We had definitely started off on the wrong foot. Somebody was tapping on my feet and I couldn’t persuade my body to rise. I hadn’t had enough sleep. It was Ismael, the scatterbrain! But it was just 5 o’clock in the morning! And we had only arranged to meet the driver at 7! Then it dawned on me. In the tent ,everybody was sound asleep: the Moroccans on the left and the others on the right. It hadn’t been intentional. The bastard hadn’t changed his watch since we came from Spain and he got the wrong time. I made an effort to be polite, besides I couldn’t be bothered to yell at him now.
A few minutes later and I still hadn’t drifted off to sleep, I heard the motor of a car pulling over. Moroccans are not punctual, let alone arrive one hour earlier. I went out of the tent and met this chubby tanned man standing outside the tent. He was to be our driver. We had to go .I roused everyone and off we went. “But? Are we supposed to fit in this tiny van? ”I thought, We are fifteen ,you’ve probably been misinformed .He spoke English. Not fluently but at least he could say “No problem”.
Something I’ve learnt over the years in Morocco is that if you tell somebody to take you somewhere they’ll lead you somewhere else. But it’s not out of malice. They are convinced they are doing you a favour. We were staying at a children’s summer camp in the outskirts of Casablanca .We had been working for a week. We were heading towards Fez. We couldn’t wait to see the medina, the souk ,the ramparts…The driver was sweating and had bags under his eyes. I doubted he had slept at all. He told me somebody in his family had died the night before, and he hadn’t slept. I felt sorry for him. He also said he was a professional and since he had arranged to meet us he was happy to fulfil it. But you don’t say you are a pro when you really are, do you?
He said there was nothing to see in Fez and suggested we go to a small village in the vicinity. I objected .I just knew this was going to happen. I made a ten minute speech and he complied. He hadn’t been listening.
The rest of the day in Fez was as uneventful as a day can be in Fez. It was quite uncomfortable with Choi, the Korean guy, in the medina. It was amazing how much people teased him all the time. They called him “Chinese” and all kind of other names. He ended up in tears. After dinner we felt like having a drink or two, but the only chance was the brothel in our hotel. It was absolutely sordid .The tables were filled with empty beer bottles and peanut shells. It smelled of a mixture of urines and incense. The men ,some of them surprisingly young, were haggling with the girls while trying to take advantage. We bought the drinks and took them to our room. The barman was very friendly, he even offered a discount for a Johnny walker bottle. “Just 40 €!”we stuck to beer at €2 the bottle. Local. Lukewarm. We sat at the balcony overlooking what used to be a garden once. It was full of rubble now. It felt good.
The next day, we left for Meknes. The driver hated the idea and said he knew a spa village very near Meknes. It was unbelievable. The pools for men stank .Around us we could see pieces of skin and hair floating. That’s because we could only see the surface. The women´s pool was even more dreadful ,with overweight women shouting and pretending to faint so they got the others´ attention. I didn’t touch the water .Lunch in Meknes. We stopped ten times to ask for directions. Then the driver said the prettiest place in Morocco was a waterfall near his town. Ouzoud. It was only two hours’ drive he said and we could have dinner with his family.
I looked at the map and shook my head. I knew we’d never make it before dusk. It meant crossing the whole country .We voted .I lost .After seven hours in the tiny Vanette we had the third puncture. He skidded and nearly lost control of it. it was dark .We were sick of him. Two girls were crying at the back. He was overtaking every single vehicle as we raced past the Atlas mountains. Very winding. We finally got to his village. The German girls said their country had recommended not visiting this area because of possible terrorists. I started to be fed up with everyone. There was nothing like a waterfall in the village. Not even a river. We arrived at his house and there was a marquee outside where old people in white robes were in mourning. He had finally managed to take us to the funeral. It had cost us over 400€.I just wanted to sleep on a normal bed.
Some of us tried to find a hotel. The ones that stayed behind had to put up with a uninhabited house where there were no beds or water to be found .I felt like a king when we took a coach to Casablanca the next day.
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