnable. The interior mostly showcased military history, especially the contributions of Scots to British forces. In short, Scots are tough. The weather turned colder and remained gloomy, so photos didn’t look good. We went down early.
Downhill, we walked along the famous Royal Mile. There were men in kilts playing bagpipes, full of Scottish atmosphere. Side alleys were plentiful. It was windy and cold. We ducked into a Starbucks on the Mile to warm up.
Warmed up, we went to the National Museum of Scotland nearby. It houses the taxidermied remains of Dolly the sheep, the first cloned mammal. Plus, it’s free and indoors. The museum was bigger than it looked, well-organized, and historic. We stayed until closing.
As a Harry Potter fan, I had to visit the Elephant House cafe, where J.K. Rowling wrote the first book. Naturally, this popular spot had many tourists taking photos, but not everyone went inside—including us.
Edinburgh is a dark, gothic city. The buildings, due to age, turned black and seemed to absorb light. The Scott Monument in the city center looked like two black pillars. This darkness matched the perpetual overcast sky perfectly. Some might find it oppressive, but I always felt that beneath the exterior beats a brave heart of the Scottish people? Dusk fell, and we were tired. We looked for dinner. Restaurants that suited Chinese tastes were sparse; half seemed to be Italian. Was there no British local cuisine? After much searching, the streets seemed to offer only steak and pasta, expensive—easily £10-20 per person, unacceptable. So we returned to the same Italian restaurant for its variety and value.
One thing: Scotland uses not only pounds sterling but also Scottish pounds. Scots accept pounds but usually give change in Scottish notes, which are only valid in Scotland. So we tried to spend all Scottish pounds before leaving Scotland. Strange, right? Scotland was once independent; after merging with England, they never fully submitted, even their currency has unique designs. No wonder they keep pushing for independence.
Evening, no other plans; we rested and planned how to get to the train station the next day. G recommended a local ride-hailing service and gave us the address. Given our heavy luggage, we decided to use it.
Next stop: York. Originally, we planned to go straight from Edinburgh to London, but we had time for a stopover. We skipped Birmingham, Liverpool, and Manchester because I’m not a fan of the Beatles or Manchester United. Jay Chou’s wedding in a York church made this old town popular.
The UK’s railway system is very developed, including intercity lines and urban trams/metros. Edinburgh’s tram is one such ground-level rail. But the system has its criticisms: about 15 different railway companies, each with different pricing, not like China’s 12306 where the same seat type between two cities has a fixed price.
UK railway tickets are extremely complex. Prices vary by time (off-peak vs peak), company, refundability, advance purchase (early bird), and various discounts like the Two Together card. It’s mind-boggling.
Initially, I downloaded the recommended Trainline app, a third-party aggregator. It was not user-friendly, and credit card purchases incurred fees—pretty painful with the £9 to RMB exchange rate. Strangely, over 90% of online guides recommend it. If you don’t use it, you’d have to download each company’s app and register separately. The National Rail app only allows searches, not purchases. Then I stumbled upon TrainPal, which reportedly charges no fees. At first, I was unsure, but I found a few positive user experiences. It turned out to be developed by Ctrip’s team in China to solve the long-standing ticket purchasing pain in the UK. It apparently topped the UK app download chart after release. Why do so few Chinese friends recommend it? Anyway, after endless comparisons, I booked all our train tickets through it. Most were digital tickets: upon purchase, a QR code was generated for scanning at the gates. So, for travelers to the UK, must download TrainPal, TrainPal, TrainPal.
Our train was at 1 pm, so we took it easy in the morning. We called the cab, and the driver arrived in 10 minutes. It was similar to DiDi, spacious, with standardized interior. The driver was a very friendly woman. The distance was short, but with our luggage, taking the bus would have been a hassle.
Since we had scouted the station the day before, we were calm. We bought snacks at the mall inside the station. UK train stations are convenient; trains are generally punctual. Getting on and off is like taking the subway—no security checks, few people, and stations are small, so you don’t walk far.
The UK’s meadows are beautifully maintained. Looking out the train window, we saw lush green grass with many sheep grazing, clearly divided into plots. After two days of gloomy weather, seeing sunshine, green grass, white sheep, and even sea views lifted our spirits immensely.
We arrived in York around 4 pm. We walked from the station to the hotel. York is a small town, walkable. I thought it would be quiet, but it was livelier than expected. We stayed at the Queens Hotel. Since it was China’s National Day holiday, hotel bookings in York were very tight, mostly over 600 RMB. We reluctantly booked this one for 700+ RMB, prioritizing convenience and comfort. It was by the river, old but clean and cozy. The front desk staff were all local elderly ladies, very kind. Overall, good.
After dropping our luggage, we strolled around. It was drizzling, but we walked and took photos. This felt like the real honeymoon pace—no rush to see attractions. We explored most of the town. It is charming, clean, and tidy. The shops were beautifully arranged—maybe not exquisite, but comfortable. No trace of mess. We visited a supermarket; milk was cheaper than water, and chocolate cheap. Brits use chip-enabled contactless cards or cash, not QR codes. We had to carry cash and coins everywhere.
