Marrakesh to London over land

Why travel over land across such a big distance when you can fly?

I have a lot of different answers to this question. Number one is that it releases less carbon as opposed to flying. Number two is that it makes the journey more of an adventure, and I’m always down for that. Number three is because I could. Number four would be that I had wanted to do some solo travelling and the length of the journey would give me some “down time” which I was looking forward to. Number five: Who wouldn’t want to try and cross between two continents - Africa and Europe - over land? The scenery was incredible.

This blog is about the route I took, how I booked it, and the experience of crossing two mighty continents by land.

The route: Marrakesh to London

Transport: Trains, taxi and ferry

Distance: 1431 miles / 2303 km as the crow flies

Carbon emissions: Approx. 40kg CO2e (versus 250kg CO2e on a one way flight)

Travel time: 76 hours

Cost: £347.50

Journey:

Train from Marrakesh to Casablanca
Train from Casablanca to Tangier
Taxi from Tangier railway station to Tanger Med port
Ferry from Tanger Med port to Barcelona
Train from Barcelona to Narbonne
Sleeper train from Narbonne to Paris
Eurostar from Paris to London

How it came about that I was travelling this route:

Tom told me he had a work meeting in Marrakesh. “Marrakesh?!” I said.. “I’ve always wanted to go”. Cue pouting face and sad eyes. I knew I couldn’t stay with him and join his conference, so I decided that I’d go with him for the journey and stay in my own place, exploring the city at leisure. We had been housesitting in southern Spain, close to Seville, and it made sense for us to travel to Marrakesh over land as it would be far less carbon emissions and a similar amount of time for the journey.

When it came to travelling home, I decided to stick to my eco guns and try to get back to the UK over land. Tom had to get back to the UK for work and so he flew back. I was nervous and excited at the prospect of travelling so far on my own across Africa and Europe. Whilst in Marrakesh I researched the route and began booking my travel.

I had done the journey from the UK to Barcelona by land before, and the trains to Marrakesh from Tangier, so I knew some of the route already. I would go by train from Marrakesh back to Tangier, and then I needed to search for ferry crossings that would take me to Europe and weren’t too expensive. There were lots of crossings from Tangier-ville port to Tarifa and Algeciras in Spain but not great rail or bus connections between those locations and Barcelona for me to continue my travels.

It was then that I noticed that if I departed from Tanger Med port instead of Tangier-ville, the ferry company GNV ferries (https://www.gnv.it/en) were operating a route that went all the way to Barcelona on a 30 hour crossing for just £75 per person. I booked the ferry, and then began booking my trains around it.

In total, pre-travel, I booked:

Train from Marrakesh to Casablanca, 20/09/23, 07:50 - 10:28
Train from Casablanca to Tangier, 20/09/23, 11:00 - 13:10
First two trains booked together cost a total of 198 DH (approx £15.50)
Ferry from Tanger Med port to Barcelona, 21/09/23, 00:30 - 11:00 on 22/09/23, £75
Train from Barcelona to Narbonne, 22/09/23, 16:34 - 18:33, £80
Sleeper train from Narbonne to Paris, 22/09/23, 20:43 - 06:33, £62
Eurostar from Paris to London, 23/09/23, 10:07 - 11:30, £115

I was to leave Marrakesh early on Wednesday 20th September, and all being well I would arrive in the UK on Saturday 23rd September late morning.

Websites used to book travel:
https://www.gnv.it/en - for the ferry
https://www.eurostar.com/uk-en - for the Eurostar
https://www.oncf.ma/en/Home - for the Moroccan trains
https://www.thetrainline.com/ - for all other trains

The journey:

I could’ve had a better start to my day on 20th September, but as it was I’d been up all night with severe food poisoning causing sickness, diarrhoea and stomach cramps. I’d never had such bad food poisoning. Just my luck right?

Tom was trying to convince me to abandon my over-land travel plans and get a flight back with him later that day as I was so poorly. However, I knew there was no way I could deal with the civilised and regulated queuing and conformity of travel by plane, along with the dreaded seatbelt sign, when I was constantly to and from the bathroom. I’d take my chances with the Moroccan railways instead.

He walked me to the train station in Marrakesh, and off I went on the 07:50 service to Casablanca, running on time. The chairs weren’t very comfortable but all I cared about was the passing of time and the hope that I may improve as it did so. I have to admit here, that I was sick a couple of times in the bathroom on this train. It was horrendous, as the toilet bowl merely opened up below onto the tracks. Talk about leaving your mark on a place. Sorry Morocco!

*Train 1 of the journey, Marrakesh - Casablanca*

The first train passed quickly, and then I was at Casablanca, where I popped to use a stationary toilet and wished I hadn’t - the queues were horrendous! I only just made it back to the platform by 11am, the supposed time of departure. We waited, and waited, and eventually around 11:30am the train rolled in to take us onwards to Tangier. Luckily I wasn’t in a rush as the ferry didn’t depart until midnight.

