Meandering in Morocco

For all of you who have been worried about my wife, you will be pleased to know that I did not sell her to some Berber tribesman as I had intended, as the goats were all climbing trees …

 

The camels were hiding and all ‘had the hump’ (Ouch! Sorry) …

… and the poor bloody donkey looked so pitiful with his front legs tied together that I could not bring myself to put his hind legs in danger…

Long before we reached Morocco I had realised that my wife is a second rate amateur when it came to ‘talking the hind leg off a donkey’ for there were ladies on our cruise who were world class chatterers and could ‘take gold’ in the Olympics for ‘ear bashing’.

Most of our fellow passengers were of the grey hair and walking stick kind, sort of  ‘Geriatrics ‘R’ Us’. Some were so old and feeble that I was disappointed and surprised when I did not witness a burial at sea. 

Among the younger passengers one fortysomething blond stood out when on a visit to the ‘Beau Geste’ walled town of Taroudant …

 … about a one and a half hour drive inland from the modern coastal resort of Agadir, on the West coast of Africa, where our ship was docked. The information leaflet read … ‘Dress … Morocco is an Islamic country and you should use discretion’. So what did she wear ? … Very short shorts, high heels and a sun top that showed as much bare flesh as possible. Un-bloody-believable !

I hate guided tours, but the only way to see a bit of the ’real’ Morocco when short of time, was to join one and then slip away, as soon as possible, from the crowd with it’s attendant group of beggars and hustlers. This I did and had an enjoyable time mixing with the locals, who mostly seemed to ignore me as I wandered alone through their ‘medina’. I only had one bloke make a half hearted attempt to sell me a leather belt when I reached the ’souk’. I noted that he was prepared to accept any money, Dollars …  Pounds … Euros …  Strange, but he never mentioned Moroccan Dirhams.

The temperature was above 90 degrees and so we stopped off at a modern hotel …

 

where in it’s beautiful gardens, we sat under ’bedouin’ style tents, where Colonel Gaddafi would have felt at home, and were served orange juice and mint tea which was most welcome … but at that moment …

…   I would have given anything for a pint.    

 Click on images to enlarge and watch out for more pics on ‘Flickr’.