Inbred

Weird freaks, mon.

After going through Customs, you walk onto the airport runway. Every
fucker who enters 'The Rock' has to either walk or drive across the
tarmac to get to this god-forsaken town of inbred weirdos.

You can tell who the locals are, as they all have protruding ears,
their eyes are too close together, black &; each pupil moves
independently from the other.

Dan &; I had a short argument, as I wanted to check the bags into a
hotel prior to checking out the sunset. He preferred the sunset first.
I begrudgingly walked up about a quarter of the rock with all of our
bags for sunset. Wicked views though. Back down &; booked into a
hotel. Then out on the razz.

Dan was blown a kiss by one of the local blokes &; I started
convincing myself that the town had sold its soul to the devil. We were
scared.

Four beers later, we ventured into the locals late night karaoke haunt
called Sax II. We spent five minutes standing there, me grinning
insanely, watching the freaks sing &; witnessing a brawl. Being very
upset that the only 2 fit birds in there seemed complete wallies. We
left.

Kip up manar.

Up &; out the hotel by midday, so as we could try &; get a boat
over to Tangiers. We have to meet one of our mates Matthew (aka The
Gimp) in a couple of days, in Marrakech. Gibraltar didn't seem to offer
much, so an immediate voyage to Morocco seemed like the best
idea.

We thought we'd grab a bit of light breakfast beforehand. All we could
find were various chip shops owned by 'Roy', Burger King &; the
like. Rubbish. We eventually found a baguette shop. Munched, then went
to book a catamaran.

'There is one a day &; it left 3 hours ago.'

The woman in the travel agents then went on to inform us that the ferry
would be a cheaper &; more frequent alternative. We asked her to
give us details in respect to that. It was exactly the same price &;
there wasn't one leaving for another 4 days. We left without booking
anything.

Sadly, we realised we were going to have to stay in Gibbering Gibraltar
for another night. Booked back into the hotel &; decided to venture
on up the rock, so as we could avoid the mass of weirdos &;
OAPS.

After quite a steep climb up it's weird pedestrianised streets, we
reached the Moorish Castle, Here we experienced our first monkeys. They
were wicked. Just chilling out. Fed them a manky piece of bread &;
entered the castle. Not much of interest in there, but it's advisable
to watch your head, as I almost knocked myself out on the ceiling as I
clambered up some steps.

Exito, then onto 'The Great Siege Tunnels'. These were carved out in
the 18th century, when Blighty or Spain or whoever, bombarded Gibraltar
with 2,000 rounds in 4 hours. We were attacked by monkeys before
entry.

Onwards &; upwards. We saw where we had to go to reach the top, but
the problem was, there was an eternity of stairs to reach it. Literally
thousands.

What a struggle. By the time we ascended the last flight, we were ready
to collapse in a sweating heap, but couldn't as yet more cheeky monkeys
jumped at us. There were also fresh-faced tourists who had just hopped
out of a cab. We felt hollow &; cheated.

Picked up our belongings &; ambled over to the cable car station. We
went there for four reasons.

1) Toilet
2) Picnic
3) Phone agent to book catamaran
4) Get cable car down

The toilet was closed &; the nearest was one thousand five hundred
feet below, at the base station. Picnics were not allowed. Ten seconds
into the phone call in respect to catamaran, Dan got told by a cable
car person that we had to leave as they were closing shop. Luckily, he
advised us just before the last cable car down.

Back in town, we got round to completing the above list, then we
ventured to the 'Venture Inn'. Imbibed - laughed too loudly at passing
freaks - stared too long at young girls &; moseyed onto another
boozer.

Five pints down, we decided to have a curry. Danny had been suffering
from a stinger ringer, so this should help somewhat. It didn't, but the
curry was very nice nonetheless.

Up at 8am, so as we could benefit from our complimentary continental
breakfast, before embarking on our boat to bedlam. I vomited at
8.10am.

The continental breakfast consisted of 2 slices of toast, OJ &; a
tea or coffee. I went up for a second glass of OJ, but they told me
they would have to charge it to our bill. Poke that. This feast will
surely see us through the day though.

On the catamaran, we sat down behind a Richard Attenborough look-alike.
He had these two weird yellow wax like lumps on his head. I felt sick
again, so slept until we reached Tangiers.

We were the only Gringoids without a waiting tour bus, so were taken
aside by immigration. The fact we'd actually been to Morocco before
seemed to surprise the chap &; I'm sure he paid more unwanted
attention to us, because of this.

