Starting out

Eventually the cars were out of the containers and we were on the road back to Fez. The trip was uneventful except for Hans and his steering that was giving him grief. There are two toll gates on this road. One is a fixed rate: 20 dirams and the other depending on the kilometers travelled.

They drove straight to Fatimah’s house to pick their stuff and try to put her house back in order. They clocked in at the camp site, chose their spots and started unpacking while the ladies did the formalities.

This is the Diamant Vert camping site. A well laid out place with lots of very old trees. The local public swimming pool is in the same compound and during summer they have constant animation there – loud music mainly. This goes one from late morning up to 22h30. If you are lucky the DJ’s will take a break at around 19h30 and you can breathe again.

The ‘facilities’ are what they are, this is the best they will get this side of the equator. As for many things in Morocco, this one was no exception – there is this sense of neglect in all manner of maintenance: leaking taps, broken showers and toilets. Otherwise, they made themselves very comfortable. I was removed and parked in the corner of the tent where I could see the passer by’s.

The place was not packed with people but there were all sorts: French, Belgians, Italians, us… and each with their own style of camping. Coen found it was too hot and noisy to have a nap. He was very tired after unpacking and setting up camp but went shopping with her anyway.

The menu for the evening was b’stilla (the one she had ordered and was in the freezer at the house) and salad. When asked if she would join us, Fatimah said rather to come eat at her place since they just set up camp and are not totally organized.

So, the evening was spent there. The b’stilla was rather enormous and tasty but also a bit dry and crumbly.

The next day was mostly spent sorting out the crates, boxes and organisation of the car while the men went off to sort out car issues. After a quick lunch, warmed on the ‘cob’, there were last minute shopping to be done and then Elismé was preparing dinner. Fatimah and Ahmed were invited to share this first dinner in the camp.

On the menu was cob-roasted chicken with braai sandwiches. It was rather late when they came back with the chicken, so it was cut up and stashed on the cob. It was not looking great for a while but then it was roasting beautifully when Fatimah and son arrived. After this most complete dinner, we said our farewells and went to bed.

The next morning saw us with packing the car after a quick breakfast of coffee and rusks. Then, we were off on the road south. 

Casablanca re-

A couple of days after getting into Fez, she also had a cold. A small one, she thought, but it gave me this impression of being thirsty all the time, the throat felt parched seconds after swallowing anything. She had regular headaches, especially if she had walked in the sun and there were a few days of runny nose as well.

It is not pleasant to be sick away from home but what to do!? These are the times where she prefers being with her own company but she was in a house with 7 other people in it. To compound it all she suddenly heard this decision of all of us going back to Casablanca to fetch the cars. She was not pleased.

Casablanca is not a place she needed to go back to and in her state (not that the cold had degenerated into flu or anything) she had no inclination to go walk in the dirt of Casablanca. She nearly stayed back but then she thought she’d go and help Coen drive the car back.

We were to leave on Monday morning early, they had made an internet booking at their hotel in the Medina again. She was feeling better and went to the market with Fatimah on the Saturday. She suddenly remembered that we have not tasted the b’tilla of Fez – the town where the original recipe comes from. So, we promptly went to order one at a good patisserie. It is one of those places with piles and piles of cakes which we tasted as we browsed. The b'tilla was meant for Sunday lunch and cost a small fortune.

Getting home to hear that there had been another change of plans, we are leaving Sunday morning early. The b’tilla was put on hold. Hence, we packed a small bag and at around 8 left the house to look for a taxi – the usual taxi drivers were not answering their phones. We got lucky, barely had we reached the main road that there was a taxi stopped there.

Since we were at the station early, she thought that we could catch an early train even if it was not a rapid one. So, we boarded the 8h50 train and were in Casablanca at around 13h00. It was Sunday, traffic was calm and that part of town relatively clean. Surveyors were working opposite the station, highly likely checking the lay of the land for the tramway service that they are working on.

Hotel Central

La Place

After being given grief by taxis, they decided to walk. It was not too bad. The sky has been overcast, so the sun was not hitting down. We stopped at a café for orange juice and proceeded with the walk. They decided that they’d try to find the hotel by going through the main ‘baab’ of the medina. That part of the Medina was not too smelly and dirty that day and we had none of the hassles of so-called guides like in the other Medinas.

At the hotel, the manager recognized them and gave them a good welcome and assigned them the same rooms the men had when they were there last time. The room giving on the square was nicer but noisier. The view was better, there was the square that had flowers in it and relatively clean and the medina wall and then the main road and the port where boat repairs are done.

