Ford Raptors & Road Trips: A rundown of our Wednesday in Morocco

My position on the Kanye mood-o-meter switches at pace. Just days ago I was closest to the ‘Spaceship’ of The College Dropout Yeezy. Having just come off a long bank holiday weekend his words about a previous day job (see lyrics: “if my manager insults me again, I will be assaulting him”) were a mood in themselves. A mood that I, when threatened once again with a full five-day working week, understood. But today I’m more of a “how Sway?” Ye, cause if honest, I’m at a loss on how I might ever come to outdo my most recent Wednesday; a day that saw me hit the sand dunes of Morocco in the new Ford Raptor.  Developed by Ford Performance for off-road enthusiasts, its build and Essaouira‘s challenging ground came together like a match.com ad. My time in the driver’s seat was as fun as randomly finding money.
 

The good times began with a group of us on Wednesday morning at London Stansted’s Jet Centre. Our flight to Essaouira comes in at just under 4 hours yet still feels brief; not long after I’ve properly sunk into my seat are we pulled back down to ground level. It’s my first time in Morocco’s Atlantic coast. My first time in the country full stop. In the steps taken from the chartered plane to passport control, I’m left wondering why I’ve left it so long.
 

 
On leaving the airport the town’s Arabic meaning – that is, “little picture” – makes for easy understanding. The surrounding land is kind on the eye. The sunshine at that time is out to play. As the group rehydrate and soak in some important facts on speed limits and the likes, the Ford Raptors lay in wait. We’re asked to group in twos and pick a colour: grey or blue. I and new driving pal, Marcus go grey.

 
From the outside, our Raptor looks like the sort of unit that eats cereal with a scoop of protein powder; mean and big bodied. The seats that lie within however are sleek, dressed in large part by what appears to be suede. We’re told the material selected for seating was picked because of its non-slip, passenger-holding capabilities. The guys that worked on the design tell us it’s something we’ll soon be grateful for, and no more than an hour later are they proved right.

 
The 55km ride to the sand dunes affords us time to truly soak in our surroundings. Marcus and I spend most of it getting better acquainted: we talk podcasts and how he’s just been nominated for a Listeners’ Choice Award with ‘How to Kill an Hour’, and about the newly formed ‘Setman Podcast’. We compliment the Raptor’s smooth steer and light handling. We chop it up about Hip Hop, pausing every three minutes or so to select which of the ten songs available to us offline we should grace the heavy speakers with next. ‘California Love’ features heavily and so do photos; the Raptor’s sexy interior design and dashboard get papped on my Pixel 3 like a Snapchat date night post. You’d have done the same, trust me, it was nice in there.

 
On arriving at the sand dunes, the driving experience intensifies. If we thought we fully knew what the Raptor was capable of before this point, the journey through the hills of loose sand stand to prove we don’t know jack shit.
 
Marcus takes the wheel for the first leg assisted by Ford specialists who lead our convoy and instruct us via walkie talkies. I get the sense he’s driven in these conditions before as he approaches the mounds with a lead foot and confidence, charging through the course.
 

 
My turn is less successful, but more fun. Just like Marcus, I keep my foot on the accelerator as we’re told not doing so could see us stuck uphill. But much different to him I find myself steering way too close to the right (the Raptors we’re in are left-hand drives and not what I’m used to). Fast forward a few tight, hilly turns and myself, Marcus and Dave – a Ford designer – are left tilted sideways off a dune preparing to eat sand.

 
The car somehow manages to hold its 60-degree position whilst Dave advises on the best course of action. “Slowly roll it back in reverse,” he says. “Don’t move you’re going to flip it, don’t move,” shouts another guy looking into the car from the driver’s side. “Does he have a Ford shirt on?” asks Marcus. “Nop, don’t think so,” I return. “Just roll it back gently,” Dave echoes. I switch gears accidentally taking it forward but then roll it back into position leaving all four wheels back on the ground. I thought on the plus side I’d at least pushed the thing to its limits. On the down, I was shaken at the thought of finishing the journey to the Sofitel Essaouira Mogador hotel. I, of course, did it anyway.

 
As we pull up to the driveway jokes are skiing around the group about my little incident. I already know it’s going to make up a big part of my conversations that evening, and I’m alright with that. Stepping into the Sofitel marks the official point in which I hang up my driving gloves for the day; I’m finally all good to say I made it through with no road accidents.
 
The hotel reception is impressive; grand. As we step in staff offer cold face towels and ten types of tea (of course) – I need both. Once I’m done with them I turn my attention to the pool for a quick splash ahead of what is to be a three-course dinner at L’Atelier de Aromes. I can’t help but think I won’t have a Wednesday as good for a long time to come.