Morrokin to Manchester

I survived lent- 40 days with no alcohol at all. It was 3am on the way to the airport and I was craving alcohol and thirsty, oh so thirsty, so was stoked when upon arrival at Stansted Duty Free there were samples of flavoured vodka. The man was so excited I had given up alcohol for Jesus he gave me one shot of caramel and one of chocolate.

Instantaneous to landing in North Africa I had obtained a nice deep cough. Sunny Africa was beckoning and straight away we had bartered for a large transfer in to town, except when simple Robbie said 200 after we’d agreed 150 for our large vehicle, which turned out to be a Mercedes sedan that usually seated 5 and not 7. After Tosh briefly blew his massive lid we agreed for a 150 cab fare in our small large vehicle and cramped six weary travellers: B, Tosh, Nev, Robbie and Stace and I were enroute to the Riad Hostel Equity Point in the Marrakesh Medina. Thinking my cough would subside we went for a walk to check out Marrakesh and had found a bar that sold alcohol within a couple of hours- Kosy bar. Enjoying my post lent beverages I was disappointed it was Good Friday and I couldn’t accompany my new found taste for alcohol with some juicy meat.

Urgh not again Africa! This cough had worsened to the point of an inability to breathe and a banging headache. After a brief cry on Nev’s shoulder my awesome crew in the London fam looked after me/left me be whilst they headed out for some opening night shenanigans. I was spontaneously woken by a man running through our private room in to the shower- thinking I was dreaming!! Wide awake now and pounding on the door for this dude to get out, he finally ran out of the room in his towel. You have my attention Sir! As i was awake and thinking it was wasteful to spend a night in (massive FOMO setting in), as my headache had temporarily subsided I decided to venture to the rooftop bar for a mingle. There I met a man whose looks instantly captivated me, when he invited me to sit with him I thought all my Christmas’s (or Easter’s) had come at once! At one point I interrupted him and said ‘sorry, I am not listening, I’m too busy thinking that if your eyes were blue you would look exactly like Brad Pitt.’ Haha smoothe Mones. Mr Norway Brad Pitt loved it and as Jesus would have- offered me some of his wine.

Day 2 was spent exploring the Medina more. After a brief hide and seek starring B and I from a drunken man that somehow always found us to annoy us, we found some cones of salt and pepper squid and indulged. B, Tosh and I decided to get a traditional massage to relax. This massage took B and my relationship up a notch when we were asked to strip nude and enter the Hamman. Whilst some nude women rubbed out boobies I started to wonder what the hell was going on but was a massive fan of the nipple scrub. The lady speaking to us in French ordered us in to the sauna room then put the tap on max, setting the room temperature higher than any sauna I’d ever been in. I didn’t want to be a wuss, but it was freaking hot, and B and I weren’t sure whether we stayed in until we were unconscious and they stole all our money and sold us as sex slaves (a la the movie Taken) or we had to head out when we were over it. Suspecting the latter, I found the exit, and again was forced to endure another delightful nipple rub by the nude chick. When she ushered us in for round two in the Hamman steam room, we decided we would try hard to stick it out longer. This time, B caved and we headed up for our (clothed) massage. Upstairs in the 'Taken' chamber I was given a gorgeous masseuse. (B’s not so good). There were times I wondered if she was accidently touching my vagina. Not sure whether it was part of it or not, I waited until the lady said ‘just relax for a minute' and left the room, I made a couple of strategic coughs to see if B knew what was going on I finally said ‘B, what’s going on?’ and she goes ‘I dunno, she said just sit and relax for a minute, ten minutes ago and now I’m over it’ then I go ‘I felt like they touched my vagina a couple of times’ and B said ‘yes, I definitely got my vagina touched a couple of times’ to which we both started laughing awkwardly until we were reunited with our masseuses and told to get changed. We spent the next few minutes speculating how Tosh would have felt if his bean was flicked by a male masseuse and not semi nude hot ladies as our V-jay-jays had. Prompt hysterical laughing! We closed out the night with a nice family dinner at a cool belly dancing club place and B and I shared a few bottles of wine...