The Hotel Central is some 90 odd years old, they are told. It must have been a graceful place with no pretentions. The rooms were adequate, the toilet/shower was sufficient as hotels go. However, as many things in Morocco, it has seen far better days and the maintenance people have done a rather slap dash job with it. The cleaning crew was not much better but at least the sheets are clean. It seems to be quite popular; there was a constant flow of people from all over the world coming and going there.

After a good rest, we went walkabout in the souk. The impression one gets is that much of the goods are what we would call ‘genuine copies’. She knew what she was looking for but lost interest in shopping very soon as they sellers were giving her their ‘version of the truth’ about their wares.

Hole in the wall tajine restaurant

Dinner was a tajine made at a tiny restaurant around the corner from the hotel. A real hole in the wall sort of place. The people there remembered the men from last time. The guy cooks the tajine on the spot and serves it scalding hot at the table. It was a meat ball tajine with a poached egg. It was fascinating to see how the guy made his meat balls with one hand and russled the tajine en un tour de main. It was very tasty and she started speculating how she could get one of these cooking utensils back home. Coen was not keen on the carrying and finally they struck a deal of finding one there made by Le Creuset!

After dinner they went for a free mint tea at the hotel and then bed. The Medina was more animated by then, people walking and talking, traffic, music etc. The evening azaan was heard but nothing deafening like in Port Louis. Even the morning azaan was heard from their room, it was unlike any azaan they have heard before, they could not make out the words but it was not too disturbing.

Then at 7h00 the chantier naval let out a siren for the start of work. By then there was much activity to be heard in the Medina anyway. The men left after a simple breakfast of coffee and bread – they have to meet with the shipping clerk and carry on procedures to clear the cars. 

It looks like the cars are not going to be out that day. The one container was a big logged in and needed for other containers to be moved before they reached that one. So one more night in Casablanca and more roaming in the Medina.

The hotel manager pointed them out to a fish restaurant. At first he said ‘down there’ and she thought it was on the ‘place’ itself. Later, when the others also poffered the wish to sample this restaurant, she asked for proper directions and got told it was down there, around the corner where the ‘tabac’ was.

Roof top

After another binge of shopping and a sundowner on the hotel rooftop they walked there. It looked pretty much like one of these lonely Medina residential streets, but then suddenly there was this carved entrance and a menu hanging by the door frame. They thought they would have to eat in the doorway that had a few chairs and these typical café tables. But no, further down it was a fully fledged restaurant, complete with paper table cloths and napkins.

Seafood b'stilla

There, they ordered paellas and one seafood b’stilla. The food was excellent, the service rather medium and the décor over-the-top. Upon entering this place the flower shaped neons hit you in the face. Then there is some woodwork and some typical Moroccan painted work. It was all piled into the place for effect.

Seafood b’stilla is made a bit differently to the chicken/pigeon one: it has seafood of course but also chinese noodles and lots of herbs. It was not sweet nor are there so much nuts in there either but very tasty all the same.

The waiter said that they did not have chilli sauce but when they walked out a person eating the the ‘doorway’ actually had a small plate of chilli sauce in front of him!

It was not a warm evening. They had mint tea and went to bed. As usual, the noise from the ‘place’ was there but they managed to sleep a bit.

The next day, they checked out and we walked to the baab below the place to wait for a taxi. We got into the first one that stopped. This was driven by a young rather rude Moroccan who would not hear for putting his counter on. He was very rude, she was on the point of walking out but Elismé said they’d put up with it because this would be the last time they use the taxi.

Off we went in the direction given to them. Finally, we reached the industrial area of the port and they stopped. A girl from the clearing company had come to fetch them since taxis are not allowed further up into the port area. We all really squeezed in her rather spacious Renault Fluence.

At the depot, Hans’ car was out and they started to work on the other container with the 2 Toyotas. After some shoving and pushing the two cars were out. The batteries of all the cars were dead but with back up batteries and jumper cables, they all started fine. Hans had a little damage on one side light but with the help of all the people of the depot, they could hit the road to Fez at 9h45 that morning – 5^th of July.

Fascinating Fez

Loaded like pack mules, we made our way into the station. Since they already had tickets, we headed for the appropriate quay for our train to Fès/Fez. It was a pleasant ride of about two and a half hours. The train was late arriving, so we got into Fez later than expected.

