Moulay
Idriss. We caught the bus here from our campsite. Mike suggested
walking as we hadn't had any exercise for a week, but the Maitre D'
suggested a Number 15 bus might be a better idea. Guess who was right?
It only seemed a short distance between the two points last night as we searched for the campsite, but it's a damn sight further today, and it's uphill, too.
As soon as we got into Idriss, we were greeted by Ashrouf, our personal guide. We were unaware that we had a preplanned arrangement but he seemed to be expecting us and launched into his spiel before we'd had a chance to object. Aware of what was going on, we decided to "go with it" for just this once. We were going to get ripped off at some point, so we may as well get it over with. A bonus might be that his presence would keep the other Chancers at bay, and there certainly seemed to be a number of them hanging about.
It was a fascinating tour up and down stairs, through grubby corridors in the Medina, taking in several mosques on the way. At one, we were told, we could take a photo of the inside. The "guardian" suddenly appeared like the Genie from the Lamp, saying that good luck would come from taking the photograph. This relied, of course, on us buying 5 Holy Fairy Cakes for 20 Dirhams. The Genie wasn't impressed when we didn't agree, but we finally bought 3 cakes for 10 dirham and considered it a donation to the local religious community. Clearly, there would be a restriction on the amount of luck forthcoming at this reduced price.... Ashrouf remained somewhat quiet throughout these proceedings, and we became convinced that the guardian was actually related, probably his uncle.
The tour ended a while later (not because of the cakes) but because Ashrouf had a further engagement with his sick mother and demanding brood of orphan children etc etc. He said we had been such good friends, that he would only charge us 120 dirham, that he also spoke French, Spanish and Italian and would not insist that we accompany him to his brother's cookware emporium where many goods could also be had at discount prices. All this because we were his Special Friends. I guess he really thinks that tourists don't actually talk to each other and therefore might believe any of this.
Nonetheless, we paid him, but after we'd had him running all over the place getting us sorted out with our Internet access. We needed a modem and Maroc Telecom SIM card. The shop he took us to was run by a guy who bore a remarkable similarity to Mr A, but to think it was indeed his bro would be too cynical, surely? Since said shopkeeper was difficient in modems, Ashrouf was despatched to obtain one from elsewhere. He reappeared 10 minutes later with the required hardware, breathing like a 100m sprinter but wasn't going to get a tip...Equipped for access to the world, we made our way back to the bus via the souk and a very tasty kebab lunch.
This was my first visit to a Muslim market. Very narrow alleyways with twists, turns, steps and stairs going off in all directions. Fruit and veg in abundance, olives of every size and colour, preserved lemons in jars - and then we discovered the poultry section. We were looking for something for supper, and fancied chicken. We queued behind two local women to get an idea of the procedure. A chicken is chosen and weighed, hoping that it stays still! Once the price has been agreed, said bird disappears under the counter, is despatched with a squawk and then shoved into what looked like a tin box. Seconds later it's pulled out, sans feathers. Feet and head are removed with three flicks of a (very) sharp knife and....we had beef instead.
The butchery department was just across the alley. Close enough, in fact, for Mike to bang his head on that of a goat hanging from a hook. Just the head. Nothing else attached to it except the hook, of course, and still dripping....We bought our supper and made for the bus stop.
We lurked at what we assumed was the right place to catch the return bus, entertained by what also seemed to be the transport hub for the town - in other words, donkeys everywhere. We'd become quite used to them by now but at a distance. Sharing the same bit of personal space with Eeyore's cousin is a new olfactory experience...
We hoped that the Number 15 going home could be caught opposite the place we got off it. Within a short time the same bus we'd used on the way in appeared. We knew it was the same one because of the intricate pattern of cracks across the windscreen - the same as an aerial view of the Nile delta, apparently. Mike notices boring stuff like that. I recognised it from the string holding the doors closed.
