Riding the Marrakech Express - senior railcard style

Like, wow, man. It's Marrakesh. Groovy, fab and far out. So said Dylan. Boing said Zebedee.
Get the rabbit connection? No, perhaps a little too esoteric - or ancient. Kind of appropriate for Marrakech though, a little Magic Roundabout reference for the uninitiated.
So, off to Marrakech to meet my old mate Mikey who is jetting in on Cheapo airlines whilst I travel 1st class sur le train. I was ready for some taxi malarkey in Marrakech - everyone warns you about it. Forewarned, I argue hotly with the taxi driver who insists my hotel is 20k from M whilst I insist it is 11k as per website info. It turns out to be 20k - 1 nil to the taximan and a hefty fare.
Mikey booked the hotel - remember this factoid.
Lovely hotel and I've glugged a couple of beers by the time Mikey arrives.
Coughing, spluttering, wheezing like he's got TB and avian flu all in one.
Sorry, I've got the lergy he says.
It wasn't a good idea to get a twin room - after 2 hours (max) I had taken my bedding down to the Riad courtyard and was kipping down there.
"You look bloody miserable", opined my friend in the morning as he viewed me in my makeshift bed on the way to petit dejeuner. He looked like he'd slept well.  We agreed that separate rooms would be a good idea unless he was either miraculously cured that day or he got run over by a camel.
The weather didn't help either. Cold and wet and I didn't take a jumper. Mikey kindly lent me one. Good lad really. Somehow, Marrakech isn't quite so attractive when it's raining and cold. Not many bars to repair to though we did find a hotel later in the afternoon selling small cans of beer for a fiver each.
Not a lot of excitement but we had a leisurely, comfortable couple of days there.
Things I learned: tagines can become boring after a while; Marrakech market boys are heavy duty; snake charmers should stop trying to "charm" pythons, they won't do anything (actually they should stop tormenting the poor snakes at all); Graham Nash doesn't live in Marrakech; go there in September.
We both returned by train to Rabat - second class as First Class was full. The lady sitting next to me decided her fingernails needed trimming - it was like listening to half inch cable being cut! Mikey thought this was most amusing until 2 ladies came to sit next to him - the closer one having a bum the size of a large mosque. Then our train stopped in the middle of nowhere - like, far out. People jumped off the train, chatted and smoked fags in the fields so I jumped off too and asked why we had stopped. Le Roi, I was told. Is the King coming on our train? I quipped. Several of my fellow travellers began to speak amongst themselves and I got the impression my question had gone down like a camel with cramp. Turned out he was in the vicinity so they had kept the level crossing 1k ahead open just in case his kingliness decide to go that way. He didn't, he went by helicopter to his nearby chateau.  As we neared Rabat, my rather splendid straw hat fell off the hat rack and the lady (a new one) next to me tried it on to the amusement of the rest of the passengers. Looks better on me doesn't it?

That's me on the Great Wall in China, by the way

 

In Rabat now and back to work for me. Mikey explored the length and breadth of the road I live in on the first day - saving himself for the Big Tour of Rabat. He liked the bar Riad and the Moroccan resto next door which was well authentic. Skewers of all sorts of meat, salad, bread and chips. And rice if you want it. Marvellous. Carbo heaven

Looked everywhere for a resto serving booze the next night (holiday next day so it was effectively Friday night for me). Ended up in the Chinese next to mine.

So, Thursday was a holiday for the Embassy because it was Muharram, Islamic New Year.

No, wait, the moon spotter on Weds evening had said, cancel Thursday, it's Friday now. Imagine how silly we felt, wandering round Rabat thinking it was New Year's Day only to find it wasn't! Oh well, they think it's quite normal to announce holidays at the last minute - and close the bleedin' bars.

So Mikey and I did the souk (that's not a dance) and had a little lunch in the Medina - piccy time.

 

 



Then I went and bought 4 carpets. It was a hoot. Mikey sat and wet himself (he does that a lot anyway) and chatted up a young lady customer. She was with another nice (pregnant) Moroccan lady who decide to come and help me negotiate with the 2 crones who apparently owned the shop. Unusually not a male owner. Well, these 2 toothless hags kept hurling carpets on the floor, all colours and sizes and I was all the time trying to explain the size and colour I was looking for. Pregnant lady was relaying my wishes. White carpet please! And a couple of blue ones would be chucked down. Orange carpet please! You get the picture.Well we had lots of fun as did the other customers, it was like a floor show - ha! And I bought 4 carpets of the finest quality Morocco has to offer. When you pop round for a drink, let me know what you think.

And what did we rockin' and rollin' guys do that evening? Take away pizza and a nice dvd.

I bet Crosby Stills and Nash (and Young) aren't lashing it up like they used to, either. 

changing places

I moved from my upmarket location in Hay Riad to the more "happening" area of Agdal last week. Wow, it really happens here. The big supermarket is heaving with people buying 2 items each and creating a queue half the length of the store; there's a stupid dog in a neighbouring apartment who can't bark properly - 2 slow barks and the second is higher in pitch. Must stop whingeing.
So, off I go exploring my new manor on Friday afternoon. Up the hill and suddenly, it's Bond St and Regent St rolled into one but with the flavour of Paris - Avenue de France. Wide, clean, full of beautiful people having coffee, pastries, ice creams in the very smart pavement cafes. And lots of high end shops - for those interested in those things.
Nearer home, an Asian resto 1 min away. Nice boulangerie. The cafe Paris next door (owned by my landlord's bother)  where I had brekkies yesterday and discovered khlii. Dried meat is the simplest description of it which was cooked with a couple of eggs - check out this link if you want to make it (bet no one does!)  http://dafina.net/viandesechee_en.htm
And then there's the Bar Riad. A couple of hundred metres down the road is this bar. Exclusively men with moustaches (they make an exception for grey haired old gits) and, inevitably, smokey. But a whole lot better than the bars by the railway station. At least you can see further than 2 metres through the fug, no dubious ladies and no men doing silly drunken dances with each other. At least not at 1830. Typical decor though. Nicotine coloured walls and ceilings and shit brown painted wood. But for the pinball machine in the corner, it could be the Stout House in Horsham. I await deserved abuse from my good friend, the landlord, Colonel Hunt.