‘The Morocco Diary’: Days 1 and 2

For those of you that don’t know, Isobel, Indifferent Ignorance’s resident sub-blogger (when the fancy takes her) went to Morocco this April with her school as part of her World Challenge. While there, she kept a diary, which she has since typed up and submitted to me for publishing here. The following has been edited slightly, both to fit with my grammar fetish and to make coherent sense. Hopefully. Most of it, however, is pure Bel. I’ve included footnotes for the discussions few people understand (Isobel probably not being one of them).

-F

Day 1  

5^th April 2012, 2:05pm

So, I’m currently on a coach, on the way to Heathrow Airport, sat next to some fattie freak – only kidding, it’s Laura, it’s just she was reading over my shoulder. My writing looks terrible, I sense it will get worse from here, but I’m on a coach right now.

I have no idea where I am, and quite frankly, don’t give a shit. As long as 1. We don’t end up in Croydon, or 2. do a shit, I’m all good. So far, I have eaten other people’s food (chocolate, crisps etc), some of my food (cake, sweets – so healthy), sung Your Song with Laura, or at least the parts we know, and done some dancing. You might think that it is impossible to dance in a coach – indeed, it is ALMOST impossible, but you can move your arms, and kind of jiggle.

I do believe that right now, my form tutor, Mr Dell, also my group leader, has fallen asleep to the sound of Gotye. Either way, it’s weird.

In a way, this could be called the Morocco Diaries, but it’ll be strange, just me writing, and too different. It’d have to be called the Morocco Diary though, because, y’know, it’s just me.¹

It’s 8 miles to Heathrow apparently, and people are arguing over the Pringles. I can see a fun-filled trip ahead already – Anyway, everyone I mention I will probably end up hating or at least bitching about, because I’m that nice.

I’m off now, and the fight for the Pringles, continues.

Day 2

6^th April 2012, 1:06am

And so, I’m sat up with a head torch in Hotel Ali, more commonly known by Lauren², as “Brothel Ali” – but the future is bright, as tomorrow we have a 7-hour coach journey, ending with us sleeping in a hostel. At least it won’t be a hotel in denial like this place. So what have we done so far? Well, after the Pringle fight, we finally ended up in Heathrow somewhere, being cool by playing spot the plane and where it’s going. Hours of joy, I kid you not. More waiting. Oh, we did meet our World Challenge leader, Dave. He’s okay-ish, but I instantly dislike him because he has long grey hair. Like Mr Taylor. Eurgh. Enough said there.³

Then comes the plan journey. We were given our seats, and I got 34K, and thought I would be next to some randomer. But alas, I got Sophie Rogers, which is better then the guy Rhianna got. She got an Arabic man, who stared at her for about an hour, asked to read her magazine, and then made conversation in very bad English. Bless him. He was straight in front of me, with Rhianna diagonally in front. But finally, we got to Casablanca at 9:50pm , and changed planes (we were a bit late, and held up the flight a bit, so had to run from terminal to terminal. The first plane, to Casablanca was huge, split into 1^st class, and then two economy class sections, each the size of the average plane. The seats were arranged so there was four in the middle, and then two on each side next to the windows. The second flight was your normal plane, with a small 1^st class bit, and then one section with three seats either side. This time, because we were late, we ended up ignoring seating, and just sat anywhere. I sat between Ridhi and Laura. Short minibus journey from Marrakech Airport to here, where we also met our Moroccan guy, Syed, who seems alright. Got to our room, which is on the roof (?), and falling apart. The walls are dented, there’s a vent – one side in the “shower” and the other in the corridor bit, so you can look straight through to the bathroom. The beds, which we stripped due to dead bugs on/in, had stained mattresses. The loo doesn’t flush and stinks out the room, one out of four lights work, and the doors and windows don’t actually shut, except for the main one (thank God). On the plus side, we have a balcony thing with a view of the souk, and it has, as well as the room, just enough room for Jemma and I to dance to I’m Sexy and I Know It in our shorts, money belts and socks. (And tops, of course). Oh, and I’m sharing a room with Laura, Jemma and Natalie Dempsey – although none of the people reading this actually care. And now, I’m off to sleep. I need some before the prayer call thing starts. Ali is right next to the Mosque and prayer call tower, so it will be loud I think. I do quite like the sound of Arabic though. I should learn it. No, no more languages Isobel. I’m tired. Ignore me.

See/Write tomorrow, No doubt I’ll be very grumpy. Bel x 🙂 (1.25am)

6^th April 2.12pm

We are sitting in a minibus, driving along. Everyone except Rhianna, Lara⁴ and I is asleep – and I presume, no, hope the driver is awake too, although judging by his driving, I’m not too sure. It’s worse then the Greeks’.

Anyway, having just taken pictures of everyone with their mouths hanging open, Ridhi drooling etc, I am officially bored. Laura looks pretty much like a zombie with her pale skin and gaping mouth. Most people stopped taking pictures ages ago, and fell asleep instead. The scenery has turned sandy, rocky and weedy, flat and the same in every direction. But, it’s the most interesting thing around now, so I continue to watch it go by. What is really weird, is that we are driving through empty, sandy, boiling hot terrain, and there are snow-capped mountains around.

Oh, I think Caffa’s woken up. Caffa being short for Catherine. Yep, she has. Time to show her all of the pictures of them sleeping before they go on Facebook.

6^th April, some time in the evening.

We are in a hostel now, which is surprisingly better than Ali. There’s a huge room, which we’re all gonna sleep in, and two smaller ones for teachers and Dave. I don’t like Dave much, nor do any of us like the wonderful flaky bits of dandruff that cover his head/hair. It’s one of the most disgusting things I’ve seen for a while. Anyway, we have a terrace too. The Moroccan guy that might run this place, I have no idea, brought us mint tea. It’s alright I suppose, but maybe a bit too syrupy. The wafer biscuits he brought along too are really good though.

Talking of food, I love the bread. Everyone loves the bread. We had it for breakfast in Hotel Ali, as well as fresh orange juice. The oranges here are truly amazing – I want to smuggle them home.

(Change of plan – Natalie Cooper, Jemma, Natalie Dempsey and I are sleeping outside, under the stars on the terrace. There wasn’t a load of space in the room, and besides, this is cooler.) Nighty night.

Footnotes

1: ‘The Morocco Diary’ as opposed to ‘Morocco Diaries’ because on holiday we keep ‘The Zante Diaries’ each year; and there is usually more than one person writing in it/them.

2: Lauren is Bel’s sister, who did the same trip three or four years ago.

3: I have no idea who Mr. Taylor is, but if he’d like me to edit that out, I can.

4: ‘Lara’ could mean ‘Laura’. I am about as familiar with all of Isobel’s friends as I am with the inner-workings of the Large Hadron Collider.