Day 303 - 20 Apr ‘24 - Dades Valley to Merzougat. For one reason or another, everybody apart from me got up during the night. Of course, the fact that I know this, meant that I was awake every time. Our room was also rather hot because the windows were closed to stop the mosquitoes coming in, and the air conditioning was switched off because it sounded like a mouse on a squeaky wheel!
It had been quite windy overnight, so the view today was really hazy from the stirred up dust and sand, which was a shame.
We were the only ones in the riad left to eat breakfast by the time we got to the restaurant at 9am. Abi had an omelette (again), but as well as the Moroccan pancake Msemen, we also had yoghurts, baguette, and Moroccan flatbread, as well as a glass of orange juice!
We left the riad at 10am (a lovely late start), with our first stop being the Dades Gorge. Youssef dropped us off for a short walk through the gorge at ground level, and Dan and I walked along the road, picturing the sides crumbling down at any moment.
We drove back along the road, slowly climbing higher. Dug into the side of the hills were some nomad caves. Youssef explained they move from one set of caves to the next, depending on water supplies for their family or animals, and that living this way was not through choice.
When we got to the top of the gorge, we stopped at a viewpoint where we could see the switchback Tisdrin Road we’d just driven up, which was built in 1933.
Some of the barrier walls were missing, parts of the road were crumbling away, and the drop off was horrendous. Once we’d stopped to take pictures, I swapped to the left side back seat, away from the view of certain death out the right hand windows!
We carried on to the Todra gorge at Tighnir, where we saw a few rock climbers starting their climb, as well as some a couple of hundred metres up. Youssef also kindly bought us each a scarf for when we go to the dessert.
His friend wrapped them around our heads and showed us how to tuck them over our noses to protect us from the wind and dust. (Hopefully I can remember how to do it later)!
After a couple of side-of-the-road toilet breaks for Abi, who had somehow overnight developed a bladder the size of a sparrow’s, we stopped in Tinejdad for lunch. Today we went to a traditional grill restaurant, and were seated right next to the row of butchers.
Much to Abigail’s horror, we watched the rib cage of a goat get sawn off, with blood slowly dripping off the top of the head. They leave the head on so prospective buyers can identify the type of meat.
Our mixed grill selection was quite tasty (once you ignored the fact the meat wasn’t refrigerated, the flies everywhere, and the flea-ridden, starving, stray cats). We had keftas, chicken, sausages, and some vegetables, as well as the standard offering of bread and olives.
We drove through the town of Erfoud, known for its dates, and as we passed a cemetery Youssef told us of something Muslims say. The rough English translation is ‘hello owners, you are the first, and we are coming soon’. We also learned that when you die, you are washed and wrapped in a shroud, then laid straight into the hole on your right hand side, facing Mecca. Your grave site is marked by a simple rock at each end, and your body is consumed by the land. Some of the cemeteries have six feet high walls with barbed wire - grave robbers are still a thing in Morocco, stealing your body to sell parts for medicine!!
Youssef took us to a fascinating irrigation system first built in the 14th century, called a khettara. In order to move the water from one location to another, they would dig a long vertical shaft at 10m intervals, and slowly dig a horizontal tunnel, reaching 30-40km.
This khettara ran dry in the 1990s, but we could walk through part of the underground tunnel. The surface looked like craters of the moon, and Alex had a go at raising the sand basket in the traditional method - using his feet.
We drove closer and closer to the Sahara, and the land became more and more empty.
“It’s not just dry,” I said, “it’s dehydrated!” as we drove past houses and the occasional palm trees that were pale grey.
There were times driving through the States that we thought the land was desolate, but this part of Morocco was dead. There was no other word for it.
Because the wind had stirred up the dust and sand, the view was unfortunately obscured, but soon, there in front of us, were the dunes of the Sahara desert.
Our evening activity was a quad bike trip over the dunes. Abi went with Dan, and Alex and I had our own bikes. We were given strict instructions to follow our guide’s tracks, and off we went.
It was absolutely incredible and mind boggling to realise we were in the Sahara! The sand was a striking orange colour, and was as far as the eye could see. There were occasional trees and bushes, and we even saw some people on camels!
Our guide suddenly stopped at one point and got off his bike, ran up a hill, thrust his hands into the sand, and pulled out a skink variety called a sandfish!