Feeling hungover / sick/ fragile, the next day we took off for the coast – Essaouira At least we thought we were, until our driver stopped half way, and said he was going to turn back to Marrakech cos we hadn’t paid. Basically Fat head had spent the whole night prior to on the phone trying to get us a bargain transfer even though we had already confirmed one, and incidentally double booked (mind you at least he had booked it cos us clowns would’ve struggled to do anything!), so we were picked up that morning by the bargain one, and not the one we had paid for. After a good half hour of comical ‘hello’ phone calls which is kind of a ‘have to be there joke’ we were back on our way with our none the wiser driver to the coast. Thankfully as I was not coping. The rest of the trip was almost uneventful until the driver goes 'look' to which we did and saw goats in a tree. He sped past, leaving us all convinced we had gone mad and B insisting it was the goats eating the Argan seeds. We decided to confirm on wiki as B was not having the best track record for the day adamant that it was not uncommon for Stace to have three names, and taking at least 10 minutes realise we meant three first names.

I took awhile to perk up and soon we were downtown indulging in some amazing seafood for less than 10 euro each, I was coughing so hard I was almost vomiting the food as I ate it. Gross. We had some drinks (I absconded from alcohol almost fearfully) and a late dinner followed. What a great town, much more relaxing. 

                                                                         

Our final day in Essourara was poolside, a little girls retreat (which is a little joke as Stace is a boy) whilst the boys played golf. A few G&Ts and a highlights or lowlights streaming of the Cats thrashing by the Hawks followed by another nice dinner and up the next morning to head back to Marrakech. The next hotel was in the new town which didn’t really have much going for it by the looks of things, but Stace and I took off in search of some food. We had a great little explore/ lunch until my overcooked chicken on one side was raw on the other side, but apparently that’s all a part of the service here and you have to pay for food you could possibly die from. I didn’t feel sick instantly so my fingers were crossed and met the others before heading back in to the Medina for our final dinner as a family and tucked in to the Moroccan equivalent of a Hungi- lamb or beef cooked in terracotta underground. Although it was rich and oily it was super tasty and considered the calorie use indulgent yet necessary. We followed dinner with some cocktails and sheesha at what would become my fav place in Marrakech- La Salame and were joined by my Egypt met Kiwi Londoners, Angie and Ben.  

  

 Up early the following day I said goodbye to the London troops and head in to town to tag in Angie and Ben. I spent the day with them on rooftops savouring the sun in my long leggings and shoulder covering t-shirt prior to deciding to take some clothes off and meet them at their Riad- Riad Layla only 400m from my hostel. Complacent without the boys as my shields, I forgot I was on my own in a Muslim country and soon found out the 400m walk in denim shorts to their hostel was equivalent to one of the worst most vulnerable dashes of my life. Seriously, actually, after Egypt, I will say that yes I think it’s a cultural/ religious thing, and yes, I think although I shouldn’t think like this, I do, I need a break from lazy, fat leery (I know this does not reflect the wider community but yes, generally Muslim) men. At one stage I had a man yell out to me “hello” and I said “hi and kept walking... he said “are you scared of me lady?” I said, “No Why?” and his response was; “cos I am Muslim, because I am a terrorist”. I kept walking and shaking, astounded and feeling like a tall white girl in shorts in a marketplace. Trying desperately to ignore it and find my friends riad I asked a lady for directions, she put me in touch with a young man, who started leading the way up a dark lane, winking at his friend who was following. Uneasy I stopped. I actually felt like crying. Thankfully he took

me to the Riad, and then demanded I give him money. Considering I’d made it 9/10ths of the way without him I yelled at him to leave me alone and offered him 1 dirham, all I had on me. (Rack off people, stop trying to make money from what should be being nice.) Thankfully I was united with Ben and Angie and their awesome Riad Manager, an Italian lady who was so glorious in their picturesque sanctuary of a Riad, Riad Layla.

The afternoon was again used to obtain some sun rays and a snooze, finally the doxicycline I’d bought over the counter had kicked in and my cough had started to dissipate. Rooftop Riad cards and G&Ts were followed by a night again at La Salame for Ben and I as Angie caved, however we were good and only had two cocktails.

Waking up feeling a little hungover was strange, as I’d only had two apricot mojitos, but ignoring that fact I spent the day at my new hostel with a James Bondesqe dude Gav and a West Londoner I’d describe as Ali G (although he could kill me if he knew I said that), named Rams, finally ending the night at La Salame again for some sheesh and apricot cocktails. This time, they recognised me, and gave a shot of another cocktail and because I was so excited I danced up the stairs falling up them and spilling half of it to my embarrassment.

