The rain in Spain falls... occasionally

G'day folks, and thanks for checking in. I can't think of anything funny to say because successive overnight bus trips have temporarily stolen my wit and ability to form coherent sentences. Don't worry, the post itself was written in chirpier times so it's as funny as you would have come to expect from me by now i.e. less funny than Chris Farley in a little coat but more funny than everything Wil Anderson has ever said. If you're a Wil Anderson fan stop reading now, there's nothing here for you. Everyone else, enjoy!

Granada was our next stop after Morocco, and I can tell you that we were pretty keen to drink some beer and eat some of the world's best jamón after two weeks off. The travel was of course long and tedious and we arrived in Granada exhausted and smelly. To make matters worse we struggled to find our Airbnb location and really needed to find somewhere with wifi so we could load our maps and messages properly. Once we were in the general area of the house we found a bunch of cafes, which we approached in turn asking 'tiene wifi?' to be met with 'no' after 'no'. Nobody in Granada has wifi guys, take note. Finally we found somewhere, sat down, ordered a lemonade each and got the password. Not two minutes later the waitress returns with a plate of these tuna rolls, explaining that tapas are FREE with every drink in Granada. I seriously could have kissed her. Well, long story short, we found the house, showered and set off to drink and eat our way across the city - for free! Free tapas does not mean poor quality tapas, as we ate some of the best food on our whole trip in Granada, our favourite being from (ahem) a super hipster record store/bar called Loop. You can take the couple out of Melbourne etc..

During the daytime we kept ourselves occupied with exploring the city, visiting Spain's oldest hamman (remarkably well preserved), wandering the streets of the old town Albaicín, checking out the local street art, drinking spring water from the fountains in the street and trying to keep cool, and for me, dealing with some unpleasant side effects of the ice (the frozen water, not the highly addictive drug) I had in my very last beverage in Morocco. Yes, two weeks of being super careful with our food and drink and then on the last day I forgot myself and accepted a drink with ice in it. Always a mistake.

The free walking tour we took in Granada was one of the better ones we've ever been on, our guide knew a shitload of interesting stories about the history of the city, and Granada certainly has a more interesting history than a lot of other cities. She also pointed out the best place to buy piononos, this amazing cake originally made for, and named after Pope Pius XI. It is a close second to pasteis de nata for our favourite cake SO FAR. Don't worry, we still have 14 more months of cake eating to do, I will keep you posted on all the developments in this very important contest.

Obviously no trip to Granada is complete without a visit to the Alhambra. We splurged on a guided tour AKA forgot to book our tickets in advance and only the expensive guided ones were still available. But, every cloud has a silver lining, and our silver lining was Alberto, the best tour guide you could ever want. He had fabulous hair, was rocking lime green pants, and he dropped a David Bowie reference on us in the first five minutes - does it get any better than that? Well, yes it does. He is probably the only person I have met who hates selfie sticks more than I do, and he was not backwards in making his feelings known to the people in our group yelling 'selfie time is over!' when he wanted us to move on to the next part of the tour. He also clearly loved the Alhambra. He was born and raised in Granada so he felt a great sense of pride in it. If you have ever seen pictures of the Alhambra I'm sure you would wonder why. I wondered why too when I first saw it. It's a pretty boring (dare I say ugly?) building. From the outside. See, this is the thing about Arab architecture, and something we also saw a lot of in Morocco. They never spend money making the facade of your house beautiful and luxurious. For them, beauty is something that you keep on the inside, for your family and your guests, not to have a very ostentatious outward appearance that shows off how much money you have, and could embarrass your neighbours. In Morocco you could not tell who was rich and who was poor until you saw inside their houses. Even the hostels and riads, which were gorgeous inside, have no outward facing windows. All the rooms are built around a central roofless courtyard, which lets in light and air. It is a really nice idea, and stunning from the inside. As was the Alhambra. My initial judgment was thrown out as we were led through beautifully landscaped gardens, into gorgeous courtyards, and amazing bedrooms, all the while with Alberto explaining the history of this fascinating building. Definitely a highlight of the trip so far. It also managed to rain while we were inside, for the first time in 69 days of travel. It was a very welcome sight, as we had been struggling with the constant dry heat for weeks. Evidently so had the streets of the European cities, with their complete lack of public sanitation. To quote Dave in Bordeaux 'the whole of Europe smells of piss'. I think it would need to rain consistently for a week to sort that out, but one afternoon of rain was a good start.

