Yes, we’ve been off again. First time to Morocco, though it’s next door to our second country, Spain, and shares a couple of cities with it. Why Morocco? ‘Cause it’s supposed to be warm and sunny in the winter and it combines some familiarity (we lived next to Moroccans for some time) and has tempting mysteries.
We landed in Marrakesh and it was hot. I had booked a hotel for
three days with the flight which was mysteriously called, Riad DAR 73. We
caught a bus to a large square which turned out to be the main centre of the ‘red
city’ and walked towards the hotel; it did not seem far and we had Google to
guide us. But Google failed and three policemen in argumentative conference
could not help. After many false trails we found the place down a very narrow
alley strewn with rubbish and lined with collapsing houses. We could not
believe it, this was supposed to be a five-star hotel with swimming pool, though
I must say it had seemed quite a bargain. I ducked low to get through the door
and looked around suspiciously, could this really be it. In fact, once inside
it was not too bad, but certainly not five-star.
This was the beginning of our flirtation with Riads. They
are large houses that have been converted into small hotels. They are located
in the Medinas (the old walled part of city where no cars are allowed) down very
narrow alleys. They are not at all impressive from the outside, but are often
palatial inside: usually built around an atrium with the dining room on the
ground floor. Our most impressive were in Fes, the original capital. There the
Madaw had a large atrium decorated with multi-coloured small tiles in swirling
patterns reaching right up to the top floor where our sumptuous room was
similarly decorated, as was the shower room. Yes, we stayed in a small palace
with an open rooftop above and sometimes had the whole place to ourselves.
We had taken the train to Fes so we could see a good deal of
the country along the way. Once there I found the Medina claustrophobic and
soon tired of the passive aggressive offers of help from potential guides. We travelled
to the more modern capital of Rabat then drove to a large lake called Merja Gerga
beside the Atlantic to study birds where I was particularly thrilled to observe
spoonbills.
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Morocco is not the place for those who like to take a drop,
but we managed. The saving grace was often the hidden booze cellars of
Carrefour supermarkets, but some restaurants catered for the needy.
Returning to Oxford at 4 a.m. on a freezing Sunday morning
we walked through appalling scenes of drunkenness, debauchery and semi-nudity. And,
out running the next day, I rather missed the friendly faces, the hand touched
to the chest, the engaging nod, the knowing smile and the warm sun. Back to
reality, the trip has given me an idea for a book, and that can’t be bad.
