We’d never admit it, but we are creatures of habit when it comes to hotels. In the Marrakech medina our second home is El Fenn, not just because they’re great friends of ours, but because it lives and breathes the kind of vibe that gets under your skin. Where else to do you get a William Kentridge painting hanging in your boudoir, or a well made martini while you browse the in-house boutique? On a recent visit, GM Willem Smit and ourselves dined on steak by the fire while the Istanbul socialites at the next table shopped for vintage couture. That’s just the sort of place this is and it rambles on like a fabulous old English country pile that allowed a Morocco-crazed designer loose with a load of multi-coloured tadelakt. It’s not perfect, but that’s its charm – think of it as spending time with a favourite, somewhat eccentric old auntie – comfortable, solid and always great for a story. Don’t miss a hammam and massage, an indecently long, lazy breakfast on the roof with views over the koutoubia minaret – their ginger spiked granola is a thing of beauty – and put aside at least one afternoon to bask by the pool pondering the wonder of it all.