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Today is the first time I've had in weeks and weeks to think about anyhting else except work. We went to press our our June issue yesterday so today is the post-press chill. My editor asked me to try and write an entry on our website's blog. I'm half obedient: I'm writing a blog, just not the magazine's.
Actually, having the time doesn't mean I've got the headspace free. It's rare that I have days like this at work - days where time drags because once I've checked my horoscopes, my hotmail, the ft and bbc websites, done a bit of brainstorming, helped a reporter edit her article, had a bit of lunch, and a cup of tea, the lack of pressing deadlines means I don't have nuffink to do. So I'm just waiting for 6pm. The devil makes word for idle hands so they say, and he did it in double quick time for me today: I went out at lunchtime to buy one dress for my friend's wedding at TopShop, came back with three and £100 poorer. Oh, and I bought a book on Amazon - its so easy to get poor when you only have to click and
the book's on its way.
My last meaningful blog about travelling was, what, late March when I went to Germany? Well, I have to confirmed travellations coming up and another one pending, so by September there should be three new trips to write about. Firstly I'm in Tuscany in late June for 3 days to see my friend Cherly tie the knot (Sonia and Rosie are there too, making our second trip together), then about a week after that Alexis and I are off to Morocco for 12 days in July - the plan is to fly to Marrakech, bus or train it over a week or so to Tangiers, take a ferry from there to Algeciras, bus it to Granada in Spain, see the Alhambra (it will be my third time I think in about 15 years, but my first chance to see the whole thing in one go), and fly home from Malaga with a plane full of Brits Abroad. Lastly, I think I'll be visiting my good friend Cecile in Poitiers, France, on the bank holiday weekend to see how she is settling back in after coming home from a year living in Sydney. Expensive, all this
jet-setting, you might say. Fuck it. The cash is only sat putting on weight in my bank if I don't use it on one of my favourite things. True, I've been to all these countries before - Tangiers for one day on a day trip from Marbella when I was holidaying with my folks in 2002, Italy for a work do in Milan in 2004 and in 2005 again for an ill-fated long weekend with the bad ex, and I've been to Paris and Bordeaux for various work or romantic jaunts (and suffered a very dull school exchange in Brittany).
I don't know much about Morocco except for what I saw on my day trip, in which I was on a guided walk round the medina and successfully avoided being sold a carpet. It was tourism lite, no doubt: guided, in English, with tourists taking a short break from sun-lounging on the Costa Del Sol, everything pre-arranged, catering sorted, no surprises. But it was sufficiently interesting to spark my an interest in the country and in North Africa generally that has lasted since then until I could realise it now, seven years later - besides, just to say 'I'm going
to North Africa' sounds so exotic and dangerous though it's only a £50 easyjet flight away. Friends who have been say that it has developed a lot in recent years and is generally safe. To some that's a relief - to me, I wonder if it will live up to my expectations of a mysterious, andin every way to me, foreign land: I'm not looking for gentrification and predictability. To me, holiday means a break from what you know, where you feel safe, in exchange for some time in a place you don't fit in, look the part, know what's what, or speak the language. I think Morocco, being an Islamic country whose people mostly speak both Arabic and French, may provide this experience. I remember being fascinated by my day in Tangiers. It is a fairly poor port town, shabby, erratic, noisy (they say Moroccan cities are chaotic), colourful, with an air of danger. I was led around the inside of the medina, its towering pock-marked walls hiding its guts from the baking sun. Walking in, it becomes cool, shady, as if you;re going into a beehive: no less noisy or chaotic. Kids runnig about with no shoes on, in holey jumpers whose sleeves are too short. Nobbly, dusty, haphazard streets leading up, down, round, narrowing into mysterious alleyways, leading labyrinth-like to other streets or alleys. I came to a sort of tiny plaza or square following one of them, with a fountain in the middle, a baker's with nothing but a huge kiln (is that what its called?) facing onto the square, and a koran school doing readings (prayers?) which I could hear. We were herded into one of those comedic tourist shops with rugs, hookahs, muslim-style tunics in different colours, tacky trinkets, and the owner ready to haggle to the death. I abstained. We eat in a shady, simple moroccan kitchen, the flavours were new to me but extremely tasty - chicken spiced with saffron washed down with a bottle of cold Coke with the name written in Arabic (I kept the bottle and it took pride of place in every room I've rented in London since, as it does today). We were taken in a minibus on a tour up to the highest point , where we're told the King lives, past his palace, and to views across the sea to Spain. We saw a camel and rides were offered - I declined but had done my own Brits Abroad move by wearing a fez that was owned by some guy on the bus. There was a snake-sharmer. Waiting for the ferry back to Spain, a little boy with no shoes on came up to give me a hug and a man banging a huge drum walked past me. These are not incredible events: but until that point I had never been to a non-Western country (apart from an overnight stay in a nondescript business hotel in the airport complex in Tokyo en route to Oz) and the sight of extremely poor people, being among people who do not speak English or a continental language, and being a minority - these were all new experiences and they were brilliant. (Obviously seeing poor people is not a good thing, I mean just to see that people live differently to you and think about how fortunate you are). I hoped I'd get back there some time. Since then, I've been to Turkey (only Istanbul) and got another taste of Islamic art, culture, and life. True, they say Istanbul is moderate and secular. But I think I'll see the same types of architecture and I'll enjoy hearing the call to prayer, which welcomed me to Istanbul after my worst ever overnight bus trip from Romania as I arrived at sunrise. I like a bit of minaret action and I love new foods as does Alexis. We'll see how it compares with Morocco.
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