MARAKECH Where things started to go horribly bad.

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We hit the sack on the train to Marrakech at about 22:30. My sleeping companion decided that he’d use his blanket as the bed sheeting and the sheeting as his blanket. Each to their own. I took a sleeping pill at about 23:00 and slept like a baby for four or five hours. Woke up early and cat napped until the sun rose. Got up around 07:00 and watched the scenery whiz past. We were supposed to get in at 07:00 by my reckoning but arrived around quarter to nine. I followed the crowd out of the train hoping is was at the right place. It wasn’t how I imagined it. More like a suburban station with a few more platforms. Passed by the touts who were no worse than those at the ferry terminal. Looked around and didn’t see wall to wall hotels as I’d hoped. I wandered off down a street to what looked like a hotel. A black guy comes up to me and asks what’s the time. An innocent question one would have thought. We engage in conversation and he tells me he knows of a good little hotel that I should look at. Normally warning bells would go off now but this guy was a very smooth operator so I took the bite.

I get on the back of his bike with back pack on and we head for what seems half way across town. Now I’m getting a little concerned. He tells me what a nice guy I am and that this is his birthday. No doubt both key phrases in the touts soft sell guide. We arrive at this hotel which is a three star joint just like Tarik. He speaks to the receptionist in French and the bell boy’s about to grab my bag. Get the feeling of de je vue? I take my own gear and say I want to look at the room first. It seems okay so I leave my luggage there and pay for one night. It’s pretty pricey at 330 MAD but I figure I’ll change hotels tomorrow if I decide to stay in Marrakech. The black guy who gave me the ‘free lift’ says he wants to have a ten minute chat with me about things. Now my warning meter is off the scale. I put up my guard as breakfast is served. Apparently this my free breakfast but he helps himself to a coffee and croissant as well.

He then begins the spiel about how he will show me all over Marrakech. I’m becoming more and more cynical about him as he told me initially that he was an English teacher. Now he says he will plan my itinerary there and take me around out of the goodness of his heart. I tell him straight out that it is obvious he received a kick back for transporting me to this off Broadway hotel. He is very hurt by this but by now I’ve put up the shutters. Nothing he can say will move me. I gulp down my coffee and tell him I’m going up to me room. When I came down again after five minutes he’s waiting in the hotel doorway like a jilted lover saying how hurt he is that I doubt his motives. I just basically say that’s the way it is and rush back up stairs to the sanctuary of my room where I look forward to
a well overdue hot shower.

When I try having said shower no hot water comes out. I point this out to the throng at reception downstairs and voices are raised. Eventually one of the bell boys comes up with the solution of me changing rooms. This gives me no time to collect my things and move them across before the bell boy takes one of my bags.. He stands in the other room probably expecting a tip for moving one of my bags ten feet. I refuse to pay for a service 1. I didn’t request and 2. was only necessary because the water heating in my room was stuffed up. This bell boy thing is a total rout and I’ll avoid any such hotel in future like the plague. Now this establishment’s bell boys hate my guts which makes for a really warm environment. The woman on reception is okay but the guys here act like spoilt little brats virtually throwing the keys at me each time I return to my room. The bottom line is I’ll never trust another person in this country unless I know them first. Rather sad really. It’s no Spain that’s for sure.

I head off to do a bit of exploring. Try to find a place to web surf, a place to buy sandals and a place to buy a can or two of cold beer. I come up blank on all counts after walking one direction down the long busy street this hotel sits upon. I walk the other direction for n excess of a K or two. I find a possible candidate for a pair of sandals. I push on in this direction and discover the old town behind an external wall. It is a labyrinth of alley ways so I’m make sure I know which direction I entered from to avoid getting lost. I seem to be the only tourist/foreigner walking these alleyways which puts me off a bit. I decide to make my exit by back tracking along the same pathway. A kid comes up to me and starts talking in Arabic French. I was hot and tired and didn’t want to know. He was joined by a couple more of his friends who also followed me. I was getting a little worried and covered the pocket to my wallet with my hand. These kids reminded me of the pick pocketing gypsy kids in Rome. I was getting a little paranoid as I turned another corner on the way to the exit. Then I felt my left pocket and realised my passport was missing. I nearly died. Had one of these pests lifted it off me. I swore a couple of times and the kids repeated the words I said.

I got out of there as soon as I could and tried to compose myself. Maybe the passport was still at reception? Maybe I hadn’t taken it back in all the confusion with the black tout? I hoped I was right about that as I wouldn’t know what to do if my passport had gone missing. Great timing too as I’m would be stuck in a hotel I don’t want to stay in in a country that isn’t a patch on Spain, at least so far. I waked back via the shoe shop that had the sandals on sale. They got my size out for me to try on and they fitted like a glove. At least one thing was going right today. When I made it back to reception the lady behind the desk handed me the keys to my room and my passport to boot. I couldn’t tell you how relieved I was. I was having nightmares. I thought I was going to be stuck here until copious bureaucratic paper shuffling was finalised. Now I could get out of here early tomorrow and escape to the seaside resort of Agadir. The lady at reception told me that the bus station was just a five minute walk away. At least she didn’t say twelve. Things were indeed looking up. I even discovered the clandestine bar serving alcohol on premises. It really looked like a speak easy with no windows and one door for both entrance and exit.

I walked toward the bus station and after ten-fifteen minutes found a space jam packed with buses. Buses to Agadir leave every hour and are quite reasonably priced. I walked through another part of the old city just behind the bus depot. This looked a little less dodgy with an open road next to the ancient wall. I walked full circle and passed under an old city arch. There was a nice garden across the road, much lusher than the ultra dry one locally. Walked over the road to where there were a number of shops. Found an internet café. I couldn’t believe my eyes! This is the first one I’ve seen since traipsing around the area since this morning. Checked my email and banking. Rent hasn’t arrived yet from my tenant but the agency’s docked me expenses for fumigating for bed bugs. This day just seemed to get better every minute. As I’m walking back to my hotel a local guy comes up to me and says hello. At this point I’m not in the mood for idle chit chat with locals. He says something about being at the hotel. I don’t twig and walk off quickly to avoid him. Spot the jaded traveller. When I get back to the hotel I realise it must have been the fellow hotel guest I had a short but friendly conversation with at the bar. Now he must think I’m a total arsehole. I just couldn’t take a trick that day.

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