There were a couple of times I got stuck going up one of the steeper dunes, and had to reverse to give it a second go. In my defense, I was following Alex, who hadn’t gone quite fast enough, which meant the gap got smaller and I had to stop. He would only just make it to the top, and the guide would turn around to see me stuck halfway. Not my fault!
At the top of one of the dunes, we all got off the bikes and gave sandboarding a go. Dan gave it a go standing up, but the kids and I sat down. We went a lot slower than I was expecting, and the climb back up the dune was rather challenging - the surface had a kind of crust, but if you didn’t make it far enough, the whole side would start to slide.
We had an hour on the bikes, and when we got back to the garage area, we were all given a blow dry of compressed air! There was a surprising amount of fine sand that had become stuck in our clothes.
Youssef drove us to our riad, which had a massive (not very warm, mummy) pool, and a view straight onto the dunes of the Sahara. Amazing!
We sat out on the terrace for a while as the light dimmed, but not for long, as the wind quickly picked up.
“Bugger!” Dan said. “Just what we don’t want.”
“I know!”
We had hoped the wind would stay away, so the dust would have a chance to settle for our sunset camel trip tomorrow. Back in the room, we could hear the sand and dust hitting the walls, and taste it on our tongues.
Dinner was at 9pm again; we had salad, soup, and delicious lemon chicken tagine, while Abi got a gluten free spaghetti bolognese. Dessert was sadly not very nice. We were presented with a plate of apples, pears, and bananas, that, frankly, I would have thrown in the bin, with more bruised parts than not. We ate the bananas, and I peeled and quartered the best looking apple, but the rest we left.
The wind really picked up at dinner time. The lanterns were swinging, the windows were rattling, the doors were banging. Even inside, everything was getting covered in a fine film of dust. The weather said it would die a little overnight, but it would still be windy tomorrow.
Day 304 - 21 Apr ‘24 - Merzougat to Sahara Desert/Erg Chebbi. The wind died sometime during the night, and when we woke up, we could see the result of its power. There was a layer of sand on our windowsill, that was deep enough for the kids to scribble their names in. This was despite the window AND the shutters being closed.
A pile of sand had blown up against our door, the swimming pool now had a brown bottom, and the restaurant had closed half their tables off.
“It must be a never-ending job,” I said to Dan, “constantly fighting a losing battle.”
And that wasn’t even a strong wind, Youssef told us when he arrived at 9:30am. Still, it was strong enough to have created a lot of work for the staff, who were out sweeping the sand off the pathways.
Our first stop today was to listen to some traditional Gnaoua music in the village of Khamlia. It was a group of men, holding what looked like double, metal castanets called tikarkachin, one man playing their version of a bass guitar, and one man banging on a drum with a bent stick.
The men played four different songs, and each time the music would build up to a deafening level, picking up in speed towards the end.
We were served some tea while listening to the performance; the kids spent most of the time watching a family of kittens who were playing on the bench next to us.
After our music show, Youssef drove us to the abandoned village of Mifis (which means ‘mother of hyenas’), to see the mascara mines there.
The village was abandoned in the 1950s when France ceded ownership back to Morocco. The miners would find the iron oxide by digging long, narrow, and deep trenches, which would often collapse.
We carried on driving over the desert ground, which was a mix of rocks and sand, passing many nomad homes. They were no more than blankets tied to sticks, built low to the ground to help with the wind.
We stopped at a well, where we met a couple of nomads getting their water. When we looked into the well, we saw barely two inches of water at the bottom; this particular well had almost run dry.
Youssef explained the government and some charities would get truckloads of water delivered out, which the people would store in tanks, but eventually they would move on.
We put the bottles of water in our car, and took them to a nearby tent, where we had tea with the family. Although they had a lovely view of the dunes, and it was very peaceful, we couldn’t imagine living in such an inhospitable place. It was an unbelievably hard way of life.
After saying goodbye, we kept driving through the endless desert. In the distance we could see a mountain range, which signified the border with Algeria. Youssef told us there was still a military presence there, although the battles were now of a political nature.
Youssef had to keep making direction corrections, as the wind from last night had covered up the tracks and shifted the dunes. We went around and up and over the sand dunes until…
“Oh no,” he said.
When the driver says ‘oh no’, that’s never a good sign!
We had become stuck. He hopped out to have a look, got back in, tried again…
“Oh no!” he said again.
“Oh no!” we all replied.
He hopped out again, and so did Dan. They scooped some of the sand away from the tyres, then let out some of the air. Youssef then had a look around to see the best way out.