Fatima, Suleiman’s sister who lives here, said she would meet us at the station. She had rallied her husband in case there would really be no space for everyone and the luggage. It was hot when we arrived and a warm breeze was blowing.

We were all invited to shack up at Fatima’s until such time as they get the cars cleared. They did not want to impose but there was no saying when the cars would be at the docks and how much time it would take to clear them off customs. She had moved in her new house some months before and it was not finished. If we wanted to get some cheap mattresses, she said, we could settle in until we got the cars. 

Fatima's house

After a delicious lunch of ‘poulet fermier’; chicken with saffron and all the side dishes, every one crashed for a rest. Then, we hit the hypermarket, Marjane, to get what we needed to settle in: towels, mattresses and some food. After which we went for a long walk into the forest with Najib. It was still warm but walking and perspiring acted as airconditioning. It is dry season even though dark clouds were looming on the horizon.

That evening we had left-overs and planned the next day: visit to the Medina and braai would be the two main events of the day. However, in the morning, when they finished breakfast earlier than expected, Fatimah took them to the local markets and the butcher too. The market was not fully opened but the few vendors who were there had wonderful fruits and vegetables, and fish too.

I got promptly cleaned before the next outing since the walk had rendered me quite dusty and grubby. She did not want to be accosted by these shoe-shine guys who are to be found everywhere in these public places.

 

The Medina was another experience. 3 of them went in Najib’s car and the other three went by taxi. It was getting a bit later than planned and it was hot. Inside the medina was the market that sells just about everything, typical of Morocco, as well as imported. We went into an old renovated mosque to see the woodwork and the construction. It was fascinating; the wood was intricately carved and laid in to make patterns. They were told that they used cedar to build in those days. The whole Medina is more complicated than the ones we visited in the other cities, this one 

seems to be older too and parts of it had burnt down and been refurbished.

They got hassled by people who insisted that they be hired as guides to us and at one moment one tried to hijack a transaction they were doing for the purchase of hats and head-dress. He tried to stick to us but eventually disappeared into the crowd.

Finally, they got to a leather jacket merchant who is known to Najib. After quite a bit of haggling, they got what they wanted and started walking out. By then, we had lost the sense of direction and suddenly we were back on the lane where we started. Fascinating place.

The medina of Fez has been classified as a national heritage. Within its walls are numerous old mosques and madrassas as well as the tomb of Moulay Idriss. These are vastly decorated places: mosaics, woodwork, tile work, carpets etc. It is next to one such that we fell on this strange workshop making wedding 'equipment': palanquins, litters etc. Very glitzy and showy, in your face type of thing.

A light but varied lunch awaited us upon our return to Fatimah’s house. A few hours of siesta and they were all in the kitchen to prepare for the braai. Finally, after a few moments of panic the staple was sorted out, the salad was made and the meat was grilling on a brand new braai which Hans had helped Fatimah to buy earlier.

The company gathered around the tables and it was a merry evening for all.

The next day was Monday, no plans were made since there was some phoning and other communication to be done regarding the cars and the logistics. By 9h30 they had heard that the cars are likely to be in Casablanca on Friday, maybe Thursday afternoon. The habbibi’s were rather put off by this news.

When Fatimah phoned to seek some news, she said that they could use these additional days to visit other places around Fez and make the most of it. The mood got better from then on but there was still some uncertainty about the whole organization of the next few days.

By then Fatimah was home for lunch and had commissioned her maid to make harira for us for dinner. She was hard at work and finally just closed everything in the pressure cooker and the whole thing was ready about an hour later. The house had settled down into some siesta, blogging and other communication by then.

The harira was ample, they ate well. It was followed by some typical Moroccan sweets and green tea.

Dead on time, the hired vehicle was on the doorstep. We all fitted in. They discussed the programme with the driver who suggested that he would take them to Safrou first. An agricultural town developed by the jews of the time with a small waterfall in it. It was quaint, as a small town but the buildings were mostly without imagination as many of these rural towns go. The waterfall was not spectacular but it was well set up and must have been quite a 'promenade' in the 'good old days' too. 








Then we were taken to a big lake outside Imouzzer, the water was clear even though there were loads of algae and other plants growing in it. They did not wade into this lake but tasted the water from a public fountain just off the lake. Next stop was the cedar trees of Mr Goudeau. The one that is famous is 800 years old but had been dead since 10 years.










