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Like many supposedly exotic locations
it is probably best to arrive, as we did, in total darkness.
Although December, there was the sweet smell of rain on the dusty streets
and flowers as we left the terminal. Across the road a group of taxi
touts, all waving frantically to attract our attention to their particular
beat up 1970's Mercedes, pointing at the same time, to a huge display
board with a list of prices to popular destinations. I recognised Jemma Al Fna, the main square in the old town and, knowing that our hotel
was less than half way there made the naive assumption that the fare would
be around half of the 60 Dihrams advertised. For some reason it
turned out to be 100, but still ludicrously cheap compared with home
so...my first (of many) charitable donations to the Moroccan tourist
industry.
We had booked the
Sheraton only because it was close to the airport and we were arriving
late, only to return to the airport to collect our car in the
morning. First inklings of a Police State as we were forced to queue
for 20 minutes whilst everybody filled in A4 registration forms with
inside leg measurements for each person staying. As luck would have
it, we were behind a large family of illiterate Italians who could speak
neither French, Arabic, nor even comprehensible English. Turned out
to be a rather nice hotel, with several inviting restaurants, all
unfortunately closed by the time we got there. We decided on the bar
in the vain hope of bar snacks, also finished at 23.00! However, the
entertainment was amazing. DJ babe, with accompaniment of local
muscle man on bongos playing 1980's pop.
I was
rather surprised at the number
of attractive young women, provocatively dressed in Western style clothes
who seemed to be out on the dance floor; I wondered about the Islamic
strictures against such vices...and then I realised how many dodgy
characters seemed to be getting lucky. The oldest profession - quelle surprise!
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