as much as i loved tangier, it was the ancient walled town of asilah 40km south along the coast that truly captured my heart. a beautifully tranquil destination, straddling the cliffs of morocco’s north atlantic coast and enclosed by defensive walls built by the portuguese in the 15th century, the fortified fishing village is awash with the traditional mediterranean pairing of white and cobalt blue and flanked by wonderful stone ramparts that offer spectacular views across the ocean, with the waves crashing angrily below. the small

last month i was invited to experience morocco’s most northerly city, 15 miles across the straits of gibraltar from spain, a place long been mythologised as a bohemian escape and a city of extremes; a surreal crossroads where northern africa meets europe, the mediterranean meets the atlantic, and hedonism and history collide. what had always fascinated me about tangier were – of course – the fantastical literary tales from the fifties and sixties, when the city was an international zone officially ruled