Mexico | Conch

The next morning – BIG BREAKFAST – Luuk and Bas were due to leave for Bacalar, a lagoon town in the south. I’d heard that it’s more of a party place than anything, and it was in the wrong direction for my journey. Instead, I reluctantly hugged my jolly Dutch boys goodbye in the hostel, and that afternoon, along with Nienke, Olatz, and a cool New York stone-screenwriter called Ian, we hired a car and headed out in search of cenotes.

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Morocco | No Mood For Snakes

Sam and I spent our first morning in Morocco breakfasting on the roof terrace. The view wasn’t exactly grand, but it was certainly alien: stacks of rooftops, all at different heights, all unfinished. Each building was the same: rising sturdily from the clamour of the streets below, only to peter out suddenly, as if the builders had lost interest the minute they thought nobody would see their work. Each terrace adjacent to our own very lovely one was a jumble of breeze blocks and empty paint cans and broomsticks, with stray cats prowling the rubble.

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Morocco | In At The Deep End… And Then Some

As we walked towards the taxi rank after leaving the airport in Marrakesh, Sam and I acknowledged the fact that we would need to haggle with the taxi driver – that he would undoubtedly try to rip us off. We agreed we would be tough; drive a hard bargain, get a fair price. We checked the distance to our accommodation on Sam’s phone: two miles. The exchange rate was £1 to 12 dirhams. We decided we’d not pay a penny over £15 total, or around 180 dirhams.

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