When I was last in the city, the marina was nothing but two-dimensional imagery, plastered across hoardings that fenced off a vast area of unkempt ground and the banks of the Bouregreg.
Now, the Fairmont rises up like a grounded cruise ship, its angular terraces directly opposite the rooftops of the Kasbah des Oudaias. The white-and-marble lobby is dotted with contemporary sculpture and potted trees.
Bedrooms are crisp and contemporary rather than traditionally Moroccan, with brushed-gold furnishings against plain white walls, and monochrome patterns across rugs and furniture.
I watch from the roof terrace bar, cocktail in hand, made by a mustachioed of course mixologist. In the other direction the tower looms like some sort of alien craft; behind it an Al Boraq train snakes through the silvery dusk, the future arriving at pace, driven on by the much-loved, progressive king.
Thankfully, there are still simple pleasures to be had. The next morning I walk with the guide Mohamed Benmokhtar from the hotel to the banks of the Bouregreg, where rickety rowing boats wait to take people across. But the push for modernisation inevitably brings a certain sense of sanitisation.