Since it was late, we had dinner at a Thai restaurant. In the UK, a meal easily costs at least £10 per person, not friendly to the RMB. Cold weather made us call it a day. The next day, our train to London was at 2 pm, so we had the morning free.
After breakfast and checkout, we left luggage at reception and went exploring. We visited York Minster. Today the sun was shining, bathing the town in golden light—a complete contrast to yesterday’s rain. The Minster is said to be one of the filming locations for Harry Potter, but we only took a quick photo outside. Then we went to the Shambles (the Diagon Alley of Harry Potter), where Harry and Hagrid supposedly bought school supplies in the movies. Harry Potter elements are everywhere. We also passed by the old city walls, but having seen many such walls in China, we weren’t impressed.
The UK is the birthplace of railways. The National Railway Museum is in York, and we spent our remaining time there. It exhibits trains from different eras, restored scenes. Free admission, with a donation box at the entrance. Many free attractions in the UK use this model.
After the museum, we had about an hour. We picked up luggage, bought some food at the station, and boarded the train to London.
Then came the highlight of our UK trip. We planned to spend the rest of the week in London, using it as a base to explore the surroundings thoroughly.
London hotels are expensive. It’s arguably the most expensive city in the world. Decent hotels start at £1000 RMB. So we chose homestay again. Price was one reason; on Airbnb, we got a 15% discount for stays of 7 nights, bringing it to about 400 RMB per night. Also, interacting with locals was a plus.
London’s transport is divided into zones. Zones 1-2 cover most of central London and major attractions. Most tourists stay in zones 1-2 and buy an Oyster card (like Guangzhou’s Yangchengtong). The tube lines are color-coded. Our homestay was near Holloway Road station on the Piccadilly line, zone 2, close to Arsenal’s Emirates Stadium and just three stops from King’s Cross station.
London has many train stations, mostly integrated TODs (like domestic models), very convenient. We took the train from York to King’s Cross, which was close to our homestay. The host was Louis, a single mother with a daughter in boarding school. She rents out her daughter’s room when the daughter is at school.
Before leaving York, Louis contacted us. She had to go out early for an appointment and asked our arrival time. I said around 4 pm. She said that was late, so she would come to the station to meet us, give us the keys, then leave. UK train platforms aren’t large, so we easily found each other. Louis was on crutches; she had twisted her ankle recently. As she explained how to find the house, she saw we were first-timers with heavy luggage. She offered to drive us home since it wasn’t far. Very nice.
On the way, she introduced nearby transport and roads, where to find markets, and warned about cyclists riding fast. She’s a London native and also owns a seaside house near London (I forget the name, like Guangzhou’s Nansha?). She asked how we chose her place; we said it was fate, haha.
At the building, again staircase, 4th floor! I had to carry the luggage up in two trips. The apartment was a duplex: bedroom and bathroom downstairs, living room, kitchen, and balcony upstairs. Very interesting.
We had booked the musical The Phantom of the Opera for 7:30 pm that night. So we went to the West End after dropping luggage. We were in a relaxed mood to start our London journey—no more moving every day for a week!
London’s tube is expensive: one ride costs £2-3, which is 20-30 RMB! Suddenly, Guangzhou Metro (let alone Beijing’s was 2 RMB flat) seemed so cheap! But there’s a daily cap; after spending a certain amount, further rides are free.
We walked to the nearest tube station, Holloway Road, to buy Oyster cards. The station was small. According to guides, we used a ticket machine, but it didn’t accept payment. We called a black female staff member; she said the machine was broken, and it was the only one selling Oyster cards. She told us to go to another station. Nearby, a man trying to buy a ticket shrugged helplessly and walked away. We said we needed to go to the West End now. She let us in for free, saying we could explain to the staff at the exit. This ride was free. Every cloud has a silver lining.
The West End is a musical hub, comparable to Broadway. Each theater runs one show continually. The Phantom of the Opera is performed at Her Majesty’s Theatre. We exited the tube, successfully got Oyster cards, and found the theater. It was early, so we strolled around and looked for food.
London was bustling, with many people. This area concentrates many attractions. We walked aimlessly and ended up at Trafalgar Square, which we had seen in guides. Many performances and events. A Baidu intro: The south of the square is Charing Cross, the traditional center of London; further south is Whitehall, leading to Parliament; southwest is Admiralty Arch; behind is The Mall leading to Buckingham Palace. The north side is the National Gallery. Surrounding are St. Martin-in-the-Fields church and high commissions of Canada, South Africa, Malaysia, etc. It resembled Guangzhou’s Huacheng Square (forgive me for using Guangzhou again).