They then drove up to Ifrane where we stopped and walked in the park and part of the town to get introduced to the Lion of Ifrane. This town looks a bit like Switzerland with its roofed houses of orangey-red tiles - it snows here. It is also a town where a private university has been established and the king has one of his R & R palaces. When we were there, the sun was still fierce and it was only marginally cooler than down in Fez. 


Next stop was Afrou where they thought they'd visit a local market while the driver had lunch. Unfortunately the market had moved away from its usual location next to the mosque and the driver had to take them there on food. The walk was interminable, it was around midday. Coen's head was getting rather burnt too. 


This market sells just about everything - Chinese junk, clothes, local water (which is ice cold), carpets, etc etc...... Elisme was looking for the traditional Galabia, in red. The people were desperate to sell but spoke very little English. We drifted from one tent to another under the scorching sun, looking. On the way, Hans found a small pressure cooker which he likes - we bargained a bit but the aunty was one of those who makes a price: local or foreign, same price. 


Finally, Elisme found what she wants. The two lady vendors were nicely lying there chatting. They spoke no French and referred to the currency in its older terms: rials. They hit a satisfactory amount and walked off with the purchase. 


That evening, everyone was pretty much knocked out. They tried to get to bed early since the men were taking an early train to Rabat to do more visa procedures and then rolling down to Casablanca to find out about the cars. 


The taxi that promised to be at the door to pick them up was there on time. They had sandwiches packed for them from the evening before and also carried water. After they left, there was peace and quiet in the house for a few hours until the rest of them were awake. A plan of the day was devised and Fatimah left for work. 


They prepared lunch with some contribution from Mwe Batoul and just sat around the relaxed for most part. Ahmet, Fatimah's son was taking his driving exam that day, theory in the morning and practicals in the afternoon. 


The ladies had decided to do the 'hammam' that afternoon. Fatimah would drop them on her way back to work after lunch and they'd come back by taxi. Then there was a change of plan: Fatimah wanted to be with her son after the practicals and it was ok with them at her work. So, she proposed that she does the driving exam thing, then fetches them for the hammam while she does her 'aqua gym'  and then visit the Artisanal Centre on the way back. 


After a good lunch of potatoes stuffed with ratatouille, they relaxed a bit more. They got some news from the men in Rabat regarding the progress of the 'démarches'. 


Eventually, Fatimah pitched and they al drove to Nausikaa, the spa not far from her house. The receptionist was helpful but also talked a bit fast to explain how things worked for the hammam. They all settled on the mud mask after the hammam and Elismé added a pedicure. 


It was quite hilarious: first they went to the (un)dressing room where they were given bath robes, black soap, shampoo, glove and a towel while their own clothes were kept in a numbered locker.  The place was quite sumptuous, grand Moroccan decor, just enough for a place like this, good lighting and sober music playing in the background. They found women of all ages in there - from 8 years old to 60+, different shapes and sizes too! 


After undressing they were guided to the steam bath where they had to rub on the black soap, sit in the steam for a bit then the 'girls' come to fetch them for a wash down and then glove scrub. That glove was a bit rough on the skin but they did not quite realise how round until afterwards. 


After the scrub, the body was rinsed of all the dead skin (surely, alive skin too) and then began the rub down and massage with the clay. They left the clay on the body for a while then another shower, complete with shampoo before dipping in a Jacuzzi. This one was not bubbling satisfactorily but it was cold. 


Another shower and they were done. Wrapped in the bathrobes again, Elismé made her way to her pedicure and the other two to a nice lounge with 'chaises longues', soft lighting and music. After this rest, they got dressed and went to wait with orange juice in the spa's café. Fatimah arrived with Ahmed who passed his exam and Elismé followed wearing funny sandals after her foot treatment. Another round of orange juice followed. Mariana told the girl behind the counter 
that she wanted to pay and the other one who did not have a stitch of English understood 'paille' (which means straw), hence Mariana repeated herself a few times and found herself with 4 straws!


The Craft centre, in avenue Hassan II was a good discovery. It is set in the old Convention centre, no one hassles you, you can browse to your heart's content and then visit the small workshops set up in the compound of this centre. By the time we got there, many of the small workshops had closed for the day. We bought a few 'bricoles' and then went to visit the other workshops. Fascinating work is being done there: embroidery, weaving, woodwork, brass work and others. 


Compared to the size of the centre, only a small part is occupied. They could develop the place more and advertise. It is safe, no so-called guides to press on you, no hassles from mendicants or cross shopkeepers. It is on a main road, the main road to the gate of the palace and the small souk of the old jewish quarter - it would get visitors for sure. 