We had a small emergency in Granada, where there was a problem either with all the ATMs or with our bank cards and we could not withdraw any money for hours. We were down to our last €10 in cash, so we did what any sensible people would do - we went and spent it on beer. Thankfully, whatever the issue was was rectified and we were able to withdraw more cash and buy more beer. Phew.

Our next Spanish stop was Valencia. We arrived late on Sunday evening, after travelling on a bus all day, and our (super awesome) host Nini had told us to meet him at his work. His workplace turned out to be a bar with Fosters (!) on tap, and when we arrived he was drinking beer and chatting with people. This 'work' it turned out, is actually his hobby - a language exchange program connecting people of different backgrounds to help develop their English, Spanish, German, French or whatever it is they want to learn. We grabbed a beer (Estrella, in case you're wondering. We did not touch the Fosters.) and joined in the fun. We did try to sharpen up our Spanish skills, but mostly we just used it as a great way to meet interesting people. Everybody was happy to have a chat and meet the 'Aussies' (Nini had made us like mini celebrities in Valencia. He himself is a celebrity in Valencia and the fame by association was good for us). We made friends with Americans, Spaniards, Brits, and a whole bunch of others and they were all so lovely. Except for one guy. This guy was obsessed with the crocodile hunter, and once he found out we were Australian it was all he wanted to talk about. I'm not joking, he gave me a blow by blow of how Steve Irwin died, as if I was not aware. He also wanted to discuss with me how sad Steve's widow Terri must still be every time she thinks about it. I say 'me' because by this stage Dave had slowly moved his chair away from the table until he was far enough away to be completely out of the conversation and just abandoned me as I listened to tales of Steve Irwin for 15 minutes. He's a great bloke that Dave. 

Language Exchange took up three of the four nights we spent in Valencia so on our last night we thought it was high time to take ourselves out for a traditional paella. Paella actually comes from Valencia and in their traditional version meat and seafood are never mixed together. The Valencian paella we ordered contained chicken and rabbit and it was really delicious. But I still reckon, traditional or not, you can't go wrong with a bit of chorizo and some prawns. Yes, I prefer the bastardised Aussie paella over the authentic one. I never said I was a paragon of culture!

You might recall that we have swam a couple of times in the ocean and found the water just a little bit too nippy, and we were keenly awaiting arriving at and swimming in the Mediterranean. Well we got our chance in Valencia, trotting off to the beach on a typically hot day. We ran into the water, and holy shit, it was like being in a giant salty bath. I'm not kidding, that water was so warm it was not even remotely refreshing. We stayed in for 10 awkward minutes before agreeing that it was just too weird. And yes, I understand we are never happy, but dammit I'm Goldilocks and I just want to swim at a beach where the water is 'just right'.

Barcelona was the next port of call, and we were keen to make up for our trip here in 2011 where we pretty much only saw the inside of the train station and the beach (don't ask). We were staying with Pablo in a great location, only problem was we couldn't find it - this is becoming a familiar tale. We hit up KFC AKA The Dirty Bird for some free wifi and 10 minutes later Pablo was there to show us the way. We were located just off Placa Reial which is a very busy and noisy square, not a place to stay if you really want to sleep, but it was a lot of fun. Especially staying with Pablo. He bought us beer and 5 litres of water to welcome us, and proceeded to give us a very graphic demonstration of how sick we would be if we were not careful with our food hygiene in Turkey. Very fun guy. 

