Considering Morocco.
Dear Bob, the Moroccan trip sprang from the end of my engagement and my decision to "get away" in January 1996.
Passing through Enniskillen I took the money I had saved to visit her in Russia and walked into a travel agency.
"How far will this get me in the opposite direction from Siberia?" A glance on the map. Tunisia? It was fully booked but Morocco was not, thus, a week later I flew into Agadir. My first night (sans accommodation booked) was in Essaouira famous for Cat Stevens,Jimi Hendrix et al. The cheapest room is not always the best as I discovered on waking up and finding mice had eaten my breakfast - a packet of biscuits. Next day saw me heading further up the coast towards El Jadida. The "beach" was strewn with filth, kids kicking footballs and broken glass so no swimming. The weather was fine, not too hot. I then reached Casablanca. Standing outside the train station I heard English - with a North American intonation. A guy, hippyesque, and two blonde girls.
They were Canadians, Francois was from Quebec, his fluent French was useful, but his inability to do anything other than talk not that endearing as we were soon to find out. Krista and Marjorie were from Saskatoon. They told me that a nearby hostel they were staying at was cheap, clean and safe. Heading off together I booked in. They told me they were leaving the next day. Francois was off to the Atlas mountains, the girls to Tangier.
We went to the masjid, the world's largest at the time. The two guards engaged Frank and I in conversation. "Were the girls our wives?" No. "Sisters?" I could see where this was heading as they scratched their balls and ogled Krista and Marjorie. I made up an implausible story about the fact that we were all cousins. The guards asked where we were staying that night. I forgot.
On the walk back I was told what had happened the night before - Krista had been "nearly raped". I immediately thought they were about to tell me some story that would - at most - have had Krista pinched on the butt. The trio had strolled down a main highway when a Moroccan grabbed Krista and dragged her into the bushes. Not surprisingly the others began shouting.
Frank was useless, asking the Arab if he "wanted to talk about his feelings" The production of a dagger curtailed this line of discussion. Fortunately another Moroccan jumped out of his car and informed the would be rapist that he would cut his balls off if he didn't let Krista go. Krista ran free, screaming.
We had decided to "stay in" on our last night in Casablanca. I walked round the block before lights out and had a hooker ask me if I wanted some fun. Thanks, but no thanks as they say in Saskatchewan.
In Tangier we took the ferry to Algeciras thus ending my African odyssey. To conclude, I met nice (and nasty) Moroccans, I was in a grumpy frame of mind from start to finish ex-fiancee related) and I am sure lots of folks have a great time in the Maghreb, I was not one however. I haven't written it off and may go back to North Africa one day.
copyright Ron Broxted 2010.
Passing through Enniskillen I took the money I had saved to visit her in Russia and walked into a travel agency.
"How far will this get me in the opposite direction from Siberia?" A glance on the map. Tunisia? It was fully booked but Morocco was not, thus, a week later I flew into Agadir. My first night (sans accommodation booked) was in Essaouira famous for Cat Stevens,Jimi Hendrix et al. The cheapest room is not always the best as I discovered on waking up and finding mice had eaten my breakfast - a packet of biscuits. Next day saw me heading further up the coast towards El Jadida. The "beach" was strewn with filth, kids kicking footballs and broken glass so no swimming. The weather was fine, not too hot. I then reached Casablanca. Standing outside the train station I heard English - with a North American intonation. A guy, hippyesque, and two blonde girls.
They were Canadians, Francois was from Quebec, his fluent French was useful, but his inability to do anything other than talk not that endearing as we were soon to find out. Krista and Marjorie were from Saskatoon. They told me that a nearby hostel they were staying at was cheap, clean and safe. Heading off together I booked in. They told me they were leaving the next day. Francois was off to the Atlas mountains, the girls to Tangier.
We went to the masjid, the world's largest at the time. The two guards engaged Frank and I in conversation. "Were the girls our wives?" No. "Sisters?" I could see where this was heading as they scratched their balls and ogled Krista and Marjorie. I made up an implausible story about the fact that we were all cousins. The guards asked where we were staying that night. I forgot.
On the walk back I was told what had happened the night before - Krista had been "nearly raped". I immediately thought they were about to tell me some story that would - at most - have had Krista pinched on the butt. The trio had strolled down a main highway when a Moroccan grabbed Krista and dragged her into the bushes. Not surprisingly the others began shouting.
Frank was useless, asking the Arab if he "wanted to talk about his feelings" The production of a dagger curtailed this line of discussion. Fortunately another Moroccan jumped out of his car and informed the would be rapist that he would cut his balls off if he didn't let Krista go. Krista ran free, screaming.
We had decided to "stay in" on our last night in Casablanca. I walked round the block before lights out and had a hooker ask me if I wanted some fun. Thanks, but no thanks as they say in Saskatchewan.
In Tangier we took the ferry to Algeciras thus ending my African odyssey. To conclude, I met nice (and nasty) Moroccans, I was in a grumpy frame of mind from start to finish ex-fiancee related) and I am sure lots of folks have a great time in the Maghreb, I was not one however. I haven't written it off and may go back to North Africa one day.
copyright Ron Broxted 2010.