“You need to get out Alex,” Dan said, “and you too, Nic.”
“Me too?” Abi asked hopefully.
“Nope, you stay there. We have to push the car!”
Fortunately, we were side on to the dune, so Youssef turned the car back down the hill, and we were soon free.
“Well done Youssef!” we all clapped and cheered.
“You just made everyone’s day!” Dan said with a smile.
“That was really exciting getting stuck!” Alex exclaimed.
“That was only a little bit stuck,” Dan amended. “It wouldn’t have been exciting getting properly stuck!”
We didn’t get stuck again, but we had to drive back and forth across some places when the route was blocked by date plantations, desert camps, or new sand dunes.
We eventually made it back to tarmac, and headed to the town of Rissani for some lunch. This time we all (apart from Abigail) shared a Berber pizza. It was a super large Moroccan style of calzone, with a filling of chicken and grated vegetables cooked inside the dough, and was very tasty.
After lunch, Youssef took us for a walk through the souk, and then to the animal market. This was where the average Joe Bloggs could buy goats, sheep, or cows, for slaughter.
We drove to the nearby mausoleum of Moulay Ali Cherif, the founder of the Alawits dynasty of Morocco. The tomb itself was closed to non-muslims, but we did get to see inside some lovely gardens. At one point the security guard blew his whistle at Dan; he had gone to walk through an open doorway, but that area was obviously out-of-bounds.
We carried on through more of the desert, a large, desolate landscape, and listened to Abi ask again and again about when we would get to the camels.
“There they are, look Abi!” Youssef eventually got to say.
We left our bags in the car and were introduced to our camel driver Muhammad, and our camels! Mine was called Asfar, which transliterates to Yellow. Muhammad also put our scarves on for us, as the wind was swirling around us.
We said goodbye to Youssef, who drove our bags to the camp, and climbed onto our camels. It was a bit like a theme park ride when they stood up, as they did it in three stages - first, their front legs would lift half up, so we would lean backwards, then their back legs would stand up, so we would be leaning quite steeply forwards, then their front legs would fully straighten.
And we were off! A slow, rhythmic plod over the dunes of Erg Chebbi. Camels walk with two legs on one side moving together, as opposed to other four-legged animals, who walk with opposing front and rear legs.
Our driver stopped loads of times to take pictures of us, which was fantastic. One of our stops we got to walk up the side of a dune, and then all had turns on a sandboard again. Abi and Alex both did very well, and managed to stand up the whole way down.
“Nothing like a bit of peer pressure,” laughed Dan, as I was convinced to try it standing up.
It was an epic fail, as I fell over about one metre from the top.
“Oh well,” I laughed back. “There’s always got to be someone that falls off!”
Of course, falling over in a sand dune, then climbing back up, meant any previous effort at keeping sand out our shoes was in vain. Should have worn sandals!
Before we got back on our camels, Dan and Alex walked further up the side of an even bigger dune. It wasn’t the biggest in the area (which was about 200m), but it sure made them look tiny.
(Erg Chebbi is 28km long and about 5-7km wide. Erg means sea of sand).
The wind didn’t stop once during our camel trek. We were the only people wearing tshirts, and as the sun got lower in the sky, we started to feel chilled. None of us had thought about the temperature in the excitement of getting on the camels, despite us having talked about desert temperatures just the day before.
We got off our camels once again at a high point, to watch the sun set. Muhammad lay a blanket down on the sand for us, and went to talk to other drivers, while we got to sit in relative silence and enjoy the view.
Alex and Abi had great fun playing in the dunes, and even found a dung beetle!
The wind whipped the sand all around us; it covered our blanket, and we could see it swirling off the top of the dunes in a sand equivalent of snow on mountaintops.
Watching the sun set over the dunes of the Sahara, was something quite surreal, and not something we will forget in a hurry.
And when we eventually turned our heads the other way, we had an amazing view of the rising moon. It was truly an experience of a lifetime.
We slowly walked to our camp through the darkening sky, and by the time we got there, we were all shivering and covered in goosebumps! The wind hadn’t stopped once, and we were all very thankful when we dismounted our camels for the last time - we could get our jumpers!
Alas, no sooner had we stopped that Muhammad lay out a blanket and started bringing out trinkets to buy. Bugger!
We were very polite, and thanked him for showing them to us. We even mentioned a few times, in louder voices than social etiquette would dictate, that we were cold. He eventually started packing them away, and we were in the free and clear, when he suddenly asked if there was anything we’d like to buy, and Dan and I were cut off excitedly by Alex:
“We can buy things?”
