Stereotype Named guides in Tangiers, lots of cats plus third Bidet Rant

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Today's thought provoking thoughts include hard hitting questions about bidet usage whilst out doing the daily shopping. Also, genuine fake rolexes, are they really a thing? Read on....

Seeing as we didn't get to bed until after 1am, it was great to get up at 5.30am to go on a pre-booked trip to Morocco. I was worried that weather would stop the trip just as a small flurry of snow stops people going to work in the UK. But surprisingly, it wasn't raining when I got up.

We got in a coach with a bunch of other tourists where I promptly fell asleep, missing all the hilarious commentary, not to worry though, Glyn repeated it all to me, nothing was missed out bar the translation in German. Obviously it was pouring when I woke, but I got to laugh with the rest of the coach at some idiot car driving down the wrong side of the road, then turn the wrong way down a one way road to the horror of on coming traffic. He had to be British.

We arrived at Tarifa where we caught the ferry (55 mins we were promised but it was more like 1 hour 15 mins) to Tangier, a crossing of 24 km. The shortest distance between Morocco and Spain is 14km, I know this because Glyn was awake when the guide was talking.

Passport control was almost as slack as when we landed in Spain (the guy glanced at my open passport in my hand and just about summoned enough energy to wave me away - sorry for boring you mate), but in Tarifa the guy did spend a good half second looking at it whilst I drank my coffee as there was no time to finish it at the cafe. I did wonder how I'd get my drink through the luggage scanner, but not to worry, it wasn't working and so I kicked myself for not bringing loads of contraband.

Ricardo our guide (the driver is Pedro of course) is constantly hurrying and insistent that we all use the facilities when the opportunity arises so that we don't waste time. With that in mind, I managed to squeeze out a number 2 on the ferry. Top of the class! We also have been given stickers to wear, because we will be lost without them and stuck in Morocco for a month no less.

If I had to think of three typical male Moroccan names, I would suggest Mohammed, Mustapha and Abdul and these were the names of our guide, driver and back up guide in Tangier. Mohammed speaks fluent English (with an American accent because of years of movies, girlfriends and tourism), he also speaks Spanish, German, Italian and Arabic (well he would!)

The first part of the tour was driving around Tangier, looking at the various European influenced sections and then the super rich area at the top of the hill. The sun was shining as we stopped to look at the 'view' which was blocked by fences and sports courts. Locals were selling camel rides for a Euro, the definition of a ride being walking in a small circle and having your photo taken.

Mohammed talked endlessly on the history of the place and used to study law (I wonder why he's a tour guide though, he may enjoy it, but with his language skills, obvious intelligence and good education, I would have thought he'd have a better paid job. However I do come across a lot of highly educated tour guides on my travels and maybe it's just down to what jobs are available. In the UK we have many over educated customer service assistants as there's no market for tour guides in Hanley, Stoke on Trent.) He was telling us that some politicians tried to ban the niqab and burka in recent years but was glad they didn't because if you start to ban one item of clothing, what next? Shorts, t-shirts? He told us about the recent expansion of the city and how there's loads of investment to tart it up, there's certainly a lot of building work going on.

The walking part of the tour began and so did the rain. We were taken for lunch in a place where the tables were so low, eating could give you backache. A Moroccan band played endlessly and dipstick tourists actually paid to have their photos taken with them. Not me though, I would not even entertain the idea of paying for a meet and greet with a band I do like!

I went to the loo and on the way out, the man at the door was trying to get my attention by clapping and I assumed he was after some sort of tip, so I avoided eye contact. The meal was a bit bland, no veggie option, so soup and couscous it was (and Glyn got double chicken), but it was included in the trip fee. We then had to watch a belly dancer wobble about whilst balancing a stick on various body parts. On the way out, Glyn spotted that I had bog roll stuck to my shoe, ah! This was why that man was clapping at me, and he duly reappeared to follow me to the loo where I dispensed the offending bog roll in a bin, still avoiding eye contact.

During lunch there was a massive thunderstorm and it was still raining hard as we headed to the Medina (old part of the city) and got to hear about all the movies that have recently been filmed there. Apparently Daniel Craig is very nice but Leonardo DiCaprio is stuck up.

There were lots of cats in the Medina, so I was happy. Also lots of people trying to sell us stuff we don't want, the words 'no thank you' do not compute at all. Glyn was not tempted by the genuine fake rolexes on offer. How strange.

The downside of going on an organised tour is that you are always taken to certain shops where your guides are best buds with the owners. Sigh. This was no exception. We were taken to a shop with three floors and many exits, but each one tightly guarded. We got the usual rug demo and sales pitch which had to be on the top floor of course. We tried to make a quick getaway, but were told it was the wrong exit for our tour. So we regrouped with a Dutch couple and tried to sneak out past the very stinky leather goods.

I decided to make the best of the situation and asked to use the facilities as previously instructed by Ricardo. Of course, they were back upstairs and I risked venturing out alone from the safety the newly formed Euro-Shopexit to find them. Here comes my bidet rant of the day...

Answer me this: who, when they are out and about on a shopping spree in a big store decides that now is a good time to wash their bum? Maybe I'm just super privileged in that I've never needed to. Or at least I never thought I needed to - OMG paranoia time! A few sheets of bog roll is all I ever required, but in this shop, BOTH cubicles contained bidets alongside the toilets. Added to that, they were beige in colour, so really offensive. I really wanted to ask how much they get used, but didn't dare as they would only try to sell me one.

So I headed back downstairs to see Glyn and cohorts cowering by the doorway, not wanting to be in the shop, but fearful of the snipers outside hurling wooden camels, scarves, bracelets and other blunt merchandise at them.

Eventually Mustapha led us away as we chanted "No thank you no thank you" to deaf ears over and over again. I might have been interested in buying some tat, but in Tangier like so many tourists traps, browsing is the same as buying, so it's not a risk I take.

We were taken to a herbal pharmacy place that I had no interest whatsoever in going in. Some of the British women manage to escape by claiming they wanted to buy sandals and were led away. I was not allowed to go with them, I had to go and listen about oils and herbs, and I will enjoy it. I did not enjoy it, especially when the guy wrapped some stinky herb in cheesecloth and made us all snort it, pinching shut the free nostril. It's meant to clear sinuses and migraines, but it made me gag. Added to that, it was the same piece of cheesecloth for us all....

After that, the tour was over and we were driven about 5 metres to the ferry. It did seem over rather quickly but it is a few hours getting back.

I have enjoyed the day but should remind myself that organised tours are good in that you don't have to drive, you don't get lost and you have a person with you that knows the language and the area. So I must not get annoyed at the downside in that they waste some of your time trying to make you buy crap you don't want and they have to try and please everyone... and everyone is often a very mixed bag!

The day ended at the Sunset Bar. Now I had visions of sitting on the patio, supping a cold pint as the sun sunk over the Mediterranean, lighting up the clouds with golden and pink hues. No. The barman looked confused when I asked if you could actually see the sunset from the bar.... You just might between the buildings it turns out. But I didn't wait to find out as they were playing out of date British pop music loudly and it had as much ambience as Hanley Wetherspoons on pension day. I had beers in the fridge back at the apartment waiting, it was time to go

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