Gimpoid

I managed to sleep through the whole journey, which I must say was a
very pleasant surprise.

I was awoken by a ticket inspector at 8am, telling us that we would
soon be arriving. Popped to the lav cum hole in the floor &; pissed
on the train wheels. Then we arrived.

Dan awoke &; we got off. Sneaked through a side gate of the station,
so as we could avoid more Mustaphas. It worked, as we hopped straight
into a cab &; laughed loudly as we looked over shoulders to witness
all the other Grings getting hassled.

Straight to the Main Square for a glass of OJ. The main square is
pretty wild. There is an arc of about 60 orange juice sellers. We have
arranged to meet Matt at the number 9 orange juice seller at 9pm
tonight. Obviously, number 9 is the only one that sells nuts.

Quick croissant &; time for a hotel. No shite this time - we want
quality.

Got a few addresses off a tourist with a lonely planet &; took a
taxi. We arrived at Hotel Kenza &; booked in. Seeing as it was only
10am, no rooms were available or clean, so we decided on the luxury of
lazing by the hotel pool.

Dan eyed up some ten year olds, whilst I fed the tortoise some
Pringles. It twaddled off, tried some grass &; decided they were far
superior, so moseyed on back up to me &; finished it's fair sized
ration.

We used the chessboard on the back of Dan's notebook &; various
coins collected, for a game of draughts &; Connect 4. We then
entered our 'cleaned' room. The beds were unmade &; it stank.

Luckily, a lovely looking cleaner scurried in &; sorted it for
us.

Kip up &; tump up manar, whilst MTV was on TV.

We left the hotel at 6pm. This part of town seems to be the Mayfair
equivalent. Big pads - all a dark earthy orange. Strolled through the
old city gates &; along a tree lined boulevard. Exchanged cheezers
with a few beautiful women (who seem to be in abundance). It feels as,
since King Hassan died, his heir has introduced a far more liberal
attitude. Which can't be so bad, I suppose.

We reached the main square. Along with the OJ sellers, were the snail
sellers, sheeps head brain stalls, kebab stalls, snake charmers,
baboons &; various other performers.

As soon as they spot a Gringoid with a camera, they rush over.

'Dirham - dirham - dirham.'

Each unfortunate has to part with at least one dirham for each photo
opportunity.

Went to a restaurant that overlooks the square for some food. We
haven't eaten today &; I've gained a headache &; tunnel
vision.

Dan didn't want to eat at the first, second or third restaurant, I
started feeling shaky &; was sure another argument was about to
start. I eventually persuaded him that I was on the edge &; stopped
somewhere, so as I could nosh down a lamb brochette. Tunnel vision
stopped &; I felt irie.

9pm, so we strutted to number 9 OJ cum nut seller. There was Matt,
standing there, tumping away on a cigar. Well funny.

Back to one of the restaurants that we'd previously blown out &; a
wicked kebab was enjoyed by myself.

Another amble around the square &; back to the hotel to finish off
the pollen. Dan lost it earlier than Matthew, &; myself but we ran
out of Rizla earlier than wanted, so the grim task of hollowing out a
fag &; refilling was done. Too bored to do more than one, so kip up
shawody.

Probably only got about 4-5 hours sleep, as we were awoken by a phone
call from reception at 8 .30am, then at 9am. Didn't have a clue what
they wanted.

Plan is, to go to the other side of the Atlas Mountains &; take in
'the scenery' down the Dades Valley. Hopefully, but doubtfully,
reaching Merzouga in the Sahara (where there are 20ft sand
dunes).

Since we'd been here before, we knew that public transport would be a
nightmare, so into a hire car shop, as Matt &; Dan drive. I don't -
deleterious to the environment; I'd have you know. We drove away in
Pete the Peugeot Junior, as named by Matt.

'Very good price.'

We drove to Matthew's hotel. He picked up his mountain bike, that he'd
bought out &; been on the day before. (He was the fooker that
dragged me on a mountain bike in Venezuela that has left me crippled).
They filled Pete up with the juice of life &; I popped back to the
square for 2 litres of OJ &; a picnic.

On our way out of Marrakech, we took a wrong turn &; ended up in a
cul-de-sac. The local youths found this hilarious &; threw about 3-4
buckets of water at us. Car windows open. I got drenched. We now wanted
to get out of town a tad quicker &; were guided by Obi Wan on a
motorbike. Got about 20km out of Marrakech &; had a picnic.

It is nice up here. We're on a sort of plateau with the snow-capped
Atlas Mountains directly in front of us. Stretching along the
horizon.

Drove up &; over the Atlas Mountains. Absolutely wicked scenery.
Valleys, little villages, blah, blah, blah. When we reached the highest
point, Matt jumped out with his bike.

Off he peddled, into the distance, as we laughed, got back into the car
&; lit a fag. Munched a couple of biscuits then set off &;
cruised until we met up with him on the first ascent he encountered.
His head was just bright red &; he was sweating big time. Took a
photo of the mass of liquid Matt, as he desperately hung onto the side
of the car until the top of the climb.

Off he peddled again. We overtook him again, then sped off into the
distance. Stopped off at a town 30 minutes later for a Fanta &; to
see whether he'd had enough. Dusty old mountain, Berber town affair.
About 20 huts, meat stalls, shops lined along the one road out of here.
Some geezer strutted upto us with a banjo &; started singing,
strumming &; stomping. I joined in with a toddle or two. Gave him 1
dirham for his trouble.

20 minutes later, Matt came speeding through. We stopped him - he
complained about the wind, CD player &; tyres, then cycled off into
the distance again.

We left 10 minutes later &; caught up with him on his first ascent.
This happened for the next half hour. At one point, we actually toured
behind him until he had to go uphill &; then he'd just hang on for
dear life to the top.

He finally had had enough, jumped in the car &; we cruised to
Ourazazate. This side of the Atlas is superb. You've got the high peaks
in the background &; the Sahara finding it's way in front of
you.

Before we reached there, we found some Berber had broken down, so we
stopped. He gave us a map to a garage 40kms down the road in the town
(there is only one road - it splits in two at Oz). We told him we would
deliver it. &; bid him farewell.

Sorted the bloke out by handing some bloke, (who ended up being his
brother), the note &; continued into Ourazazate. We needed to get
more money &; provisions for our onward jaunt into the Dades
Valley.

Dan got really funny about drawing money out until an argument nearly
started. He returned to the car with 600 dirhams. Not much at all,
seeing the desolation we are in.

Off we hollowly went into the valley. The mountains were finally
turning into a more deserty landscape &; the sun was starting to
set. We'd driven about 250km along this one road out to the middle of
nowhere. Got caught in a couple of sandstorms.

We stopped off for a wee dram of vodka &; continued until it got
dark &; towns started getting more than 90km apart.

We pulled into a nice looking hotel, with a child molester owner &;
a mock Berber tent as the restaurant. Into the room - shower up - last
joint - then into the tent for food.

Matt had a 20-course meal, whilst Danny &; I had to make do with a
paltry 4 courses.

There was a European looking family sitting in the opposite corner with
3 young children. As we were leaving, we noticed that the father &;
mother were sitting with the hotel owner. The children must have gone
to bed.

The father asked, 'Where are you from?'

'London, England.'

'Ohhhhhh.'

'Where are you from?'

'We are from Normandy.'

Suddenly, out of nowhere, Daniel asked. 'Are your children from there
as well?'

Nervously, they replied with a positive response. Matt &; I stared
at Dan, slid out the door &; back into our room.

No more hash, so straight to bed.