On this train the seats were much more comfortable, and I managed to keep a little bit of water down, so it was a great success compared to the first service. We arrived in Tangier around 13:30 so only 20 minutes late. I still felt ill, but I thought that I might be hungry later on so I bought a sandwich to take with me to the ferry terminal, unsure of what awaited me there.

As the Tanger Med port was around an hour from the centre of Tangier, I decided to get a taxi there. Leaving the train station I found the taxi rank but everyone I asked to take me there waved me away or drove off, stating they only did short local trips. A Moroccan girl approached me and said she could help - there were other taxi drivers around the corner which the locals used and were much cheaper and would take me to the port. I agreed to go with her as she was nice and friendly.

We walked around five minutes to the side of the train station and down a small ramshackle road where there were indeed several cars and drivers waiting. Most of them were out of their cars, chatting away and having small coffees whilst waiting for customers. I saw some locals come and be driven away whilst here. The girl explained, in Arabic, where I wanted to go and for how much. The men replied and there was some excitable back and forth conversation between them - all in Arabic, so I couldn’t understand what was being said.

At the end of their conversation, the girl said that they were willing to take me to the Tanger Med port for a small amount of Dirham’s (around £5). I had been expecting to pay approx. £30/40 due to the distance involved. I was shocked at the price she told me and said they must think it’s the closer port. She checked with them and then told me that they knew where to go, it was around an hour away.

Around this time, I started to get a weird vibe. I felt on edge and I wasn’t quite sure why. As they say - my spidey senses were tingling. I trust my gut completely and so I took a second and said to the girl I wasn’t sure about going with them. She tried to reassure me but by now I had decided it didn’t feel right and I didn’t want to go with the man. Once I’ve made a decision, I don’t usually waver. Confident in trusting my gut feeling, I told the girl I was going back to the official taxi rank by the station and apologised to the man in broken Arabic. They looked very annoyed.

I turned and walked away, quickly getting back to the main taxi rank and immediately flagging down an official taxi. The driver spoke great English and said he could take me to the port for £30 - a price I was willing to pay for a legitimate journey with a man I could converse with. As I was getting into the taxi, the man from the unofficial taxi rank came to the door and started having a heated discussion with the driver in Arabic. After a few minutes of them going back and forth, my new taxi driver told me that the man was annoyed and that I owed him the price for a coffee. I gave this willingly - although baffled as to how I owed him for a coffee! - and then we departed with gusto.

The journey was beautiful. The driver put on an English news channel for me and opened the windows to let the breeze in. It was around 30 degrees Celsius and very hot, so this was really appreciated. We went the scenic route, as I wasn’t in a rush, and the driver let me decide which way. I said I wanted to see the sea. Boy, did he oblige. The views were incredible over Tangier and the sea beyond.

I arrived at the Tanger Med port at around 4pm. The place is huge. Full of shipping containers, freight and cargo ships as well as a few passenger ferries which were also huge. It wasn’t clear where I had to go but I got out of the taxi and asked a few officials whom pointed me in the direction of the passenger terminal.

The GNV desk was closed so I sat down for an hour or so, and when it opened they gave me my tickets, checked me in and told me that it would be quite a long wait and to get some food/drinks from the cafeteria upstairs or the shops as they would be closed later on.

I still felt unwell but I had definitely improved since the morning so I began to try and rehydrate whilst resting and reading my book. Time felt as though it passed very slowly. I napped for a bit, got a bite to eat and finished my book. I thought there may be a waiting room to go into, but there wasn’t and the passenger terminal was cold due to the aircon.

Eventually midnight rolled around and they called all passengers for our ferry - there were only around 20 of us getting on as foot passengers, not many at all for such a big ship, but most were boarding via vehicle. We waited in the pre-boarding area for around 30 minutes, and at 00:30 we were allowed on board. We departed approx. 30 minutes late, but all I cared about now was sleep.

I’d booked a bed in a 4-bed female only cabin. I’d booked a bottom bunk as I hate being on the top bunk. I arrived, found my bed, and another lady was already in the room unpacking in the bed opposite me. We got ready for bed, turned the light off, and I was just drifting off to sleep when someone arrived and turned the light on. Another lady was joining us. However, she was convinced that the person I was sharing with was in her bed. Now ensued a shouting match of epic proportions. The lady in bed refused to move. The lady who had just entered wanted the bed she’d booked (and rightly so). This was what I gleaned from the gestures, volume, tone and actions of the ladies, as you see, the argument was entirely in Arabic. I went to the bathroom and hoped they’d sort it out, but it was getting worse and worse.

Due to the level of illness I was dealing with, along with sleep deprivation from the night before and wanting to go immediately to bed, I marched to reception and asked for assistance. Someone came, but the fight did not diminish and only got worse. People in neighbouring cabins were coming out to listen and watch. I was so tired and poorly, I wanted to cry.