We could have throttled him.
After a few minutes of negotiating, Abi bought a carved camel, and we finally got into our camp. We had a quick shower and got dressed in warm clothes, then had another delicious dinner - chicken legs and vegetables, and an aubergine, tomato, and cheese dish. When we finished our fresh fruit salad for dessert, we got up to leave as it was then 10pm, but were ushered back to our seats.
Out came Muhammad with three other men, and we got to listen to Berber drumming! Luckily for us, there was another Moroccan family staying in the camp, and the man put a 100 dirham note in each of their headscarves. We’d already given Muhammad a 100 dirham tip, then spent another 50 on the camel, so felt we’d contributed enough to him.
We listened to four songs, were told “thank you”, and we were ‘allowed’ to leave.
As we walked to our tent, we could hear the music carry on at a faster pace.
“I guess if you pay them, they keep playing for you!” Alex said.
“Yep,” Dan agreed. “They realised they weren’t getting anything from us, so stopped playing to let us leave without anyone losing face.”
The wind was still blowing, but it was lovely and warm by comparison inside the tent. With thick duvets we were all cosy warm and asleep in moments.
We’d been asked if we wanted to get up to see the sunrise, or walk back on the camels, but we declined both options.
As nice as a sunrise would have been, it’s really just a sunset in the opposite direction. The camel ride would also have been fun, but we didn’t want to get all sandy and dusty again. Besides, we needed the sleep and our drive tomorrow was seven hours.
Day 305 - 22 Apr ‘24 - Sahara Desert/Erg Chebbi to Fes. The sun gradually woke Dan and I, even though we had decided against seeing the sunrise - it seemed the sun had other ideas!
Alex tried to have a shower, but no hot water came through.
“Water is a precious commodity here,” we said to him when he complained, “so one shower at the end of the day is more than enough.”
At breakfast today, I tried some of the eggs Abi has been having, and they were delicious. Tomatoes and spices had been fried at the bottom of a tagine, then the eggs cracked on top. My list of Moroccan foods to make is getting longer every day!
We left the camp shortly after 8:30am, and said farewell to the dunes of the Sahara. The wind had dropped overnight, so it wasn’t too tricky for Youssef to find his way back to the tarmac road.
Our first picture stop was the Oasis Ouled Chaker, where the entire valley was filled with date trees. There had been a large fire a few years ago that had destroyed a massive amount of trees; we could see loads with blackened trunks, but had somehow managed to survive and grow fronds again.
We drove past the Hassan dam, which supplied the entire region. Much like other countries in the world, Morocco has seen an increase in heat and a decrease in rain, so the dam was not as full as it needed to be for the upcoming summer.
Our lunch stop today was in the apple capital Midelt, but strangely, apples were not on the menu at all! As we’ve eaten in lots of different places now, we have become attuned to the various prices, and this was one of the most expensive places we’ve had lunch at. But at 325 dirham ($54NZD) for lunch and drinks for five people, it is still incredibly cheap compared to other countries.
We had a fairly long drive after lunch, and at 4pm we got to a cedar forest in the area of Michlefin, which had wild macaque monkeys!
The kids had lots of fun trying to feed them some nuts a seller had pressed into their hands. We saw one with a tiny baby hanging to its mother’s tummy, and I tried to get a picture, but some idiot had convinced a small boy to throw stones at the monkeys in the trees, so they all ran away back up the hill.
We next came to the town of Ifran, which Youssef told us was the eighth cleanest city in the world, and also known as the ‘Switzerland of Morocco’ based on its prices. It was certainly very clean, and very European looking, with manicured lawns and sculpted bushes and flower gardens.
This area used to have wild lions until 1920, so we joined the queue and took an obligatory photo next to a stone lion sculpture. After this quick stop, it was on to the city of Fes.
What a difference! Large modern houses, shops and fast food joints, and supermarkets. It was quite the bustling metropolis after all the straw and clay, half disintegrated buildings we’d seen so far. In fact, over the course of today, we had travelled from sand dunes and desert, through the snow-capped mid Atlas ranges, and down through trees and farmland, into a city - such a diverse range of locations in just one day!
Youssef dropped us off close to our riad, where we were met by the hotel owner and a porter for our luggage (whom we tried to decline, but failed in doing so).