Day one was dedicated to seeing the one thing that we were devastated to miss out on last time - Sagrada Familia. Definitely worth the wait, it is an absolute work of art, inside and out. It rivals Palace of Versailles as the most beautiful man-made thing we have ever seen and no matter what your religious beliefs you cannot help but be amazed by the story Gaudi is trying to tell with this building. The thing that impressed me the most was that this was a project he undertook with 100% certainty that he would never see it finished, yet with 100% faith that the works would continue after his death and would be faithful to the original concept he designed. 

After Sagrada Familia we decided to chase down some more Gaudi masterpieces, and followed the trail of them back to La Rambla. It was very interesting to see the casas he designed, but also to see how much the surrounding architecture had been obviously inspired by his legacy. There are some gorgeous buildings in Barcelona, with windows to die for. If I win tattslotto I know exactly where I'm buying my holiday home.

One fantastic thing that we did in Barcelona, and that I encourage everybody to do if it's available in a city you're travelling to was Eat With. Eat With is another creation of the new 'sharing economy' we find ourselves in, like Blablacar and Airbnb. The concept is simple, you go to somebody's house and they cook dinner for you. There's a bit more to it than that, the 'chefs' go through a pretty rigorous screening process to ensure that the diners are going to get an experience worthy of what they have paid, but essentially it's a delicious meal cooked by strangers. We were lucky enough to book in for a Saturday night dinner at Alberto and Ella's house in the next neighbourhood. Alberto is Italian and Ella is from Melbourne and they met and fell in love at an Eat With dinner a few years ago and now they host guests together in their apartment. Seriously, stop it. It's like the best rom-com plot ever. This was actually one of our favourite nights of the whole trip. The food was incredible - we would have paid much more for the same quality in a restaurant. Alberto and Ella were lovely, and we also met a whole bunch of great people. There were 12 guests that night, and we all sat together, chatted, ate our four courses, and drank Spanish wine. We spent a lot of time talking with a couple from Britain who were travelling with their four children, and a young couple from Melbourne who are now living in Rotterdam. It was just a great way to spend a night and so much more enjoyable than going to a restaurant and getting a table for two (no offence to Dave, but we have eaten a LOT of meals just the two of us in the last few months). I loved it, and if you ever get the chance to do it you definitely should.

Alberto and Ella also gave us the inside tip that we needed to hit up Festival de Gracia which was happening at exactly the time we were in Barcelona. This is a super fun street party, mainly for residents but they very kindly allow tourists to join in the festivities. So the very next night we decided to see what it was all about. It was amazing. Entire streets are closed off for days and decorated in a theme (Flinstones, Japan, anti Nuclear power, children's birthday party [this street somehow ALWAYS smelt like lollies, it was the best]), stages are set up in various squares, EVERYWHERE is selling cheap beer, and the people are all in high spirits. We took it all in and then camped out at the folk stage, where a fabulous six-piece Spanish folk bank absolutely owned the night. The band included my favourite instrument, the double bass, and I drunkenly proclaimed that I was going to learn it when I get home. Watch this space. Don't watch it actually, I can't handle that sort of pressure. But if you see me in 5 years busking with my double bass in Bourke Street Mall PLEASE throw me a gold coin or higher.

Guell Park was another highlight, another Gaudi masterpiece (and clearly Tim Burton's inspiration for a whole bunch a movies) that we happily viewed in the rain. Oh yeah, it rained again you guys. Actually, Barcelona's weather was the BEST! Consistently under 30 degrees, I even had cause to wear pants one day. PANTS! I had been seriously considering ditching them as they had been collecting dust in my backpack for 8 weeks. I had forgotten what it was like to walk 100 metres without sweating profusely, to sleep under a sheet (spoiler alert: in the future I sleep under a DOONA again), to dry myself after a shower and remain dry for more than 5 minutes, and to actively choose to sit somewhere that isn't located in full shade. In short, I really appreciated the weather in Barcelona.