I went back to reception and asked them how much it would cost to upgrade to a private cabin. It would be 40 euros more. I willingly paid it and went back to the cabin to begin packing up my stuff, gesturing that the new addition could have my bunk in 5 minutes as I was leaving. That calmed the argument down. Once I got to my own cabin with en suite and closed the door, I was so relaxed and happy. I quickly slipped into a 12 hour coma. It was the best 40 euros I’ve ever spent.

The next day we had a full day on board the ship, so once I was up and dressed I explored the vessel, buying some food and drink and eating it slowly to see if it would go down ok. The sun was shining and I sat out on deck for a few hours reading a book. The Wi-Fi wasn’t working at all and I had no signal but it didn’t bother me at all as I quite enjoy being offline now and then. I had an afternoon nap, showered, ate some snacks I’d bought for the journey, and read some more.

In the evening I went back on deck for a few more hours, basking in the golden hour sun and watching the most magnificent sunset over the sea. I felt content. A lady let me use her phone as a hotspot as she had signal, so I could message Tom and my mum and tell them I was ok and that the Wi-Fi wasn’t working. I relaxed. I finished another book.

Arriving into Barcelona port at around 11am on the Friday morning, the sun was still out and the city, as always, was thriving. Once off the boat - they weren’t quite sure how to disembark foot passengers, so there was some waiting around before being ushered off and onto a bus to get to the customs and border office - we had our passports stamped very quickly and in the blink of an eye were in Spain and one of my favourite cities, Barcelona.

I had around 4 hours until my train to Narbonne but I had some work to do so I walked towards the station I’d be departing from (Barcelona Sants) which was around an hour by foot. I made sure to go up La Rambla and see some of the sights on the way. Once I was most of the way to Barcelona Sants I stopped in a shopping centre to use the Wi-Fi and finish a magazine article I was writing that I had a deadline for. Once that was done, I continued to the train station and had some lunch in a café there.

I actively dislike Barcelona Sants train station. I’ve been there several times before and every time it is an utter shit show. The process is disorganised, chaotic and stupid. The queues are endless and they don’t let you go down to the platform until the last minute which results in a lot of pushing and shoving. This time was no different, although I knew what to expect which made it less stressful.

*Queues at Barcelona Sants pre-boarding*

We departed on time and made our way to Narbonne, an uneventful train journey although my seat was very comfortable and the train was modern and high-speed. In just two hours we were in France, European rules meaning that we had no border stop or passport check.

Disembarking in Narbonne, I was disappointed that everything in the railway station was shut - including the shop, café and main toilets. With two hours to kill but feeling exhausted I decided to call my mum and have a chat with her instead. I also had a sandwich I’d bought in Barcelona so I had that for my dinner and awaited the sleeper train.

It arrived a little late, though as sleeper trains rarely run on schedule this was not a surprise. On boarding I quickly found my cabin - I’d booked a bottom bunk in a 6 berth cabin. I was delighted that there was only one other girl joining me for now, and she also had a bottom bunk. We quickly made our beds and sorted our stuff out - I was pleasantly surprised to find not only was I provided with a pillow and sheet, there was a blanket, water bottle, eye mask and ear plugs. Very nice indeed.

We went to sleep and an hour or so later were joined by 3 more people in our cabin, they very noisy and slow at getting their beds sorted, much to mine and the other girls’ chagrin. Eventually things settled down and we all went to sleep. I slept very well on the sleeper, perhaps because I was exhausted, but it was comfy and a nice temperature (not too hot or too cold!) and the rhythmic rocking of the train on the tracks helped too.

I woke around 6am and started to get dressed as we’d soon be arriving into Paris Austerlitz station. We arrived on time and as I had a few hours until the Eurostar departed, I decided to walk to Gare du Nord (approx. 1 hour on foot). It was another beautiful day although a little cold due to the early hour. Having a breakfast of a croissant and coffee at the train station I reflected on my journey so far.

There had been a few mishaps, illness and delays, but mostly the journey had been smooth sailing. I’d really enjoyed it. Time alone to relax, reflect, reconnect with myself. Reading for leisure, eating when I felt like it, sleeping when I felt like it. Of course the journey had been somewhat long and uncomfortable, but it had been an adventure. Sunsets over the sea, deserts whipping past train windows, watching people go about their daily life. And now I was about to embark on the final step - the Eurostar to London.

I’ve done the crossing so many times I’ve lost count. It’s usually very smooth and well run and that day was no different. Before I knew it I was on board the Eurostar and crossing over back to my own country, the United Kingdom. I felt a rush of emotions when I arrived at St Pancras. I’ve got no idea why, as I’m often to and fro’ between the UK and Europe. Perhaps it was the enormity of the journey, the distance and length of time, the organisation and planning, or perhaps I was just tired.

It felt good to be home, and I appreciated it all the more because of the journey to get there.

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