We weren’t sure whether total submersion into Spanish school was enough for two English girls, so we decided a trip to Morocco would heighten the cultural diffe
rences! A ferry from Tarifa to Tanger and then a five hour train trip to Fez (1st class, 4 people, £40) was a great way to see the countryside, untouched it would seem by the 21st century.I’m not sure anything can prepare you for Fez – the hustle and bustle, the fabulous colours, the donkeys, the dust. We 
stayed in a wonderful riad which had been lovingly restored by its owners, and most evenings the guests all dined together on one table eating delicious tagine, cous cous and discussing their days adventures.
The highlight for the girls was a trip to a Hamman, where you strip off,
sit in a steam room and then get scrubbed by a burly looking Moroccan woman. I was slightly reluctant as saunas and steam rooms are my idea of hell but I got swept up in the moment and have to say it was a lovely experience. My skin felt wonderful, in part because they don’t use western soap but an Olive oil style “gunk” which we bought in the Medina the next day.
Haggling is part of the deal when you go shopping in the medina and we all seemed to get the hang of it, but it does get tiresome.
stayed in a wonderful riad which had been lovingly restored by its owners, and most evenings the guests all dined together on one table eating delicious tagine, cous cous and discussing their days adventures. The highlight for the girls was a trip to a Hamman, where you strip off,
sit in a steam room and then get scrubbed by a burly looking Moroccan woman. I was slightly reluctant as saunas and steam rooms are my idea of hell but I got swept up in the moment and have to say it was a lovely experience. My skin felt wonderful, in part because they don’t use western soap but an Olive oil style “gunk” which we bought in the Medina the next day.
Haggling is part of the deal when you go shopping in the medina and we all seemed to get the hang of it, but it does get tiresome.
It was a relief to get on the bus and head North to a town called Chefchaouen, (the kif capital of Morocco) which for reasons best known to them, is predominantly painted blue. Very striking. We hadn’t booked any accommodation on the advice that there is always somewhere to stay ... apart from that weekend when an agricultural conference had rolled into town!
The best we could do was one room in a very ‘authentic’ hotel. Limp communal showers not withstanding, at £20 for the night it was a done deal, the compensation being a delicious supper until we remembered that would mean without alcohol, being a Muslim country!
On the day of our departure we negotiated a price with a taxi driver to take us to Tanger. He kindly helped us carry our bags through the town to the taxi, where we loaded up the boot and hopped into the very ancient looking Mercedes. The taxi driver then announced that his brother was taking us to Tanger - slightly alarming as all I could see were the crutches. The taxi driver assured Simon that everyone thing was fine as the car was automatic. Simon muttered that we must get a photo of us all in front of the car when we arrived. At the port we got out the car and I realised that not only was the driver on crutches but that he only had one leg!
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