Again I was surprised to wake up feeling like death. And wondered if the lack of sleep had finally caught up to me. Feeling nauseas, I ignored it as a hangover and made my way to the airport.  Arriving at Marrakech airport to head home, I was relieved. Don’t get me wrong, I had the best time, but I was so sick and my mouth was so dehydrated. I noticed the familiar taxi pulled up behind me, the large Mercedes and the round driver, déjà to end my holiday with the same dude that I first saw upon arrival. Even though I was weak I managed a private chuckle to myself. I was lining up at the airport to buy goods and I only had 10 dirham’s left and they wouldn’t accept my card. I had to ask a lady at the airport if she could buy me a water because I only had 10 dirham’s left. I almost kissed her when she obliged, but I was so weak, by this stage I was vomiting and the vomiting just wasn’t letting up, and my stomach was sore. Finally we were boarding the plane. I couldn’t wait to get onboard and purchase a massive bottle of water and a feed on the plane and then try and sleep through the banging headache and pass time/ forget the fact I felt awful. I was sitting next to some concerned Aussies who had spent two months surfing in Morocco; they fed me some ibuprofen and some mineral salts and tried to make me feel comfortable knowing I was struggling with life. The attendant let me go to the toilet before the seat belt sign had been removed, so I did and sat back down dying for water to see the trolley next to me as though my prayer had been answered. Then the worst news I had ever heard. Ryan air Flight FR3557 had no water on board. They had forgotten to load water on a 3.5hour flight!! Never again Ryan air.  

After what was close to the worst 3.5 hours of my life, I boarded the train to Manchester feeling and looking like shit and contemplating ending my life to relieve my pain dreading the two change 3+ hour train ride ahead of me. In fact by this point, barely able to move my legs and turning a deep green colour the train inspector let me sit down, told me to go to sleep and he would wake me when I needed to change trains. It was such a relief to be home and have the English customer service. Although the service was better in Marrakesh than Egypt, it is far from world class. I don’t know if it’s a northern African thing or a religious thing but the majority of the men are crass pigs most of the time, always trying to deceit you and the women seem to lack confidence to do anything without having the input of a dude. All I know is I need a break from Africa for a bit, and I quite frankly need a break from a Muslim country. I don’t like treading eggshells all the time, or feeling vulnerable wearing shorts 400m to visit friends.

Manchester was great. It felt like I was home as soon as I landed in the UK

and had the awesome train instructor be nice without demanding coin- so you can only realise how excited I was to discover Manchester had trams! I treated myself to a delish dinner of Malaysian and put myself to bed, still tired and run down from the awful plane. I woke up the next day and explored. I was staying in the Northern corner which suited me as it was edgy and had lots of cool coffee places. I acquainted myself with a place called Sparrow and fig and went there three times in two days. Sarah arrived later on and we head out for a dinner, three bottles of wine and some cocktails at a trendy VIP place for important visitors to Manchester. Like Posh spice, Becks, and Simone and Sarah. I admitted to the barman I had no idea what anyone was saying to me and he said ‘I’m from Ohio can I have your number?’ Realising first he was a baby, and secondly he was blonde so failed one of two criterion I decided to give in, what the heck- I’m 29 and apparently at my sexual peak, so what’s a phone number here and there, plus I need to get a boyfriend soon as dad is even quizzing me now! He didn’t call. This is a good thing cos I didn’t understand him anyway.

The next day was so exciting; it was just a massive build up. I had brunch with Sarah at Fig and Sparrow then headed to the game as we had an executive suite awaiting us with hot pies and alcohol. Steering clear this day of alcohol so I could take it all in I waited nervously waiting for the game to start and watching the QPR Chelsea game- and I couldn’t believe my eyes- Harry Redknapp has turned black! QPR were really challenging Chelsea but I was confident Chelsea would score a cheeky one just to fuck it up for the rest of us. Which is what happened…shit times, and relegation potentially for my equal second fav team QPR. We left the bar and walked in to the ground.

The buzz of old Trafford was outstanding. I was so far in my element that I was shaking and smiling at the same time, enjoying every moment. It was so loud in the ground the roar when the player’s names were called out. The piercing noise for kickoff and the catchy kitschy tunes! I thought we would get smashed Man City had an impressive team sheet so it didn’t surprise me, though it upset me when their first goal went through. Gahhh Man Shitty are so much like Chelsea they always get the easy goal after all the hard work the opposite way! But then whack elation, we scored, and it was a brilliant goal, the crowd lifted feeling every goal which was awesome cos we managed to slot through another couple. We played amazing. I was so proud to be there at that moment and have witnessed such an awesome game…. If only QPR got up.