A long time ago my university boyfriend, a mad scientist who helped put the men on the moon, spotted an advert in Gibraltar for day trips to Tangier. And so we landed in a single-engine plane on a grassy strip surrounded by perfumed wildflowers in the legendary haunt of artists, writers and ne'er do wells - only to be stranded overnight by the famous straits fog that descends suddenly out of a clear blue sky.
The airline BOAC – yes, it was that long ago – put us penniless students up in one of the world's most evocative hotels, the Minzah. Built in 1930 by Lord Bute, it became the postwar haunt of such largerthan-life personalities as Aristotle Onassis and Rita Hayworth.
Outside, there were lepers in the still unmade dusty streets. Inside, fountains played in the tiled courtyard and roses and agapanthus
