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The Road To Africa
Jan. 21st, 2015 01:04 amDespite the snow and general coldness around the UK, the journey to Manchester Airport to get our flight to Marrakech was largely uneventful, although there was a rail replacement bus service operating between Piccadilly and the Airport itself. This was little inconvenience apart from the loud lady on the bus whose conversation we were forced to endure for 25 minutes as we made our way through some charming Mancunian suburbs such as Moss Side. Still, the whole getting to and through the airport procedure was largely painless and we even had time to sample some sausages and mash (puppies likes snausages) and three real ales at The Grain Loft as we waited to board. I know it is January and so as off-peak as off-peak can be, but I was very surprised by just how desolate the airport was, with only ten flights departing from Terminal 1 for the whole day. Our flight was quite busy though as it turned out and I got chatting to a nice Scouse lady who then fell asleep while reading Grazia. The flight was three hours and ten minutes, ample time to sample a few more brews and some delicious snacks including some incredibly dry cheese crackers from the Grate British Cracker Company (Jesus), some crisps that come in a carry box and a nice red pepper/feta cheese dip which came with crackers. Inexplicably, the flight crew did not have a spare pen for me to complete my landing card - surely a demand for eons could have been foreseen - although one of the stewardesses did lend me her personal pen, which was nice. I was surprised just how panicky I was getting about filling in a silly little form - I guess I just like things being done as quickly and as expediently as possible.
The customs queue was long but it moved quickly, not aided by a large local lady in green traditional dress kicking her bag along the floor as she went, frequently bumping into me as she wasn't looking where she was going. Having gotten through all the formalities, we went to the terminal building to withdraw money - the dirham is a closed currency so we couldn't get it in the UK - before finding a taxi to take us to our hotel. In the end, we found a driver who looked very much like a Jedi in his brown robes, and he guided us towards the taxi car park which was a fair way from the main terminal building. I instantly regretted not revising any French before we came over here as conversation proved difficult although I am amazed just how many words are coming back to me, the more I see it. I was never particularly good at French in school, largely as I missed year 7, the first year it was taught here, due to me living in the USA. As a consequence, I was always a year behind. Still, I would have more hope in French than Arabic, the other language everything is written in here. I recognise a few letters but it's all largely incomprehensible to me, which in a way I quite like as it adds to the exotic nature of the destination.
The taxi driver was pleasant to talk to, and he soon got us to our hotel, although I think he swindled us a little by asking for 70 dirhams each instead of all together. We gave him 200 and he kept the change - there was little we could do as we had just gotten money out of the machine and he probably knew this. It was a shame but this is why I generally avoid taxis, particularly in foreign countries. In this case though there was no real option - our hotel is a little out of town, next to the main railway station, and there was no particularly easy way to get to it by public transport. After a rather shambolic yet charming check-in procedure - the two adjectives I would use to sum up the whole country at present - we managed to dump our bags in our room before heading straight out to check out the city, with our first stop being the aforementioned train station. Here, we needed to get our tickets to Rabat for Friday, fearing that they may have sold out if we book them on the day. For the four hour journey to the Moroccan capital, in first class, it costs £14 each one way, a good price I feel. With the tickets picked up effortlessly - the salesman spoke perfect English - we headed down Ave Hassan II and into the Ville Nouvelle neighbourhood.
As we glanced back, we saw the remarkable architecture of the main railway station, which looked a little like a shrine to technology. With an imposing gateway entrance largely of glass and intricate stone patterning which made it look quite mosque-like, it was certainly a breathtaking piece of architecture, devalued slightly by the neon McDonald's sign placed right next to it. In the middle of the station is a large star, which enhances the magic of the scene, making this in the list of top railway stations of the world. As we walked into the Ville Nouvelle, three things strike you - 1) the sheer number of Moroccan flags flying everywhere (I was unsure about whether I liked the flag before coming here but now I definitely do - it's quite imposing in its simplicity the closer you get to it), 2) the erratic nature of the driving here and that due to the general lack of traffic lights, every time you cross the road you take your life into your own hands, and 3) the pavements are littered with huge holes around 18 inches deep where presumably trees should have been planted but yet haven't been. Outside the station I scared Wolfie by pretending to fall into one, it was extraordinarily funny, although he thought I didn't do it on purpose at all.