Our riad looked like it had once been an incredibly grand home, with loads of intricate plaster carvings and zellige tile work everywhere, and two massive carved doors, one of which led to our bedroom.
We had our dinner at the more reasonable hour of 8pm, and got the kids to bed around 9:30pm. Our room backed onto the main courtyard where the dining tables were set, so we got to listen to the dishes being cleaned until after 11pm.
Day 306 - 23 Apr ‘24 - Fes to Chefchaouen. We have stayed in some lovely riads on our trip through Morocco, but this one would have been our least favourite so far. The hot water was not constant, my mattress could have done with being replaced, some of the lights were broken, and the kitchen staff started at 7am, right outside our door.
But it was a beautiful building!
We had a lovely late start to the day, and met Youssef at 10:30am to start our drive to Chefchaouen. We were a bit apprehensive to begin with, as he surprisingly wasn’t at the agreed spot, and another man waved at us and said ‘follow me’.
“He’s the same man that was here last night,” I said, “so I guess we follow him?”
We walked up the road a bit, and around another corner, and still he kept going. We felt a little uneasy, until we saw the police moving other cars away from our road.
“There must be something happening, and that’s why the road has been closed,” Dan reckoned.
Which is exactly the same thing Youssef told us when he arrived just moments later. There was an Islamic school near our agreed spot, and the police were moving all the cars away from it, so Youssef had had to drive around for a bit, and had organised someone to direct us.
It was a four-hour drive to Chefchaouen, and once again we watched the countryside change. We drove over and through the Rif mountain range, passing lots and lots of olive tree plantations.
We stopped for lunch in a small town called Souk Ihad, where I had a very tasty chicken and vegetable tagine. I am definitely going to buy a tagine and learn how to cook in one!
The gendarmerie presence in Morocco has been stupendous; there are police stops EVERYWHERE! Every day we have driven through loads of them, so today we counted them, and by the time we arrived in Chefchaouen, we had driven through 14!
“We’d be lucky to see two in a three-hour drive in New Zealand,” we told Youssef.
“And here we have had 14!” he replied with a smile.
Nobody speeds here, as there is no point with so many police, although the road markings are at times mere suggestions. There’s even different hand signals that drivers use to alert oncoming traffic about police, depending on how far away they were, if they were using a speed camera, or if there was more than one.
We got to our riad in Chefchaouen around 3:30pm, and lay on our beds for an hour. Dan’s stoma had been a bit swollen and sore the last couple of days, exacerbated by the camel sway.
At 4:30pm, we went exploring the famous Blue City.
It was so pretty! In the old medina, the houses and shops and streets were all painted in various shades of blue. Some of the streets had colourful plant pots and tiles decorating them, and others had their textiles and wares on display.
There were a couple of particularly popular streets, where we had to queue to get a photo, but personally, I thought some of the less populated streets were equally as beautiful.
After wandering up and down the streets (and grabbing an ice cream), we walked up a hill to a mosque, where we had a fabulous view over the blue city.
It was a favourite tourist spot for watching the sunset, but we decided not to stay for it. On our way back down the hill, there were lots of people setting up their stalls for the tourists, and some young children also selling cakes off a plate.
At the bottom of the hill was a waterfall, and many orange juice stalls! The oranges were in big tubs, with fresh running water being constantly poured over them, keeping them lovely and cool.
I don’t think I’ve ever had such freshly squeezed orange juice! Our stallholder did a fantastic job of peeling the oranges in one long strip, then squeezed the bejeezus out of them in a heavy duty press. Lovely and cold, fresh and sweet - perfect.
We walked back to our riad through the blue streets, and had dinner of the upstairs terrace, looking over a public plaza where there were musicians performing, and where we also had a great view back up the hill to the mosque.
It was our earliest dinner in a long time: 7pm. Excellent, we’d finally get an early night. Of course, that’s when we had the slowest service, and didn’t get back to our room until almost 10pm. The best laid plans…
The calls to prayer that evening were particularly cacophonous. The speakers from the multiple minarets echoed all around us, each one competing with the other. As piercing as the sound was, both Dan and I have enjoyed listening to them while travelling through Morocco. Even the one before dawn doesn’t disturb us for long.
Day 307 - 24 Apr ‘24 - Chefchaouen to Casablanca. Today was our final tour day. Our trip through Morocco has been amazing, with a lot of the scenery not at all what we had imagined.