After two rounds, we found many Italian restaurants, dominating the area, plus fast food and steak, similar to Edinburgh, and very expensive. We were running out of time before the show, so we had to grab McDonald’s (later we realized Chinatown was nearby). We arrived at the theater slightly late and were not allowed to enter through the main entrance; a staff member guided us through a side door. I had booked tickets through UK websites and asked a Hong Kong friend to pay—about 500 RMB each, much cheaper than domestic due to no middleman. Our seats were on the lower level, slightly obstructed above, but not bad. It was China’s National Day, and tickets were tight—almost thought it was the UK’s National Day. As I predicted, more than half of the audience were Chinese. If not for the blond people in front, I would have thought I was in a domestic theater.
As for the musical itself, you can search online. Our English limited, we mainly wanted to experience the culture and atmosphere. Still, we could appreciate the stage props, sound effects, and actors’ professionalism. Interesting: some locals wore suits and evening gowns, holding wine glasses during intermission. They seemed to enjoy the whole experience.
Our plan: first three days to Cambridge, Oxford, and Bath; last three days in central London. We bought a 3-day London Pass, which must be used consecutively. London attractions are expensive—a single ticket can be over £20. For two people, it would easily cost thousands. London Pass covers many attractions, including round-trip train tickets to Windsor Castle. We bought it domestically for 500 RMB each—very cost-effective, you break even after three attractions. Must-have for London.
The next morning at 10 am, we took a train from Liverpool Street Station to Cambridge, about an hour. Round-trip tickets for two: £23.80. Among London’s satellite towns, Cambridge was my top choice. We had sausages from the supermarket for breakfast, with corn, apple, and milk—the benefit of a homestay with a kitchen.
From Cambridge station, the university is a bit of a walk. There were buses, but we didn’t take them; we wanted to wander slowly. On the road, we saw Mobike bicycles—Chinese elements everywhere.
Cambridge University needs no introduction—a dream school for many. As the saying goes, “In Cambridge, the city is in the university; in Oxford, the university is in the city.” The colleges are scattered and independent. The most famous are Trinity College (Newton) and King’s College (poet Xu Zhimo). Some colleges are not open to the public; some charge admission (King’s College £9 each). We only entered King’s College to see the stone tablet dedicated to Xu Zhimo. Cambridge is picturesque. The River Cam runs through, and students at the shore often punt tourists along the river, passing medieval architecture. No wonder Xu Zhimo wrote such beautiful poetry.
It was cold that day. We didn’t take a boat tour—too crowded, losing the mood. We preferred walking along the riverbank. We stopped, took photos, but the weather was mostly cloudy—we were mentally prepared. For lunch, we ate at a stall in a flea market-like area. It served Chinese food. The middle-aged owner was efficient, speaking Mandarin and English. Funny thing: the chef was a foreigner! I watched his cooking technique; he was better than me. The place was popular with both Chinese and foreign customers. We ordered fried noodles—acceptable, can’t compare to China, but in the UK, finding stir-fried noodles is not easy.
We covered most of Cambridge on foot—there were many Chinese restaurants, all expensive. Before leaving, I tried the classic fish and chips. Average—maybe the shop wasn’t good.
Back in London, we loved visiting supermarkets. We explored several near our homestay, comparing prices with China as entertainment. We noticed that station supermarkets and malls charged the same as regular shops, so we always bought food at the station before boarding. Tired from walking, we bought some items and went back to rest.
Next day, we went to Oxford. We had debated between Oxford and Cambridge, but since we had time, we visited both for comparison. We managed to get round-trip tickets from London to Oxford for only £7.10 each, departing from Marylebone Station.
After many train rides, sometimes the conductor checked tickets, but we only had to show the Two Together card once. Still, don’t gamble; if you buy a discounted ticket without proof, you could be fined.
Interesting: two stops before Oxford is Bicester Village, an outlet shopping village. UK trains announce only in English, except for Bicester, which has a Chinese announcement. Reason: our train was full and we had no reserved seats, so we stood. At Bicester, half the carriage emptied—mostly Chinese tourists heading to the outlet. Then we got seats. Two British passengers looked puzzled. Without special reason, I didn’t want to cluster with fellow Chinese, so Bicester wasn’t on our itinerary.
Oxford is slightly smaller than Cambridge. We walked from the station. We were a bit travel-weary; my wife was more interested in shopping. Also, it was colder and raining. So we first ducked into a mall. Malls in the UK start selling Christmas decorations in October.
We kept a laissez-faire attitude—just walk and see whatever comes. We passed Oxford Bodleian Library, not open. It’s a major filming location for Hogwarts in Harry Potter. Even if open, reviews said it’s just a quick tour. We continued and arrived at the Oxford University Museum of Natural History. Unplanned, we went in. Not huge, but it displayed life-sized animal skeletons and models, some with real fur you could touch. At the entrance, dozens of schoolchildren sat, probably on a class trip.
I’ve visited many museums in Chinese cities, mostly historical. Natural history museums are less common. The UK has many famous ones. This museum, though not large, was rich in content. Kids seeing life-sized animals get vivid impressions and learn a lot.