At the Place du 16 Novembre, the centre of the Ville Nouvelle, there sits a range of boutiques and restaurants, sadly including many familiar places such as KFC, McDonald's, Accesorize and Monsoon. How the latter two have got so far I'll never know, but there you go. We had a little wander, stumbling across a mosque outside which there were people messing about with motorbikes but we couldn't see any authentic Moroccan restaurants, with most of the places selling French food of the kind you can easily get back home. Consequently, we opted to walk into the heart of the old town, bearing right down Ave Mohammed V, even if it is around 4km from our hotel. This we did, passing the impressive walls which fringe the old city, the imposing Koutoubia Mosque (more on this tomorrow) and into the winding narrow streets that make up this part of the city. We had hoped to have encountered a good eatery long before now but the best we could muster was Pizza Hut and Katsura, a sushi place we liked more for the name than what they were serving. Many places were also dead, it being Tuesday, and I prefer places with a little bit of life, if only because they are a sign they are good.
Down the narrow streets there was a bewildering array of life going on, with little shops selling 40" flat screen TVs next to stalls with motorbike tubing to those selling nuts and very little else. At the end of the street is a large food market and we enjoyed a few minutes walking around, soaking up the atmosphere, the sights and the smells. Unfortunately, as we we're evidently western, we got pestered a fair bit from a range of vendors, largely hoping we would sample their cuisine. The smoke coming from the fires was tempting and the place was alive with chatter accompanied by some traditional guitar music - a mix of Spanish and Arab influences - which some locals were playing. It was quite lovely stuff yet with a haunting lilt which is common of the Arabic style. We did promise we would come back tomorrow as our main sojourn through the market took place on our way home, after we had found a place to eat, and we weren't particularly hungry. We did, however, grab some freshly squeezed orange juice from a vendor whose stall looked like it had succumbed to an army of citrus fruit. He charged us five dirhams each when his sign advertised four, although he did ask us whether we wanted sugar adding to take away the sour edge of the fruit, to which et agreed. This may be what the extra dirham was about. The drink was delicious and it was great slurping it as we walked home, with the fresh orange and sweet sugar working wonders together to create a refreshing honest flavour. What was annoying was having to carry the empty plastic cups for ages as there was no bin, but it was a price worth paying to sample something that's so simple yet so important here.
Anyway I digress, it started to rain pretty heavily once we had gotten to the market and before we had found a place for food and the rain meant that eating in the market wasn't really an option. There were a few main streets down here but before we could get to them, we were approached by a man recommending an establishment that was just around the corner. I tend to turn down such requests but it was in the direction we were heading and it was difficult to say no. So off we yomped, with our new guide so far in front that we lost him amongst the other people on this rather busy thoroughfare. We could have just disappeared by blending into the crowd, particularly as I wasn't feeling particularly comfortable about the whole set up, but we opted to give his restaurant a shot, particularly as he said we could take a look and just leave if we didn't like it. So we headed in his general direction and bumped into him when he was stationed outside a place called Riad Omar, which matched the name on the business card he had given us when we had first bumped into him. Alarm bells rang as he led us up two flights of stairs and into a shabby looking place with soft purple benches which clearly had seen better days. The tablecloth was also stained but the staff seemed genuinely proud of their work and friendly to boot so with the rain pouring and no other option, we opted to stay, particularly as there were five other tables full of equally gullible tourists. We are very glad that we did stay however as we were about to get a true slice of Moroccan cuisine.
They had a set menu on but you could also take anything off it for 100 dirham (about £5.60). It being set in a riad - a dwelling area for the nobility with a courtyard garden divided into four parts at its centre being a fountain (there was no fountain here though) - added to the traditional feel, along with the purple Kasbah style seating and decor. Perhaps we should have got the set menu to try more stuff but we weren't particularly hungry so instead we went for a tagine each, a famous local stew cooked in a conical earthenware pot. This keeps the meat moist and delicious. This is served with khoobz, a Moroccan pita bread which is used to mop up the sauce. Slightly sweet, it was crusty on the outside but soft in the middle, of perfect heaviness too. It was one of the best breads I had ever tasted, the only shame that it was cold rather than warm. I got the chicken and lemon tagine, while Wolfie got one with egg and meatballs. Both were quite different but had their merits, with me enjoying mine more the more I ate it. It came with olives - a pre-requisite here but one I sadly cannot appreciate, Wolfie is in his element though - while Wolfie's was more tomatoey in nature. Mine came with weird hard potato things and a soggy roast lemon which I wasn't sure whether I should eat or not, particularly as it had such an intense flavour. I generally left it. The staff were fantastic here, really friendly, and while the toilet was scary, guarded by a fifteenth century style wooden door with a huge metal sliding bolt lock that you could lock from both the inside AND the outside, I had a great time, so much so that I thanked our guide, who was sat on a chair next to reception, on my way out. He tried to sell us a tour but I declined, saying we were about to leave the city.