Of course, a city like Barcelona always throws up good times. Like the rival €1 tapas bars we found across the street from each other and ate at both of them just to encourage competition. Or the American guy on a shocking comedown who announced to his (completely unaware) girlfriend in the queue for felafels that he had decided he was never leaving and was going to live in Barcelona. Or a lazy Sunday lunch spent at Le Quinze Nits watching the shenanigans of Placa Reial unfold. Or heading to the local Irish pub to watch Barcelona get thumped in the soccer (they call it football over there, weird huh?) and then seeing everyone still wearing their Barcelona jerseys the next day, proud as ever. 

One not so good time I have to include is the Magic Fountain of Barcelona. Apparently this fountain display is fucking amazing. You have to see it to believe it. I say apparently because we missed it. Twice. Friday night we rolled in at 12:20am ready to be delighted by it, only to hear that it gets turned off at 12am. No worries, we have three more nights here we think, let's find a rooftop bar instead and check it out another night. Saturday we are at our Eat With dinner. Sunday we are at Festival de Gracia. Monday we roll in for the 9pm display, the first of the evening because we want to watch the soccer afterwards. No 9pm show takes place. It's cool we say, they mustn't have thought it was dark enough. We wait for the 9:30pm show. It doesn't happen either. We really have to leave now, we have a date with sport and beer. On our way out we notice a sign saying that the show occurs from Thursday to Sunday. It doesn't even fucking happen on Monday. We have wasted 40 minutes watching a completely still fountain, fending off beer sellers and selfie stick toters for nothing! I did get to pat a dog though, so it wasn't a complete waste of time. Not just any random dog either, he was carrying his own lead in his mouth. Actually what am I saying? Patting that dog has gotta be a top 5 highlight of all of Barcelona. Ignore the previous paragraph. I patted a really well trained dog. It was awesome.

And that's all she wrote. Spain was amazing in every way and we were super sad to leave. But there's still so much more of the world to see and so much more cake to be eaten!

Oh wait, can someone please confirm wether or not Joe Hockey picked up a cake and threw it at a woman in parliament? I'm pretty sure Dave just dreamed it, but stranger things have happened! Love to everyone, be good. xox

Musing on Morocco

Hola amigos! I'm trying to use my 9.5 hour bus ride somewhat productively (other than just eating a kilo of pick and mix lollies) by churning out another blog post for all my eager fans. That's you, by the way and I do appreciate you reading my incessant ramblings. 

So, Africa huh? That's a whole other continent, hey. Visiting Morocco was a very interesting experience for me, it definitely had its ups and downs but in the end I'm really glad I went, not just for Morocco itself but also because I think it was fantastic preparation for some of the things we will encounter in South America. To put it in the wankiest way possible, I feel like it made me a more savvy traveller.

Firstly, the travel talk. We caught a ferry over from Tarifa in the south of Spain and in a little over an hour we were in Tangier in the north of Africa. Of course there's a lot more to it than that, it was probably the most hellish travel day of my life and really tested my patience, my fledgling Spanish, and my faith in public transport. But long story short, we made it to Tangier. We caught an overpriced taxi from the port to the medina and were shown to our hostel by a helpful local kid who then demanded 2 euros from us. This is a pretty regulation arrival in Tangier.

Tangier in the 1930s - early 1960s was a very different place than it is now. Under international rule at the time, it had very relaxed laws towards homosexuality and drugs, both of which were incredibly taboo in the rest of the world. For this reason it attracted a plethora of artists, musicians and writers from the western world who were seduced by the lax regulations and inspired by the natural beauty of the place. To see it today, it is very hard to imagine the debauchery that was rife only 60 years ago. Nightclubs and bars have been replaced with male-only cafes and carpet sellers. Despite the hostel owner telling me I didn't really need to 'cover up' in Tangier because it's so 'chilled' I still copped a fair amount of staring when I ventured out on our first day in a loose knee-length dress and long sleeved shirt. I quickly bought some harem pants in an attempt to 'fit in'.