After exiting, the rain didn’t stop. Autumn in the UK isn’t friendly—cold besides rain. We wandered to another Harry Potter filming location: Christ Church College. The dining hall there inspired the Great Hall in Hogwarts—the scene with floating candles and long tables. It closes at 4 pm; we missed it again. But then the weather relented: the rain stopped, and the sun briefly came out. We quickly snapped photos. Sunset light on the college walls was simply charming.
It’s said Oxford produces politicians (several PMs), while Cambridge produces scientists (Newton, etc.). These two top universities have built powerful alumni networks, supplying top talent to the UK and the world. We got a glimpse.
We returned to London at Paddington Station (from the movie Paddington Bear; there’s a statue of the bear). We searched for an Italian restaurant nearby and ordered seafood pasta and lamb chops—excellent. Generous seafood, fresh; lamb cooked perfectly. We shared the dishes, and the staff didn’t mind (typically Western restaurants serve individual portions, but they might be used to Chinese sharing). Watching a couple next to us each eat a whole 14-inch pizza, I silently admired their appetite. I prefer the Chinese way—sharing and trying different things, more flexible. The bill included 12% service charge, total around 200+ RMB—great value. It might be the restaurant many recommend; I’ll add the name later.
On the fourth day in London, we went to the farther away city of Bath, again from Paddington. London’s main train stations seem to have designated functions: King’s Cross for the north (Edinburgh), Paddington for the west (Bath, Windsor), Waterloo for the south (Gatwick), etc. If that’s true, it’s quite reasonable—distributing passengers and connecting via tube.
Bath: the name means bathing. There’s a Roman bathhouse site dating back 1000 years. Hot springs led Romans to build baths. The station is even called Bath Spa—sounds like a spa center.
Bath is said to be the only city in the UK designated a UNESCO World Heritage site, one of the most beautiful and elegant towns. I decided to go after seeing many photos. Jane Austen, author of Pride and Prejudice, loved this town and moved here with her father. There’s the Jane Austen Centre.
Upon exiting the station, I immediately liked the town. Its character differs from York, Cambridge, or Oxford. Hard to describe—maybe the first impression. Equally clean, but with some elevation changes, giving a rippling feel to the streetscape, adding layers.
British style is enduringly attractive: beautiful buildings plus high cultural standards—no litter, unified color schemes (Morocco also does this well), and shopkeepers carefully decorate their stores. For tourists, it’s a refined enjoyment. In Guangzhou or Shanghai, first-tier cities, you might see grand buildings but then encounter piles of garbage around the corner. Also, aesthetics matters. Unified planning is crucial; a standard template can transform a city’s appearance. I’ve seen many Chinese cities that hurt my eyes: Xi’an, a beautiful ancient city, but at night, the “Datang Everbright City” uses garish red and purple lights on the ancient walls, very tasteless. Maybe we’re still developing, but it’s not just about surface-level projects; it’s about optimizing every detail. We’re improving.
We began another day of intense walking. We passed the Roman Baths—admission £30+ each, so we didn’t enter. We walked around the nearby square, then to the Royal Crescent—a long, slightly curved row of terraced houses. In aerial view, it would look like a crescent moon. There’s a large open lawn in front; with a standard camera, you can’t capture the whole row without a wide-angle lens.
We had lunch at Nando’s, a popular UK chicken chain. Tasty, juicy chicken with rich flavors, different from KFC or McDonald’s.
We passed the Jane Austen Centre; the statue out front looked creepy, so we had no desire to enter.
Later, we walked along the river. If possible, staying overnight would be nice, to fully appreciate the town’s beauty.
Near Bath is Stonehenge, often visited on the same day. I searched online—just a few stones, you can’t get close, and transport is inconvenient, so I skipped it.
Back in London, we bought groceries at the supermarket and made a simple hot pot at home. We brought the hot pot base from China, planning to use it if we got tired of local food. We shared some with Louis; she likes Chinese food too, as her cupboard held several pairs of chopsticks and bowls.
After three consecutive days visiting surrounding cities, it was time for central London.
The day after Bath, we activated the London Pass. First stop: Tower Bridge. It’s the famous bridge that opens for ships, spanning the Thames. Three London landmarks are often confused: London Bridge (ordinary-looking), Tower Bridge (with towers), and the Tower of London (a castle/prison next to Tower Bridge).
Crossing Tower Bridge’s roadway is free; to go up the towers, you need a ticket (or pass). After security, staff assisted with elevators. Brief history: it’s old and has been repaired many times. High up, there’s a walkway connecting the two towers, with historical displays and a few glass floor panels overlooking the Thames. Many people sat on the floor for photos, including us. The route went from one tower, across the walkway, to the other. The pass also included free access to the engine rooms, but we skipped due to time.
We then walked to the Tower of London, visible from across the river, right next to Tower Bridge. It was busier; we queued about 5 minutes—quite fast for a popular UK attraction. With the pass, we entered. The castle has inner and outer wards, built over different periods. It was both a castle and a prison.
