Large Cotton Frock

The boys gave me continual jealous abuse all of the following
day.

Flashbacks of beauty &; evil entered my hungover head all day. Yet
again, I was in rags. There was no more hash left, as the boys had
finished it whilst I had my 'hoe session'. I emptied my pocket, (where
it had previously been stored). There was loads of baccy &; sugar in
there.

'Maybe some hash. I'll skin up.'

Managed half of this caramel joint, felt dizzy &; shallow (as the
great Charlie Landsborough would have put it) &; checked out of the
hotel.

This was our last day together. Daniel &; I have to get a train back
to Tangiers tonight, so as we can get back to Malaga for our flight.
Matt returns to London tomorrow from Marrakech.

We got Pete the Peugeot cleaned up. Internal &; external valet &;
returned him to his rightful owner as good as new. It was quite sad
actually. We were tempted to sit there looking at him all day, but the
Medina beckoned. Being here before about 4 years earlier, we had
presumed another day much akin to our Tangiers nightmare, but no. We
strolled through. We were hardly hassled.

The government must have surely clamped down hard on the amount of
hassle Westerners get from locals in Marrakech. There seem to be more
tourists, &; it definitely was nothing like we experienced in
Tangiers or had previously experienced here.

No carpet shop hawks. Plenty of shit leather, jewellery, Jedi Knights
outfitters &; carpet shops though. We did not enter one. Proudly
found our way out of the maze of shops after a few wrong turns &;
then went back to the rooftop terrace of the hotel where Matt was
spending his last night. Quite a nice chilled afternoon cum evening.
The sunset over some big, old mosque is really one of the best sunset
views you will ever get.

Danny's tummy was a tad upset, so he downed 4 diocalm &; didn't eat.
Matt had a meal ticket with his hotel room &; ate 3-4 massive plate
full of stodgy traditional Moroccan fare. I leeched in on his meal
ticket &; pretended I was a guest too. Managed one &; a half
plates &; sneaked away without paying.

To the train station. The only two beds they have left on the train
were in separate classes &; compartments. One in first &; one in
second. I had trouble with obtaining cash, so Danny fronted the
majority of the cash. He took first class. I took second, with a bunch
of amiable Spaniards.

'Do you like Manchester United?'

'No.'

'Do you like Arsenal?'

'No.'

'Do you like Chelsea?'

'No.'

'Do you like football?'

'It's alright, but I don't follow it.'

He then proceeded to boast how they had just been knocked out of the
Champions League the previous night by Spanish teams.

'Well, FP mon.'

Crashed, then awoke as we pulled into Tangiers station &; 6.30am. We
got off the train, avoided the mass of taxi drivers &; headed for
the coffee stall in the car park.

Once beveraged up with dub &; seated, I looked to the left of me
&; was witness to one of the most insane things I have ever seen.
Two women were sitting down with, quite literally 50-75 blankets &;
sheets wrapped around each of them. All of these were covered with an
exceedingly large cotton frock. We laughed heartily.

Into Tangiers. The plan is to sit in caf?'s for a few hours, until our
catamaran back to Gibraltar leaves at 1.30pm.

Quick Lipton Tea in a local caf?, then a hunt for a McDonalds as Danny
needed a poop up. Whilst on the hunt, he came up with an idea of
forming a company called 'Euroshitters Plc'. Charge #5 for the usage of
a clean western toilet &; not a stinking pit.

Obviously, as we were hunting for the golden arches, a local called
Hili strolls upto us. He was going to work. As we bade him farewell,
Dan asked him which way McDonalds was. Bad move, as he decided to
personally take us there.

On entry, we saw the two Brits, who had shared Dan's train compartment.
We all had quite a laugh. The couple left after about half an hour.
Hili stayed. The terrace we were perched on had wicked views, but we
needed some shade. On moving tables, a young Moroccan lady, who I had
previously acknowledged beckoned me over to her table. Her name was
Samina.

Hili &; Dan soon joined us &; Samina asked for a photo of me. Not
possible, but I showed her my passport photo.

We decided to get a photo of the pair of us, standing infront of the
great view of Tangiers.

Hili said 'Kissy, kissy for photo.'

Next thing you know, I'm kissing Samina on the McDonalds terrace. Dan
&; Hili just cracked up.

We exchanged addresses, so as I could send her a photo. After half an
hour of more gibber, we decided to leave &; look for a bank that
could get us some pesetas, as we were going straight onto Malaga. We
needed our BFH.

Samina asked whether we could be alone for a minute, which the chaps
cordially allowed us. Snog up with dub.

She was actually a really nice girl. Crazy though. Just a strange
scenario. I told her that I would visit within a year.