Our time in Tangier was spent mostly exploring the medina, which is an unmappable maze of streets in the old town, full of shops, cafes and people trying to 'help' you AKA do whatever they can to get money out of you. We also took a day trip out to Asilah, which is a beautiful seaside town painted completely white and then given over to local artists to paint whatever they want using the towns walls as their canvas. They repaint and update the artwork regularly so it will be different every time you visit. It was a very cool place. We also spent a bit of time on the hostel's rooftop terrace where we could escape the hustle and bustle of the medina, eat pastries and hang out with other travellers. The terrace had amazing views of the medina and the beach, and was in the best location to hear the calls to prayer from all the surrounding mosques.

Our next stop was the incredible Chefchaouen (I can actually spell that without having to look it up now), commonly referred to as the Blue City. The entire medina is painted in various shades of blue - walls, floors, staircases, doors, EVERYTHING, even the pet dogs. I'm kidding guys, Moroccans do not have pets. It was beyond stunning, you really need to see it to believe it and I strongly encourage everyone to visit Chefchaouen. It's a much more relaxed city, the people are friendly, the hawkers are much less aggressive and it's at the foot of a mountain. Eric Clapton is buying a house there you guys, I'm telling you this city is going to be the next big thing.

Fes was our next destination, a whirlwind visit as we only had one full day. We decided to take the walking tour of the medina from our hostel, as this seemed much easier than tackling it on our own (the medina of Fes has 9,500 streets, incredibly daunting for anyone who hasn't grown up there). Our tour guide Abdul Ali was the best. He introduced himself by saying 'you can call me Abdul Ali, or you can call me Abdul, or you can call me Ali, or you can call me friend... or you can call me whatever you want'. Excellent. Our three hour tour turned into a 5.5 hour tour, as he showed us around, pointed out some amazing buildings, took us to the tanneries, and walked us through the gross part of the market where the live animals were (I accidentally saw a chicken being slaughtered - that wasn't part of the tour). He was also a great talker, very keen to break down any cultural barriers - 'I don't believe in taboos' he said. He explained a lot about Islam and Moroccan culture (and importantly, the difference between the two), gave us a better understanding of the purpose of Ramadan and then showed us a spot to get a delicious and cheap lunch. Top bloke. 

On the walking tour we met a few sydneysiders (most of the Aussies we have met have been from Sydney, and they've all been lovely. Stereotype quashed!) who were keen to head into the desert the next day, so we tacked ourselves on to them and got up at the crack of dawn the following day to start the long drive Sahara bound. Thankfully we had been given a people mover with great aircon so it was a relatively comfortable journey. A few stops along the way at the monkey forest, the high atlas and an incredible river gorge (totally understand the meaning of the term 'desert oasis' now) and we finally arrived at the Sahara just in time to mount our camels for a lovely ride through the sunset. Well, I assume there was a sunset, it was very overcast and there was a storm rolling in. Still, we powered on with our camels (I named mine Mereen. She was lovely) and our Berber guide, getting to camp in time to bust out some sandboarding before dinner and get caught in a small desert storm, before sleeping out under the stars (on mattresses that we later found out were likely to be riddled with bedbugs). It was a pretty amazing experience.

A sunrise camel ride, and another long day's drive later, we arrived in Marrakech. Marrakech is probably the most entry level of all the Moroccan cities we visited. The shops in the souks are very much aimed towards tourists, pretty much every restaurant has a menu in English, and city life is not focused around the medina but a massive square called Place Jamma el Fna. This square really is the vibrant heart of the city, with orange juice sellers, nut stalls, ladies doing henna, fortune tellers, restaurants, dancers, as well as things I would have preferred not to see - snake charmers (cruel, and frankly very underwhelming) and monkeys on chains (just awful). Our hostel in Marrakech was ridiculous, like a tiny palace for backpackers. We spent a lot of time in the pool, laying by the pool, talking to people around the pool, venturing out daily to explore and eat. Ate camel for the first time (sorry Mereen) and it was delicious. A very sweet meat. 