From Baidu: The Tower of London served as a fortress, armory, treasury, mint, palace, observatory, refuge, and prison, especially for upper-class prisoners. It was last used as a prison during WWII. Numerous people died within its walls; the underground torture chamber has gruesome instruments. Tower Hill nearby was the infamous execution site. Ghost stories abound. We didn’t see any; but the brutal history is chilling.
We walked along the outer walls, saw some rooms with windows overlooking the Thames—river-view rooms. If you ignore the execution aspect, kings and nobles living here must have felt very safe—close the gates and no one gets in.
Among many exhibitions, the Jewel House is most popular, displaying royal jewels—including a huge diamond on a scepter. The queue was long, so we just passed quickly. Later I learned it’s the Star of Africa, supposedly the world’s largest diamond.
It would be a shame to visit the UK without watching a Premier League match. I’m a football fan. On October 6 afternoon, we went to the Emirates Stadium to watch Arsenal vs Bournemouth. I had bought tickets domestically—very expensive. I tried Arsenal’s official site but found you need to be a member (pay £20+ fee) just to buy a single ticket, and still not guaranteed. And I’m not an Arsenal fan; I just wanted to experience the atmosphere. So I bought from a domestic agent, and on match day, they had a local contact hand over the tickets. It cost almost £100 each. My wife wasn’t a fan, but she agreed to come.
While touring the Tower of London, it was already near noon, and the match started at 2 pm. We hadn’t received the tickets yet and were in contact with the London contact. The original meeting point was along our route back. But the contact said he didn’t want to wait and changed to a location near the Tower of London. We had to cut our visit short (we were looking at armor) and rush to meet him. A British guy handed us the tickets. We hurried to the Emirates Stadium.
As mentioned earlier, our homestay was close to the stadium; we could even see a corner from the balcony. The tube line was filled with fans in red and white. Exiting the station was slow due to crowds. After security, we entered the stands. The pitch was incredibly green—best I’ve seen, better than Guangzhou’s Tianhe or Beijing’s Workers Stadium. Premier League stadiums have no running tracks; the nearest seats are very close to the pitch. Many Chinese football grounds double as concert venues, ruining the grass. Professionalism is in the details.
I hadn’t watched much Premier League in recent years; I only recognized 2-3 Arsenal players. I wore an Arsenal away jersey (the only one I own, given by my company’s team). I hoped no one would mind. Arsenal won 1-0, but played poorly—few threatening attacks, lacking the fluid passing of older days. The atmosphere was good, though. We didn’t encounter the infamous English hooligans—maybe they appear only at national matches. After the match, we asked a gentleman to take a photo of us. When he saw we lacked the home team colors, he lent us his red-and-white scarf for the photo. A nice end to the football experience.
Today we planned to visit Westminster Abbey and Windsor Castle.
Around 10 am, there was already a long queue at Westminster Abbey. It’s the royal family’s exclusive church, venue for weddings like Prince William’s.
After entering, staff gave instructions and each visitor received an audio guide with multilingual commentary. A small incident: at a special time, a clergyman stood on a platform, signaling everyone to stop and be silent. He announced the day’s events and ended with “Let us pray for h, k.” It felt a bit odd; maybe it was purely a prayer.
I was more interested in the tombs embedded in the floor. The abbey is a burial place for many famous people: Newton, Churchill, Darwin, etc. There’s a Poets’ Corner with memorials to writers, including Jane Austen. Chinese would be upset to be stepped on, but I think it’s a good way to concentrate history and honor. The abbey has coronation area and chapels for kings and queens, but time was limited. I learned that “Bloody Mary” wasn’t just a cocktail but a queen who killed many due to childhood trauma. Compared to Chinese imperial tombs, these seem crowded but somehow cozy—night chats among monarchs, poets, and scientists?
We listened to almost all the audio guide. It was noon when we left. Big Ben was nearby but under renovation, covered entirely—a pity.
We walked toward Buckingham Palace. Midway, we passed the Royal Mews, included in the London Pass. Since it was free, we entered. Normally admission is £20. Inside were royal carriages and horses. The horses are named by the Queen herself. Many carriages for state occasions; some retired but well-maintained. They are exquisitely crafted, like mobile mini-mansions. The star is the Gold State Coach, weighing several tons, with gilded decorations and mythological figures—used only for coronations. It’s a mobile palace. Besides horses, there were cars; the Queen uses cars more often now.
From the Mews, we crossed the park to Buckingham Palace. We couldn’t enter, just looked through the iron gates.
Harry and Meghan’s royal wedding made Windsor town famous. Since we were on our honeymoon, we couldn’t miss it. Our London Pass included round-trip train tickets to Windsor, but only after 12:30 pm. So we rushed to Paddington Station. Windsor is west of London, not far. Oddly, there’s no direct train; we had to change at Slough. No need to exchange tickets; just show the London Pass QR code.