We all left to search for a bank. No joy, so Dan &; I decided it was
time to get to the port, as Samina had tried to tempt me to see her
father by now. She kissed &; cuddled me goodbye. Hili asked for 20
dirhams &; we departed.

In the port, we got through Immigration &; waited on the quay for
the catamaran to appear. The corrupt fuckers attempted to strip us of
cash to get us on a boat we didn't have tickets for.

'We have no money.'

'Pesetas, dirhams, pounds.'

'We have no money.'

One then grabbed my neck, gave it a couple of tight squeezes in a
pincer stylee, then left us alone.

We've eaten our last bear turd &; are now getting extremely agitated
at being in Morocco. The catamaran eventually pulled in around 1pm. We
approached the chap who was allowing people onboard.

'You cannot come on. You need a green ticket.'

'What?'

'Your mates alright, but you cannot come on.'

'What?'

'You need a green ticket. Go back to Immigration.'

'What?'

I thought I was going to break down. Part of my ticket was missing, but
so obviously never was part of what I had received.

Some local decided to try &; take me back to Immigration.

'I know where I'm going.'

I didn't, but went to the desk where they stamp your passport, made a
few noises, then got told it wasn't their problem. It is the catamaran
company. So, I went back to the catamaran.

I started moaning again. Dan just stood there in disbelief.. Finally, a
Gringoid came out, who worked on the service.

'What's your problem chaps.'

'Blah, blah?.'

'Does it happen to be ticket number 13046?' and he pulls the missing
part of my ticket from his shirt pocket.

'Errr - yes.'

'You were never given it. I've been waiting for you to come
back.'

'Oh right. Well FP.'

'It's been in my pocket for a week now. Most people only ever go to
Morocco for a day, you know.'

With that, we were on the catamaran, relieved to be out of
Morocco.

We managed to somehow get snidely abused by a middle aged, middle
classed American for giving up our seats, so as they could sit next to
their friends.

'Why. We are ever so grateful. Oh, us from the colonies.'

'Yeah, right mate.'

I clocked the eye of the Customs geezer when we arrived back in
Gibraltar, so I threw him a cheezer.

'Please come over here sir.'

Bag searched.

Dan &; I had no money, so a visit to a bank is a must. I couldn't
get any out in Morocco though.

I again couldn't get any out. I'm skint. Dan managed to withdraw #20,
but that won't cover both of us until we fly back to Blighty tomorrow.
We need to get to Malaga &; stay somewhere tonight.

Dan also had a debit card, but didn't know the pin number; so going to
the counter at a bank was our only chance of getting hold of some cash.
Today is a Sunday.

We had two Whoppers each in the Gib (2 for the price of 1). Then, we
walked back over into Spain. We walked through some dodgy looking
council tower block residential area to the bus stop &; hopped onto
a bus back to Malaga. We just about had enough for the fares.

We stopped off in all the places that bought me hideous visions of
'Brits Abroad' or golfing holidays on the way back. (Marbella,
Torremolinos, etc.) But we had to wait for half an hour in one town I
cannot remember the name of. Well strange, mon. Some KKK type vibe
going on down.

There was a long street procession. With all ages wearing white capes,
with white peaked facial hood thangs sported on their heads. I really
do not know what it was about, but it frightened me a bit.

When the bus finally left, it had footage of a similar procession in
Malaga. That one was massive. Got a bit more scared.

Luckily, by the time we arrived, the streets were sparsely populated.
Found a hotel. They would not let us stay unless we could pay in
advance. Try another bank. Try another hotel. Try another bank. Grim
out. Try another hotel. Wicked.

It was a weird little place. Much akin to staying in a freaky
grandparents pad. This old couple ran it. We were shown to our room.
There were only another six rooms in there. A kitchen. We were banned.
Front room. Banned. Two other bedrooms. Banned. Room full to the brim
with ceramic dogs &; cats (some life size). Banned. We had our room
&; the bog to roam freely though.

Shower up/kip up, then an early rise on the Monday morning to go to a
bank. This would enable us to pay for our hotel, breakfast &; taxi
to the airport.

We found a bank, but it was closed. Tried a few more, to yet more
closures. We then found out off some information box bird that today
was a bank holiday.

'Bollocks.'

Hotels were the next option, but we soon tired after 6 attempts. We
finally admitted defeat &; were slowly ambling back to the hotel,
trying to think of what to say to the proprietor, when we passed
'FAIRPLAY - The Poseidon Palace'. It was open.

'Surely not?'

'Yes Yes Yes Daddio. FP to the FP.'

Dan got a load of ptas in. We had a couple of goes on the pinball
wizards, had a refreshingly cool beverage. Paid the fat freak hotel
bwana &; came home.