Now, for my thoughts. Stop reading now if you're prone to falling asleep easily. I found Morocco to be a very difficult country. I don't know what I was expecting, but I think subconsciously I just assumed it would be similar to Cambodia. It is not. It's incredibly difficult to have a genuine interaction with a Moroccan person. Everybody who speaks to you wants something from you, generally your money. They see a westerner and they see dollar signs. It became increasingly frustrating to be offered 'assistance' to find somewhere and then be taking to a completely different place. Or to have people flat out lie to us in order to get us to come into their shop. It's not in mine or Dave's nature to assume that people are inherently bad, but it became much easier to dismiss people straight off the bat before they had a chance to scam you. And then of course, they got offended, claiming that they weren't like that etc etc. In our worst interaction we were 'helped' across the road by a guy in Tangier who then started chatting to us and told us he knew a great place for dinner, with great views and a really cheap menu. We were very hesitant, said we could find our own dinner but he insisted, saying that he didn't want anything from us, he hates that other Moroccans try and scam westerners and he just wanted us to eat at the best place he knows. So we finally agreed to go along with him after he spent 10 minutes assuring us that it was all above board. Our suspicions were raised as we started following him deeper and deeper into the medina, and the cost of this 'cheap meal' somehow crept up from 50 dirhams each (about €5) to 100 dirhams each. We eventually reached our destination, surprise surprise it was a carpet shop. We turned to leave but he says no, no, the restaurant is up the top. We meet the owner, he takes us upstairs. With each flight of stairs it feels more and more wrong. Once at the top we see the 'restaurant' - it's the rooftop terrace of his home. Sure does have a great view though. Sit down, they tell us. Special menu tonight for you, 150 dirhams each. We have been had in the most comprehensive way. It takes us 10 minutes to convince them to let us leave, that we don't want to eat here, we don't feel comfortable and it's too expensive. Once we're finally back down on the street our 'friend' is very angry with us, presumably because he's just missed out on his cut from what we would have paid the owner. He even tries to convince us to go with him to ANOTHER restaurant. We are done, we refuse to go with him and give him 10 dirhams as thanks for the 'pleasure of being scammed by you'. This is a genuine expectation, that you will pay them even though they wasted your time and tried to rip you off. He looks at the coin in disgust telling us it is not enough, he can't even buy a litre of milk with that. Same guy who 'wanted nothing from us' and 'hates the reputation that Moroccans have'. Unfortunately, for us and for the people of Morocco, this was the last time we trusted a word anybody said. It was day three of our visit.

For this reason, everything in Morocco takes longer than you think it will. Want to go to the patisserie 100 metres from the hostel and buy a couple of millefueille? That will take at least 10 minutes, as you fend off men offering drugs, shoo away kids offering to 'show you the way', get stuck behind a donkey carrying soft drinks, or make way for a game of soccer in the narrow streets of the medina (which Dave always tried to join in). If you need to catch a taxi, give yourself an extra twenty minutes to barter with several drivers until you get down to what you think is a 'good price'. It will still be three times as expensive than if they turned the meter on (they won't) but if it's less than half of what they originally quoted you'll feel like you've had a win. You haven't, they know how to play this game much better than you ever will. It's not unusual to spend an hour in a shop, haggling over the price of something. Moroccans are very patient people, they will literally just wait you out. So be prepared to go home empty handed unless you're in it for the long haul.

I also struggled with the expectation of modesty from women. I dressed in a way that I considered to be conservative, long pants and a t shirt most days which was difficult considering that the temperature hovered around 40 degrees the entire time. I still received plenty of judgemental eyes, most often from other women. This I really struggled with, as I respect any woman's right to dress however she chooses (I'm not going to get into a discussion around women being forced to cover themselves, that's a completely separate issue). If a woman chooses to wear revealing clothes it does not make her a 'slut' or deserving of sexual harassment, conversely, if a woman chooses to cover herself it does not mean that she is oppressed. We cannot judge based solely on clothing choices. However, it was obvious to me that I was not receiving the same respect from some women (and men) based on how I chose to dress. I believe this is due to a difference in education and opportunities to experience different cultures, not because these women are bad people. I wish I had more opportunities to interact with the local women to better understand them, however it was very difficult as nearly everybody who speaks to you, whether it be approaching you on the street or serving you at a cafe or shop is male.