Exiting Windsor Station, we saw a photo of Harry and Meghan—their sweet wedding still influences the town. It started drizzling again. We headed straight to Windsor Castle, a few hundred meters away. Entry is covered by the London Pass—saved £45 for two (400 RMB). We arrived late; fewer people. After security, we received audio guides. The UK abounds in castles and churches. Windsor Castle is huge, with several main buildings and a green lawn.
From Baidu: Windsor Castle is one of the largest and oldest inhabited castles in the world. Along with Buckingham Palace and Holyrood Palace, it is one of the principal official residences of the British monarch. Queen Elizabeth II spends much of her time here for state and private events.
Entering, we saw a round tower with a flag. If the Royal Standard flies, the Queen is in residence; if the Union Jack, she is away. It was too dark to see.
We followed the other visitors without studying the map. We entered a hall with a souvenir shop, walls lined with cabinets displaying exquisite tableware. You could use a different set every day for months. The route passed through rooms and halls; even small rooms felt like chapels. Most of the castle is open to the public. It holds countless treasures: paintings, frescoes on ceilings, portraits of previous monarchs, and meticulously furnished rooms. It felt like walking through an art gallery. Photography was prohibited inside.
The castle suffered a major fire that burned through one area. Restoration was expensive but excellent; you wouldn’t notice the fire unless told.
It’s clear the castle often hosted guests of high status. Some paintings recorded royalty and nobles. In the grand reception room, there were suits of armor, and ceilings bore coats of arms like in Game of Thrones. There’s a prestigious knightly order called the Order of the Garter, limited to 25 members, including a prince.
We walked slowly, appreciating paintings and listening to stories. We examined clever cabinets closely. Since we were slow, dusk fell when we exited. We missed Harry and Meghan’s wedding chapel—they closed early, but we were still immersed in the castle’s splendor. It rained harder. The castle was about to close, so we returned the audio guide and left for the station. No time for the rest of Windsor.
That day was very long. Only three days for central London felt tight, but we achieved our goals.
In the evening, we visited King’s Cross Station. There’s the famous Platform 9 ¾, where Harry Potter passes through to the school train. It’s always crowded. Two staff members help tourists pose with props and take photos. A nearby shop sells Harry Potter merch. If you like the official photo, you can buy it for £8. We queued about 20 minutes; we took our own photos.
October 8: London City (Day 3)
Our last full day in London. We visited the British Museum and cruised the Thames.
Like Westminster Abbey, the British Museum is a must-see. We arrived around opening time. Admission is free.
Established in 1753, opened to the public in 1759, it’s one of the world’s oldest and largest museums, with over 8 million artifacts. Due to space, 99% are not on display.
This is due to past British “acquisitions” from around the world. The museum has many departments; the Egyptian and Chinese galleries are most popular. We headed straight for the mummies. In Guangzhou, we saw an ancient Egypt exhibit with few mummies; here, many mummies are displayed in glass cases, open to public view. The mummy owners probably never imagined lying in a foreign land 2,000 years later. A bit sad. We briefly browsed other galleries—so many objects from Greece, West Asia, East Asia, etc., overwhelming. If I lived in London, I could spend days here.
We focused on the Chinese gallery. I’ve seen many museums in China, but seeing so many ancient Chinese artifacts abroad for the first time made me resent the Qing dynasty’s incompetence—we now have to buy plane tickets to see our own heritage. The large Dunhuang mural on the wall was cut from a cave and shipped here; it’s displayed without protection, fading and oxidizing.
Only a small fraction of the collection is displayed. It’s said the museum lacks funds to properly preserve all items. The fate of unseen items is unknown.
The Chinese gallery is quite large, with artifacts arranged chronologically by dynasty. Each dynasty had representative pieces; some might no longer exist in China. There are several “treasures”: the Admonitions Scroll, Dunhuang murals, and the David Vases. Due to damage or preservation, we only saw the David Vases (possibly the most important blue-and-white porcelain). Other rooms displayed jade, ceramics, etc.—amazing variety.
We quickly visited other galleries; time was short. From upstairs, we went to the ground-floor Egyptian gallery, the most popular. Huge stone carvings dominate the hall, very impressive.
Morning was information-packed. We left and headed toward the National Gallery. Passing an Italian restaurant with a special offer, my wife craved pasta, so we had lunch there. Few Chinese customers; waitstaff were tall, handsome men. After the meal, we paid about £17+. We decided to test them by giving a bit extra in coins. The waiter was confused, asking if the extra was a tip. We said not necessarily; he said we could tip or not. We took back the extra coins—just a prank.
After lunch, we went to Trafalgar Square again. There was a protest camp with tents; police watched. We didn’t understand the cause. Then we entered the National Gallery.