Back at basecamp, we tried out our new high-tech communication device:
Unfortunately, even having the required hardware won't get a connection if the nearest telecoms mast is out of sight behind a hill and 15 miles away.
It only seemed a short distance between the two points last night as we searched for the campsite, but it's a damn sight further today, and it's uphill, too.
As soon as we got into Idriss, we were greeted by Ashrouf, our personal guide. We were unaware that we had a preplanned arrangement but he seemed to be expecting us and launched into his spiel before we'd had a chance to object. Aware of what was going on, we decided to "go with it" for just this once. We were going to get ripped off at some point, so we may as well get it over with. A bonus might be that his presence would keep the other Chancers at bay, and there certainly seemed to be a number of them hanging about.
It was a fascinating tour up and down stairs, through grubby corridors in the Medina, taking in several mosques on the way. At one, we were told, we could take a photo of the inside. The "guardian" suddenly appeared like the Genie from the Lamp, saying that good luck would come from taking the photograph. This relied, of course, on us buying 5 Holy Fairy Cakes for 20 Dirhams. The Genie wasn't impressed when we didn't agree, but we finally bought 3 cakes for 10 dirham and considered it a donation to the local religious community. Clearly, there would be a restriction on the amount of luck forthcoming at this reduced price.... Ashrouf remained somewhat quiet throughout these proceedings, and we became convinced that the guardian was actually related, probably his uncle.
The tour ended a while later (not because of the cakes) but because Ashrouf had a further engagement with his sick mother and demanding brood of orphan children etc etc. He said we had been such good friends, that he would only charge us 120 dirham, that he also spoke French, Spanish and Italian and would not insist that we accompany him to his brother's cookware emporium where many goods could also be had at discount prices. All this because we were his Special Friends. I guess he really thinks that tourists don't actually talk to each other and therefore might believe any of this.
Nonetheless, we paid him, but after we'd had him running all over the place getting us sorted out with our Internet access. We needed a modem and Maroc Telecom SIM card. The shop he took us to was run by a guy who bore a remarkable similarity to Mr A, but to think it was indeed his bro would be too cynical, surely? Since said shopkeeper was difficient in modems, Ashrouf was despatched to obtain one from elsewhere. He reappeared 10 minutes later with the required hardware, breathing like a 100m sprinter but wasn't going to get a tip...Equipped for access to the world, we made our way back to the bus via the souk and a very tasty kebab lunch.
This was my first visit to a Muslim market. Very narrow alleyways with twists, turns, steps and stairs going off in all directions. Fruit and veg in abundance, olives of every size and colour, preserved lemons in jars - and then we discovered the poultry section. We were looking for something for supper, and fancied chicken. We queued behind two local women to get an idea of the procedure. A chicken is chosen and weighed, hoping that it stays still! Once the price has been agreed, said bird disappears under the counter, is despatched with a squawk and then shoved into what looked like a tin box. Seconds later it's pulled out, sans feathers. Feet and head are removed with three flicks of a (very) sharp knife and....we had beef instead.
The butchery department was just across the alley. Close enough, in fact, for Mike to bang his head on that of a goat hanging from a hook. Just the head. Nothing else attached to it except the hook, of course, and still dripping....We bought our supper and made for the bus stop.
We lurked at what we assumed was the right place to catch the return bus, entertained by what also seemed to be the transport hub for the town - in other words, donkeys everywhere. We'd become quite used to them by now but at a distance. Sharing the same bit of personal space with Eeyore's cousin is a new olfactory experience...
We hoped that the Number 15 going home could be caught opposite the place we got off it. Within a short time the same bus we'd used on the way in appeared. We knew it was the same one because of the intricate pattern of cracks across the windscreen - the same as an aerial view of the Nile delta, apparently. Mike notices boring stuff like that. I recognised it from the string holding the doors closed.
Back at basecamp, we tried out our new high-tech communication device:
Unfortunately, even having the required hardware won't get a connection if the nearest telecoms mast is out of sight behind a hill and 15 miles away.
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