Morocco is not a dry country but being a Muslim one, there aren't that many bars here, with most alcohol being served in restaurants and hotels. This being the case, we headed back to our hotel, enduring the same forty minute walk we had endured before, in the search for some local beer. We found two - Flag and Casablanca - both standard pilsner type beers brewed by the same brewery but refreshing enough after a long walk. We sat in the hotel bar drinking these, a perfect way to end our first day in Morocco, before heading back to the room to prepare for bed.
The customs queue was long but it moved quickly, not aided by a large local lady in green traditional dress kicking her bag along the floor as she went, frequently bumping into me as she wasn't looking where she was going. Having gotten through all the formalities, we went to the terminal building to withdraw money - the dirham is a closed currency so we couldn't get it in the UK - before finding a taxi to take us to our hotel. In the end, we found a driver who looked very much like a Jedi in his brown robes, and he guided us towards the taxi car park which was a fair way from the main terminal building. I instantly regretted not revising any French before we came over here as conversation proved difficult although I am amazed just how many words are coming back to me, the more I see it. I was never particularly good at French in school, largely as I missed year 7, the first year it was taught here, due to me living in the USA. As a consequence, I was always a year behind. Still, I would have more hope in French than Arabic, the other language everything is written in here. I recognise a few letters but it's all largely incomprehensible to me, which in a way I quite like as it adds to the exotic nature of the destination.
The taxi driver was pleasant to talk to, and he soon got us to our hotel, although I think he swindled us a little by asking for 70 dirhams each instead of all together. We gave him 200 and he kept the change - there was little we could do as we had just gotten money out of the machine and he probably knew this. It was a shame but this is why I generally avoid taxis, particularly in foreign countries. In this case though there was no real option - our hotel is a little out of town, next to the main railway station, and there was no particularly easy way to get to it by public transport. After a rather shambolic yet charming check-in procedure - the two adjectives I would use to sum up the whole country at present - we managed to dump our bags in our room before heading straight out to check out the city, with our first stop being the aforementioned train station. Here, we needed to get our tickets to Rabat for Friday, fearing that they may have sold out if we book them on the day. For the four hour journey to the Moroccan capital, in first class, it costs £14 each one way, a good price I feel. With the tickets picked up effortlessly - the salesman spoke perfect English - we headed down Ave Hassan II and into the Ville Nouvelle neighbourhood.
As we glanced back, we saw the remarkable architecture of the main railway station, which looked a little like a shrine to technology. With an imposing gateway entrance largely of glass and intricate stone patterning which made it look quite mosque-like, it was certainly a breathtaking piece of architecture, devalued slightly by the neon McDonald's sign placed right next to it. In the middle of the station is a large star, which enhances the magic of the scene, making this in the list of top railway stations of the world. As we walked into the Ville Nouvelle, three things strike you - 1) the sheer number of Moroccan flags flying everywhere (I was unsure about whether I liked the flag before coming here but now I definitely do - it's quite imposing in its simplicity the closer you get to it), 2) the erratic nature of the driving here and that due to the general lack of traffic lights, every time you cross the road you take your life into your own hands, and 3) the pavements are littered with huge holes around 18 inches deep where presumably trees should have been planted but yet haven't been. Outside the station I scared Wolfie by pretending to fall into one, it was extraordinarily funny, although he thought I didn't do it on purpose at all.
At the Place du 16 Novembre, the centre of the Ville Nouvelle, there sits a range of boutiques and restaurants, sadly including many familiar places such as KFC, McDonald's, Accesorize and Monsoon. How the latter two have got so far I'll never know, but there you go. We had a little wander, stumbling across a mosque outside which there were people messing about with motorbikes but we couldn't see any authentic Moroccan restaurants, with most of the places selling French food of the kind you can easily get back home. Consequently, we opted to walk into the heart of the old town, bearing right down Ave Mohammed V, even if it is around 4km from our hotel. This we did, passing the impressive walls which fringe the old city, the imposing Koutoubia Mosque (more on this tomorrow) and into the winding narrow streets that make up this part of the city. We had hoped to have encountered a good eatery long before now but the best we could muster was Pizza Hut and Katsura, a sushi place we liked more for the name than what they were serving. Many places were also dead, it being Tuesday, and I prefer places with a little bit of life, if only because they are a sign they are good.