The gallery is free (by donation). It houses works by Van Gogh, Picasso, da Vinci, and many others—all displayed for close viewing and photography! Even as laymen, we felt uplifted. We recognized Van Gogh’s Sunflowers; they said it was authentic. Many art students were copying paintings. The gallery must be heaven for them. Many Western paintings depict people or gods—a reflection of the era. After this visit, though I can’t claim to understand the essence, I will now pay more attention to Western art.
The gallery was very crowded, with many school groups—a common sight in UK museums and galleries, less so in China. I think schools should organize more such trips. My school only took us to martyr cemeteries. Direct exposure to museums can inspire curiosity more than books.
After wandering the galleries, we were exhausted and sat on benches for a long time. We had visited free attractions today. The London Pass was in its last day, and we hadn’t taken a Thames cruise, which was included. The pass allowed unlimited hop-on-hop-off and even went to Greenwich. But Greenwich is 20+ km east, and the boat schedule was limited; we lacked time. We could still cruise the central Thames.
The nearest pier was Westminster Pier. After checking, we exchanged tickets and boarded the top deck. Great view of the London Eye across the river—reportedly difficult to book. The central cruise only stopped at three piers: Westminster, London Eye, and Tower of London. The second pier (London Eye) was just across, so we didn’t stop often.
Westminster Pier was quiet, but after picking up passengers at London Eye, the deck became lively. The wind was cold; the sun briefly peeked out before yielding to clouds. Finally, a scenic ride where we could sit. A staff member narrated leisurely. We passed under many bridges, waving at people on them. The Thames water wasn’t particularly clear, calm. Unlike many rivers with skyscrapers on both sides, London’s riverbanks have few high-rises, offering open views. Just before dusk, the scene had a tranquil, understated beauty. The two most famous bridges are London Bridge and Tower Bridge. When passing London Bridge, I thought of the nursery rhyme “London Bridge is falling down.” Soon we reached the Tower Bridge pier. The boat turned 180 degrees, giving a good photo angle, then docked at Tower Pier, near the Tower of London, ending our cruise—and our sightseeing in the UK. Tomorrow we fly back to Marrakech.
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October 9: London - Marrakech
Our flight was at 2:25 pm. We got up leisurely, said goodbye to Louis, and took the tube to King’s Cross, then a train to Gatwick Airport. Most travelers go to Heathrow; Gatwick is less common, located about 90 km south. The train took about 30 minutes, nearly empty—very comfortable.
We passed customs without issues. No lunch, and our cheap British Airways tickets didn’t include meals. We wandered the airport and decided to eat Nando’s again. Initially we planned takeout, but then realized we had time to sit. It was delicious with seasoning. After eating, we saw the flight was boarding, so we rushed to the gate. We were a bit too relaxed!
Anyway, the UK trip formally ended. It was tiring—mostly walking—but we covered London and its surroundings, meeting expectations. We didn’t visit the Lake District (seemed uninteresting from guides), but regretted not visiting the Cotswolds. I read that the soul of England lies in the countryside, and the Cotswolds are one of the most beautiful rural areas. But transport is inconvenient, no direct trains, and our luggage was heavy. After long deliberation, I decided to cut the countryside and save it for next time. A small regret and suspense.
Overall, accommodation costs weren’t too high; transport and food were more expensive. We don’t like shopping, saving money and time for attractions. The UK is a great country—history, culture, scenery, technology. Although it has lost its past empire glory, it still feels powerful. During our visit, Brexit was ongoing; television was full of the prime minister talking about it. Brits don’t seem outwardly warm; encounters had a certain distance. On the tube, we saw a man in full gentleman attire—top hat, cane. Hard to imagine such attire in modern society; maybe everyone has a gentleman dream.
October 9-10: Marrakech
In less than 4 hours, we landed again at Marrakech Airport. Looking out the window at the red buildings, we had to adjust our mind and channel again, from the cold British reserve to warm, fiery Morocco.
My mother-in-law’s Moroccan friends had arranged a pick-up. We expected someone holding a sign, but no one was there. We searched for a while, checked the order name, nothing. Our SIM cards had no credit. We didn’t know what to do. Then at the exit, we found a transfer company booth. My wife showed the order; the staff (better English than most Moroccans) arranged a driver. The order also included a transfer to the airport tomorrow (our flight back to China). We discussed details and left contact info.
Second entry into Morocco, we were calmer. The driver dropped us at the alley entrance. Using Google Maps and constant directions from locals, we found our hotel. I ignored the hype from locals, fearing scams. A few kids followed us; we expected trouble, but they didn’t bother us. We booked the famous riad Goloboy—all blue and white—nearly a month in advance. It was the last room. Again, a traditional Moroccan courtyard with pool. Dragging suitcases through 300+ meters of alleys, we finally arrived. The location proved that good riads hide in deep alleys.
Inside, the riad was stunning—not just hype. Decor new, artistic, comfortable. Despite being in a dark, dirty alley, the hotel was an oasis. Moroccan hotel staff are usually nice, polite, and enthusiastic, compensating for the unpleasant locals outside.