Chocolate cake being prepared

Another vegetarian concoction was on for dinner. By then, their men were in Casablanca. Fatimah also baked a chocolate cake for Ahmed. We had to wait for it to cool down before decorating it and eating it - it was past 11 in the evening by then but very much worth it. 


They decided not to do the Medina the next day. There was some phoning around to find out where the cars were and what other paperwork had to be carried out before they can be cleared. Whatever admin that could be done prior to the arrival of the ship was being done by the men. 


That evening, they went to La Grillardière, a local chain of grill houses that serve excellent meat but also brochettes and pizza. This was also in celebration of Ahmed's licence. She had lamb chops which were served generously with veggies and chips. Ahmed ordered a T-bone steak. It was cute, about half the size of the serving they get in SA. It was a jolly evening which ended by Shahnaz getting the car to get more groceries from Marjane!!! 


I was not there, the ballerines went. Ahmed was navigating but they went and came back in one piece with loads of shopping. It was quite creative I heard. The Moroccans are very impatient in the traffic and not very good at stopping at stop signs. That was her first taste of driving in this country. 


For Friday, a visit to the Medina was ruled out because everything would be closed. Ahmed was recruited as a guide, translator and body guard to take us to the Artisanal Centre on Hassan II. That involved a long walk down the main road from the house then a wait. We were 4, so needed 2 taxis since the petit taxis take max 3 people at a time. The one who stopped first said he could take only two people since he was 'en rodage'. 


So, two of them went and saw to it that the driver set the meter before starting. Ahmed and Elismé followed a while later after having witnessed a rather nasty traffic accident. At the craft centre, they spent a while finding what they want, haggling for discounts etc. Leaving the centre, they walked down to find an ATM and then proceed to the gates of the palace. On the way, in order to get watered and get a decent loo, we stopped at the local McDonald's. It was built a bit in the Moroccan style and water by the cup is free of charge. 





By the time they got there, they learned that the market of the old Jewish quarter was also closed on Fridays. They walked further to see what was up and got accosted by some so-called guides. They were insisting on taking us to the synagogue and the cemetery. The point was the market first and the old buildings on the way. When they refused their assistance, there was some name calling which was not very nice. They walked off. 


They were told that the Artisanal Centre was also closed for prayers, so they caught a taxi back to the house and did not go back there to fetch their parcels. It was lunch time by the time they got back. Fatimah was concocting something quick and they all sat down to a jolly lunch. 


On their own in Casablanca, the husbands were coping as best they can. They had booked themselves in a hotel in the Medina which was correct but had little else to offer. They went hunting for food as per recommendation of other South Africans they met there. They got to a tagine made at you watch. After various visits to various offices they had done what they could, and decided to return to Fez. When they arrived they had to be watered and fed. They decided to come back because the containers had to be inspected and the procedures could not be done before Monday. 


The plan for the evening was dinner of Thai green curry and moussaka for those who find the curry too hot. Fatimah phoned to say that she was coming back early and Ahmed should get ready to go for a walk with her. I was asked to go too. So, she quickly got the chicken curry on the way. We packed into the car a while later - Ahmed's nose was bleeding profusely. So, instead of a walk, we went for a drive up the hill, past the forest and then stopped by an old hotel with a natural source of water for orange juice. It was peaceful, cooler and different. 


Saturday morning, Fatimah dropped us by a taxi and we went back to the Artisanal centre to fetch their parcels and get some more of these wonderful wares. 

Lunch was composed of a grand couscous prepared by Mwe Batoul. She had a couscousière going and we were watching the procedures, helping when we could. Parsley was still missing to complete this whole procedure, so they went to a local market. On the way they ordered a Fez b'stilla and tasted some Moroccan sweets at the patisserie. 

Roaming Rabat

With the usual arguments with taxi drivers at Rabat Station and a sincere conversation with a young man of Senegalese origin, we opted to walk to the hotel which was described as being 300m up the road. ‘Up’ was the right word to use because after a part of flat but rather broken roads and pavings, it did start to climb.

All that luggage to be hauled among 6 people. It was a lot and rather a sight too. Hans was suffering of both the heat and the weight but finally we were there. The rooms were booked already and they all got into their respective rooms to find that there were neither towels nor soap. This came a few minutes later.

The men went to the South African Embassy on an information gathering mission and came back looking very pleased with themselves. They were having a drink at the bar downstairs when the ladies decided to go out for a stroll. Finally, they all decided to go patronize a pizza place up the road and also find an internet café for making photocopies etc.