We left Chefchaouen at 9:30am, and stopped in the capital city, Rabat, after almost three hours of travelling through farmland. The difference when we arrived in Rabat was stark; farms and rubbish gave way to manicured grass and people sweeping the dust out of the gutters.
Our first stop was the tomb of King Hassan II, housed inside the Mausoleum of Mohammed V, which was built next to an unfinished (since 1199) mosque. The mosque foundations, and the lower half of the minaret, were the only parts that had been built. When the king at the time died, construction stopped.
The mausoleum was amazing! It was completely covered in the ubiquitous and always beautiful Zellige tiles (numerous shapes, sizes, and colours, that make astounding designs).
In each corner there was a stationed guard, plus one on all four exits outside, and depending on where they stood meant they wore a different uniform.
We had lunch at a nearby restaurant, and for the first time since arriving in Morocco, we were not given a plate of bread and olives. In fact, when a waiter went to put them down on the table, a waitress told him not to. We have no idea why, but even Youssef was surprised.
“It doesn’t matter what meal it is, or what time of day, but there is always bread and olives put on the table,” Youssef explained.
Our next sightseeing stop was the Kasbah of Oudayas. This was a defensive citadel built in the 12th century against Portuguese attacks. We walked through narrow lanes until we reached a great viewpoint over the river mouth, which had an extensive network of breakwaters.
We didn’t stay too long at the Kasbah, as we still had an hour or so to get to Casablanca. Everyone, including Youssef, was tired. We felt rather sorry for him, because while we’ve been having a holiday, he’d just worked seven days in a row, and driven for hours every one of them.
We arrived in Casablanca in the early evening, and were introduced to the chaos that was driving here. Previously, lane markings had been a suggestion; on the roundabouts here they were merely for decoration. A six-lane roundabout had eight lanes of cars, criss-crossing each other in every direction. Horns were used at every possible opportunity. Traffic lights were only partially obeyed.
Crazy!
Sadly, our time with Youssef was up. He insisted we make sure the apartment was legit and that we could get inside, and waited by the car while we did so. We came back and collected our luggage, and said goodbye.
He had done an incredible job on our journey, taking us to places of interest we hadn’t known about, constantly providing us with information on the country and the practices here, and of course, having our own personal translator had been an absolute godsend. And don’t forget, putting up with our kids, and Abi’s incessant need for either food or toilets!
The apartment had a washing machine (thank the heavens) and a separate tumble dryer (even better). We’d been wearing the same clothes for three days now, so it was great to be able to wash our clothes before heading to Turkey.
We walked to the supermarket across the road to get supplies for dinner.
“Oh no! Not pasta and sauce again!” Dan said, when it was the only option I could think of.
In the end, we didn’t have any dinner. None of us were really that hungry, so we just had a couple of yoghurts each while watching Ant-Man and the Wasp.
The pasta and tomato sauce could wait until tomorrow.
Day 308 - 25 Apr ‘24 - Casablanca. Toot toot, beep beep, honk honk, beeeeeep, HONK, beeeep beeeep, TOOOOOOOT, honk honk hoooooooonk, TOOT, BEEEEEEEEEP, honk honk, beeeep, toot toot, HOOOOONK, beep beep.
That was the language of Casablanca. And it was non-stop. Constant. Continuous. Never-ending.
ALL. DAY. LONG.
We all had a long sleep, which was clearly needed. Nobody even stirred until 9am. Then, we were serenaded by the various drivers on the road.
Dan’s stoma had been hurting more, so he took off his bag and had a look; it had been swollen the last few days and was now quite bruised. It also looked like his parastomal hernia was slowly but surely returning.
"What do you want to do about it?" I asked him.
"Wait and see," he replied.
To me, that didn't help my concern, but to him, that was all that could be done at this point in time.
We only had the one day to explore Casablanca, but l decided it was much better for him to lie flat on the bed for a few hours instead, and we’d go out in the afternoon. So, we watched Captain Marvel.
In the end, we decided that it would be best if he stayed on the couch for the whole day. I asked him almost every hour how his tummy was, and was given the answer “it’s okay” or “it’s fine” or “just the same”. He said it only hurt when it was passing output, and the rest of the time was okay.
Neither of us could work out what had caused the inflammation, and why it was hurting now. Nobody had had sore tummies, so it can’t have been food poisoning. Perhaps the different diet, with legumes? All we could do was wait and see if it improved over the next week.
"Do you want to go home?" | asked?