We finally escaped his grasp, only to be confronted by another
uniformed chap with a badge, asking us whether we wanted a taxi or were
going to walk into the medina.

Because we had to meet the Mutha Funkin G in Marrakech the following
day, we needed to get the train station as soon as possible.

'A taxi to the train station.'

'Oaakaayyy - he is a taxi driver.'

He introduced us to a Giant Haystacks looking Moroccan with shades,
tight jeans, tracksuit top &; brown leather shoes on.

'Hello. My name is Mustapha.'

'Alright mon. Could you take us to the train station.'

'Okay, okay.'

On that, we all left &; walked &; walked &; walked until we
reached the streets of the medina.

Wicked place though. Just shit loads of thin, tiny cobbled streets with
loads of people just chilling in Obi Wan Kenobi outfits.

After being shown the fruit market, fish &; meat markets, we ended
up in a carpet shop.

Great.

'No. We do not want to buy anything.'

'What do you want to do?'

'We want to go to the train station.'

'Okay. Okay. Do you want any hashish?'

I'd run out &; was sure to turn back into Simon imminently, so was
swayed back into the palms of Mustapha's hands.

'We shall go &; drink mint tea, get hashish, then go to the train
station.'

'Alright.'

Before mint tea, we were taken into another branch of the Mustapha
Mafia &; shown more carpets.

Don't ask me how. Daniel &; I will probably never know why, but we
decided to buy two nylon Berber outfits &; a woolly hat.

I must admit, I'd fancied one, after seeing them the last time we were
here. They are classic Obi-Wan material.

'You tell me how much you pay. We accept anything. Dinars, pesetas,
pounds.'

'Okay #5'

'No - no - no - write it down on this piece of paper.'

'Well, how much are you charging?'

'#220.'

'What?' (Both cracking up).

'Okay - write it down here - okay - in Dinars.'

(On calculations made a couple of hours later, we realised that our
pissed up mathematics on the exchange rates we're totally wrong. I'm
supposed to be an Accountant for fooks sake).

Got charged #30 each.

Finally got some pollen along with the mint tea. Had a couple of joints
&; were adequately stoned, then were led to an empty
restaurant.

'I will be back in half an hour. You wait here.'

With this Mustapha left &; a weird, young Moroccan came over to
us.

'You have soup or salad for starter - pastello - then lamb or chicken
couscous.'

I went for soup &; lamb. Dan informed the chap that he wasn't that
hungry &; would only like a light snack.

'You have soup or salad starter - pastello - then lamb or chicken
couscous.'

Feeling a tad pressurised, stoned &; hungry, he chose soup &;
chicken, but asked the price.

'120 dirhams.'

That's not so bad. We munched &; it was quite nice. On completion of
consumption, we asked for the bill.

'You wait for Mustapha.'

Had a couple of snouts. We started discussing between ourselves that we
should just get up &; go. Ten minutes later, Dan asked for the bill
again.

'You wait. Abdul.'

'You what?'

'Abdul. Mustapha.'

Next an American family is led in by another Moroccan.

We finally got the bill. 240 dirhams. 120 each. Skanking fuckers.

Coughed up, then left the restaurant. On exit, we saw Mustapha
sprinting down the road.

'Sorry - sorry I am late. I do sport.'

'Oh right mate. Just get us to the taxi.'

We got to the taxi &; arrived at the train station at 1pm. 2 hours
after arriving in Tangiers &; considerably less well off. The train
station was nothing but a 600 sq ft wooden shed in the middle of a
dusty nowhere.

Booked tickets for the 10.30 overnight train. Dan wanted to stay at the
train station for the duration, as he was too scared to leave. I
threatened to go back to Spain if he wouldn't move, so we got a cab
back into town.

The rest of the day was spent avoiding eye contact with anyone, arguing
about our argument &; drinking tea. We returned to the train station
at 9.30pm. The train was there. As we approached the train, we were
approached by some scraggly, old geezer with a blazer on. He insisted
he direct us to a carriage that we didn't need to go to. Dan gave him a
couple of dirhams for his troubles.

'Not enough.'

With that he sifted through some change in my hand, took a couple of
coins &; dropped what Dan had given him, into my hand. Then he
disappeared into the night, before it struck us what had just actually
happened.

We found our compartments &; left. Bring on Marrakech.