One afternoon Dave and I went to the beach in Tangier, where I was one of a handful of women wearing a bikini (most women swam in long pants and shirts or not at all). I made a shocking faux pas, one that still makes me cringe every time I think about it. Dave had gone in for a swim and I was sunbathing, minding our stuff. He came back and told me to go in but I didn't feel comfortable going on my own. We were discussing whether or not it would be safe to leave our bag and that maybe we could ask somebody to mind it, when the woman next to us babysitting a horde of children, who had obviously figured out what we were talking about offered to keep an eye on it. She spoke in Arabic so we didn't understand her words, but it was clear from her gestures what she was suggesting. It was really nice of her and I said thanks in French and Spanish (they speak a thousand languages in Morocco, you really need to hedge your bets). But I also gave her a little bow. I was trying to show my gratitude without language, so instinctively I bowed. 

I bowed.

To a woman wearing a hijab. 

While I was wearing a bikini. 

I am the worst.

Later while Dave and I were swimming, I got caught under a wave and as I swam up and found my feet a local guy accidentally brushed past my arm. Both of our faults as neither of us were looking where we were going. So I said to him 'pardon'. He also said 'pardon'. But not to me. To Dave. As if he were apologising for touching something that belonged to Dave. I'm sure it was done out of respect for me, but it sat really uneasily with me. 

I wish this wasn't sounding so negative, because we did notice some really nice aspects of Moroccan culture. It was not unusual to see several sets of parents looking after a whole bunch of kids and it was not obvious which children belonged to which parents, they were all treated equally. Older siblings were also very active in the care of their younger brothers and sisters in a way that you don't often see at home. The saying 'it takes a village to raise a child' was very evident in Morocco where the care of children appeared to be shared by the community. The kids are also the cutest of any country I've been to so far. If stealing babies were not frowned upon I would have come home with dozens.

We also had a really nice experience in Tangier, where two rival restaurants next door to each other were vying for our business. We chose one of them to eat at but felt bad for the other one and promised to come back tomorrow and eat there. They were very skeptical (I'm sure people say this all the time) but when we returned the next day they were so happy. Dave was even welcomed with a salute from one of the waiters who appreciated him keeping his word. They looked after us really well that night and from then on they would greet us and chat to us every time we walked past. 

I guess the overwhelming feeling I had when leaving Morocco was one of exhaustion. It is an exhausting place to visit. Constantly fending people off, haggling for ages over the price of something, not knowing whether to trust what people say, this makes for a very tiring time. On our last day as we were waiting to board the ferry back to Spain a man came up to us and told us we needed to go in a particular direction for boarding. He also had a bunch of yellow customs forms with him and offered us one each. We lied and said we already had them, and then double checked his directions with someone else. In all reality he probably worked for the port. But our immediate suspicion was that he was sending us to the wrong spot and that he was going to ask us for money if we took the forms from him. Two weeks in Morocco had made us very jaded.

Would I recommend that you visit Morocco? If you have ever though that you would like to, then you absolutely should. It's definitely a place that you should experience for yourself before making any judgement. It's also probably a country that becomes much easier over time, as all the people we met who had been there for a month or more had only positive things to say about it. Would I go back? Yes. But I would chose to spend more time on the south west coast in more relaxed towns, rather than the bustling cities. As with anywhere, once the pace of life slows down people seem to be friendlier and more welcoming. This is the side of Morocco I would love to see.

Well I think I've prattled on for long enough, and the beach is calling my name so I will leave it at that. Take care and maybe hi five a stranger today. People love that. xox