The room was a pleasant surprise: simple, clean, spacious, with a consistent color scheme; even the air conditioner was painted! Much better than our first Marrakech hotel. This one cost 638 RMB per night, moderate for Marrakech, but cheap for a trendy riad—many cost 1000-2000 RMB per night. Marrakech is too expensive.
We quickly toured the hotel; it looked even better than the photos. Since we hadn’t eaten, we went to Jemaa el-Fnaa Square. Also called the Djemaa el-Fna, we had visited before. At night it’s very lively, as seen on shows with Shen Teng and Lin Chiling. It’s not a civilized, polite square; it’s chaotic: vendors shouting, tourists laughing, snake charmers, local musicians, games. The most famous are the rows of food stalls selling everything, including snails. We didn’t like the aggressive sales tactics of many stalls, but in Morocco, you can’t avoid close contact.
The square had people of all races, many women dressed liberally, enjoying the free, passionate atmosphere. We chose a seemingly reliable local stall that didn’t hawk aggressively and had many tourists. We ordered some barbecue, a pizza, and two orange juices. Good choice—reasonable prices, decent food, no cheating. Moroccan orange juice is delicious. The most common fruits here are cactus fruit, oranges, and pomegranates.
We strolled around the square’s shops; many clothes and shoes were probably Chinese goods. Morocco and China have good relations; the Moroccan king recently visited China. In a handicraft shop, we bought many small bottles with local features to fill with Sahara sand as gifts—more meaningful than other souvenirs. Bargaining is a must in Morocco; bargain ruthlessly—the final price might surprise you.
After eating, we walked back. An old man selling pomegranate juice squeezed it in front of us. We bought a large cup—not very sweet but fresh. The juices from stalls in the square (except restaurants) were likely diluted and not fresh; we had been cheated. Stick with old men at the roadside.
Back at the riad, we went to the rooftop. Another pleasant surprise: resort-style decoration, lounge chairs, a bed with sheer curtains, a small electric massage spa! It was on even when no one was there—quite generous. The city’s climate is pleasant year-round (about 20°C), rarely rains, so rooftop furniture stays dry. Breakfast is served here.
We lay on the loungers, listening to faint music from the square, gazing at the night sky. Surreal: in the afternoon, we were in London eating fried chicken; now we were on a Marrakech rooftop enjoying the breeze. The fatigue of the journey melted away—this was the last night of our trip.
The next day, our flight was at 4:10 pm, so we had the morning to explore. We went to the rooftop around 8 am, waiting for breakfast and taking photos. Morocco never lacks sunlight; by 8-9 am, the sun was bright. The view we couldn’t see at night now revealed the familiar red city with a mosque in the distance. Breakfast was the usual formula: various breads, coffee/milk, orange juice, beautifully plated. The variety of jams was almost excessive—reminding us of the French romantic persistence.
After breakfast, we took more photos of the hotel. In daylight, it was truly beautiful and exquisite. Hard to imagine such artistic architecture in poor Africa. A thousand thumbs up.
We told the owner we would check out later, as we still wanted to visit one last attraction: the Badi Palace. Yes, we were that relaxed.
Main attractions in Marrakech are in the Medina (old city). We walked with Google Maps. The navigation led us through alleys and finally to a dead end. So we ignored it and followed the general direction. Eventually, we found the inconspicuous entrance after passing a market.
Another Baidu: Badi Palace means “incomparable palace.” Built in the 16th century, it was once called the most beautiful palace in the world. Now only a shell and mud walls remain. It took 25 years to build—the Moroccan version of the Epang Palace. In the 17th century, King Moulay Ismail dismantled most of it for his new palace in Meknes. Today, only ruins show its former glory.
The entrance looked like a guard booth. Admission was about 20 dirhams. As described, we were impressed by the ruins—like the Old Summer Palace in Beijing. The walls are all red, unifying Marrakech’s style. We first visited the basement, once a prison; only display boards and empty frames remain. High above, we saw many storks standing still; my wife thought they were fake. They are migratory birds, but they stood motionless. In a small courtyard, many birds poked their heads from holes in the walls—probably nesting. The birds add a sense of decay but also life.
Climbing stairs, we entered the main palace area: a huge square with a sunken area that was once a beautiful pool, now full of orange trees. The square is surrounded by palace buildings. The sun was bright; few tourists, making the space feel vast. One room served as a projection room showing a video. One scene reconstructed the palace: filled pools, plants, and architecture—very charming, but no more.
Morocco is made for epic photos. It’s a paradise for top photographers and models—magazine covers prove it. Without a SLR, even mobile phone shots with the combination of sunlight and red mud walls create stunning, impactful photos. Who cares if the country is poor? I love the unique red mud walls; such ordinary material can produce a sense of elegance, while modern concrete buildings, though beautiful, are repetitive. Maybe that’s why Morocco is magical: at the crossroads of Europe and Africa, with ocean, mountains, desert, plains, and forests, plus colonial history and Arab influence, the Moroccan people have a rich and colorful culture and customs.