Down the narrow streets there was a bewildering array of life going on, with little shops selling 40" flat screen TVs next to stalls with motorbike tubing to those selling nuts and very little else. At the end of the street is a large food market and we enjoyed a few minutes walking around, soaking up the atmosphere, the sights and the smells. Unfortunately, as we we're evidently western, we got pestered a fair bit from a range of vendors, largely hoping we would sample their cuisine. The smoke coming from the fires was tempting and the place was alive with chatter accompanied by some traditional guitar music - a mix of Spanish and Arab influences - which some locals were playing. It was quite lovely stuff yet with a haunting lilt which is common of the Arabic style. We did promise we would come back tomorrow as our main sojourn through the market took place on our way home, after we had found a place to eat, and we weren't particularly hungry. We did, however, grab some freshly squeezed orange juice from a vendor whose stall looked like it had succumbed to an army of citrus fruit. He charged us five dirhams each when his sign advertised four, although he did ask us whether we wanted sugar adding to take away the sour edge of the fruit, to which et agreed. This may be what the extra dirham was about. The drink was delicious and it was great slurping it as we walked home, with the fresh orange and sweet sugar working wonders together to create a refreshing honest flavour. What was annoying was having to carry the empty plastic cups for ages as there was no bin, but it was a price worth paying to sample something that's so simple yet so important here.
Anyway I digress, it started to rain pretty heavily once we had gotten to the market and before we had found a place for food and the rain meant that eating in the market wasn't really an option. There were a few main streets down here but before we could get to them, we were approached by a man recommending an establishment that was just around the corner. I tend to turn down such requests but it was in the direction we were heading and it was difficult to say no. So off we yomped, with our new guide so far in front that we lost him amongst the other people on this rather busy thoroughfare. We could have just disappeared by blending into the crowd, particularly as I wasn't feeling particularly comfortable about the whole set up, but we opted to give his restaurant a shot, particularly as he said we could take a look and just leave if we didn't like it. So we headed in his general direction and bumped into him when he was stationed outside a place called Riad Omar, which matched the name on the business card he had given us when we had first bumped into him. Alarm bells rang as he led us up two flights of stairs and into a shabby looking place with soft purple benches which clearly had seen better days. The tablecloth was also stained but the staff seemed genuinely proud of their work and friendly to boot so with the rain pouring and no other option, we opted to stay, particularly as there were five other tables full of equally gullible tourists. We are very glad that we did stay however as we were about to get a true slice of Moroccan cuisine.
They had a set menu on but you could also take anything off it for 100 dirham (about £5.60). It being set in a riad - a dwelling area for the nobility with a courtyard garden divided into four parts at its centre being a fountain (there was no fountain here though) - added to the traditional feel, along with the purple Kasbah style seating and decor. Perhaps we should have got the set menu to try more stuff but we weren't particularly hungry so instead we went for a tagine each, a famous local stew cooked in a conical earthenware pot. This keeps the meat moist and delicious. This is served with khoobz, a Moroccan pita bread which is used to mop up the sauce. Slightly sweet, it was crusty on the outside but soft in the middle, of perfect heaviness too. It was one of the best breads I had ever tasted, the only shame that it was cold rather than warm. I got the chicken and lemon tagine, while Wolfie got one with egg and meatballs. Both were quite different but had their merits, with me enjoying mine more the more I ate it. It came with olives - a pre-requisite here but one I sadly cannot appreciate, Wolfie is in his element though - while Wolfie's was more tomatoey in nature. Mine came with weird hard potato things and a soggy roast lemon which I wasn't sure whether I should eat or not, particularly as it had such an intense flavour. I generally left it. The staff were fantastic here, really friendly, and while the toilet was scary, guarded by a fifteenth century style wooden door with a huge metal sliding bolt lock that you could lock from both the inside AND the outside, I had a great time, so much so that I thanked our guide, who was sat on a chair next to reception, on my way out. He tried to sell us a tour but I declined, saying we were about to leave the city.
Morocco is not a dry country but being a Muslim one, there aren't that many bars here, with most alcohol being served in restaurants and hotels. This being the case, we headed back to our hotel, enduring the same forty minute walk we had endured before, in the search for some local beer. We found two - Flag and Casablanca - both standard pilsner type beers brewed by the same brewery but refreshing enough after a long walk. We sat in the hotel bar drinking these, a perfect way to end our first day in Morocco, before heading back to the room to prepare for bed.