They did find a ‘cyber’ and after dinner they went to look for a place to make photocopies. It was by then 21h00 but they still found a small bookshop open, photocopies could be done that place.

While they men went to the various embassies on the other side of town the women decided that they will investigate town with the new tramway service that was just inaugurated in May. So, they went downtown, across the river, and back up and then again to the square next to their hotel.

It was a very pleasant ride which took about 2 odd hours, they were very comfortable. Orange juices were de rigueur after that. When the men got back from their visa trip, they all went to have a bite at the Petit Resto, a bistrot type eatery in the area where the French Institute is – Quartier Hassan.

Later in the afternoon, we took the tram for one stop only – so the husbands could get the feel of it. We walked through one of the many ‘baab’s of the old city, into the market. It was not very busy yet. The first few vendors they encountered were rather rude. We could not understand whether they were not interested to sell or just have had a bad day but their rudeness was rather surprising.

Further up the road the other vendors were quite keen to talk and show their wares: carpets, durries, kelims, leatherware, fabric etc. the way these shops were set up, they looked like one could imagine ‘Ali Baba’s’ cave to be, going deep inside, filled with wild and wonderful wares.









It was a bit of a walk to the fancy restaurant they had booked inside the old town – Al Dinajat. 

Then they set out to look for a restaurant in the old Medina. Finally they found it after one wrong turn; someone was kind enough to point them in the right direction. It was in an old but grand house. The décor was nice without being overbearing.












They chose dishes to share: pigeon b’stilla, lamb couscous with 7 vegetables and lamb shank tajine. Everything was delicious, even the chili sauce. The pudding was also a b'stilla.


The loo was quite something else…..



















After this sumptuous dinner, we walked back, going in a rather roundabout way. It is not easy to find the way with a map in Rabat, street names are rather scarce, rusted or downright non-existent. We did not get lost though.




Thursday, we explored the market a little more. On Thursdays there is a carpet sale, where the weavers from the village come to the souk to sell their carpets to the shopkeepers. Then, we went to the ‘Casbah’ and enjoyed its peace and quiet in there. They had a good view of the sea front from the casbah battlements. The visit to the weavers was interesting. They did tell the weavers that they were only browsing but that seems to be ‘payant’ as is many things in Morocco.










From living in South Africa, one is very aware of poverty that is also very apparent in Morocco. However, this constant expectation for tips is to be expected but because one looks foreign, they seem to expect more and even get cross when their expectations are not fulfilled. This makes things not so pleasant, there is a certain trepidation before visiting any place or doing anything as banal as asking for information.

For lunch, they decided to walk to a popular grill up the road from the Hotel, the ‘Coq Magique’. the place was crowded, where they seated us was too hot for Hans who promptly got back to the hotel. Coen ordered mechoui and Stephanus some lamb chops. Both dishes were generous and tasty. There were olives for everyone, served with a cumin/chilli sauce. That evening they dined there on a whole grilled chicken served with chips and rice.

Friday morning the others went to the Masoleum but we stayed in the hotel doing admin, blogging and resting. When the men left to fetch visas from the embassies, the two ladies went to have a bite at that place which they searched for but did not find a few days earlier – Ty Potes. Quaint place with an inner garden serving ‘French-style’ food. They chose a ‘galette bretonne’ with salmon that was delicious and quite enough for two. 

The visa outing seems to have been quite successful. They rested for a while longer and then it was suddenly imperative to get the tickets for tomorrow’s train trip today. Hence a walk to the ‘gare de Rabat Ville’. It was not a long walk, it did feel longer when we were loaded a few days ago!

Here again, they managed to secure a whole compartment to themselves.

On the way back to the hotel, the group wanted to try Ty Potes for a drink, so we stopped there. The place was empty and we managed to get a nice place in the garden. It was very pleasant and in spite of the late afternoon hour there were no mosquitoes. After this we walked back to the hotel with us buying cheese and flat bread at the local supermarket and the others got roast chicken with all the trimmings at some other place.

The hotel staff agreed to let them have this feast in the breakfast room of the hotel. It was a very varied meal with olives, juice, mayonnaise, mustard, rice etc.

Fortunately, the next day, when we got the bell boy to get taxis for us, we did not have long to wait. He was all smiles when we gave him a generous tip before we left, he was waving at us, wishing us to have a good trip. Great change to his demeanour when we first asked him very politely to get 3 taxis for us.