"There's no point," he said pragmatically, "as there's nothing they could do last time it all swelled up. I can live with the hernia, but I can't live with the pain of the swelling. Besides, l've already paid for our safari in Tanzania, so I'm not missing that!"
We watched half of Avengers End Game, had some pasta for dinner, and at 8pm stood on the pavement to wait for our booked driver.
At 8:05pm, we started looking around for a car we thought would be ours.
At 8:10pm, we were getting a bit concerned.
At 8:15pm, Dan went inside and tried to call the company, but it wouldn't connect.
At 8:20pm, I sent a message to Youssef to ask if he could try calling them, but he replied saying it was a number in Dubai.
At 8:25pm, we called the number in Dubai, at $5NZD per minute, and asked where our driver was.
At 8:30pm, the company said there was no driver, to email for a refund, and to book another taxi.
"Right! Get your packs on!" Dan said. "Let's cross the road, as there were more taxis at the corner."
"We need to get a van," | said. "Those little cars aren't big enough."
Allah was clearly watching, and just 10 minutes later, we were in the taxivan of a lovely man called Ashraf, who took us to the airport with no problems, and at a cheaper price than our pre-booked driver!
Our flight being at midnight meant we still had plenty of time to get to the airport and checked in, and we arrived just before 9:30pm.
"Are you okay?" Dan asked me.
"Once l'm through security and our bags are through, then I'll be fine."
"It's funny how stressed you get at airports!"
Yes, hilarious.
Day 309 - 26 Apr ‘24 - Istanbul. The concept of queueing in a nice orderly line is a very British one, and not one that Moroccans subscribe to.
The gate we had to exit from had a long, straight queue in one direction, and a bunch of people grouped together at the entrance. When the gate opened, everyone from the bunch (ourselves included) pushed forward, completely bypassing the ones in the long, straight queue.
“When in Rome…” Dan said.
We had experienced the queue-jumpers a number of times in Morocco, from older women at the airport security gate to children at the supermarket. They all seemed to think that if their need was greater, they could just walk to the front and ignore everyone who had been patiently waiting.
There was no order to the boarding of the plane; they didn’t announce the rear seats first, so there were people standing in the aisle while others were trying to get to their seats.
It seemed to be a common enough situation, that there were repetitive announcements telling people to avoid delays by putting their carry-on items under the seat in front, or to free the aisle by standing between seats to put their bags in the overhead lockers.
Alex had the window seat, Abi had the aisle, and I was between them; Dan was seated next to a couple of older Moroccan women off to visit their sister in Turkey.
I spent the four-and-a-quarter hour flight with either one or two heads on my lap, or leaning against a shoulder. They would wake periodically to shift position, talk in their sleep, or wake up enough to complain about one thing or another.
We arrived in Istanbul at 4:40am Moroccan time, which was 6:40am Turkey time - we’d lost two hours. Dan had prebooked a taxi, but this time the company was incredibly reliable. The driver had been in a lot of contact, starting yesterday, and had even sent a message to say he’d seen our flight had arrived and he’d meet us outside the entrance (photo of the pick-up spot included).
It took us just over an hour to get out the airport, and it was an hour-and-a-half to our apartment. Approximately five minutes after dropping our bags in the apartment, I was asleep on the bed.
I woke up almost two hours later, to find Dan asleep on the couch, and the kids watching movies on Netflix. Today was always planned to be a write-off, even more so with Dan’s stoma problems.
Dan woke up, and we walked to a nearby supermarket, full of enthusiasm to begin the gluten free shopping again.
That’s a bald-faced lie, in case you couldn’t tell.
“There’s not much here,” I said when Abi was out of earshot. “There’s no cereal she can eat, or bread, or pasta, or crackers. There’s rice, and mince, and chicken, but no sauces of any kind. We could have some veges?”
“What about oven chips?” Dan suggested.
“There’s no oven,” I replied.
Alex picked up some cocktail sausages and cheese, and Abi chose some yoghurt - lunch, at least, was sorted, but we’d need to go further afield to find some other options.
The rest of our afternoon was spent on the couch. We finished Avengers End Game with lots of tears from Dan and I (our kids are apparently cold-hearted, unfeeling, monsters), then walked back to the previous supermarket for dinner supplies. Scrambled eggs was all we could think of, or feel like cooking and then eating. Everyone had slowly faded as the day went on, but on a positive note, Dan’s stoma wasn’t anywhere near as sore when passing output, so hopefully he was finally on the mend.
Comments