Now, I need to fast forward these diaries a week or so, because once again time slipped away from me and I neglected to write anything. Here we, here we, here we flippin’ go.
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Morocco | Dragged Face Down Across the Finish Line
Unfortunately, my Morocco diaries end not with a bang, but with a whimper: namely my own whimpering, plus a lot of shivering and groaning. I got sick – really sick.
Continue readingMorocco | Guano
And so, having been bullied by a twelve-year-old the previous evening, we now rejoin our two heroes as they breakfast on the terrace of their hostel, trying to summon up the courage to step outside once more, into whatever new adventures await.
Continue readingMorocco | Weird Screaming Fat Kid
We woke up early in the morning, mercifully un-hungover somehow, and had one final breakfast on the terrace, served by peaceful Jamal.
Continue readingMorocco | Freakin’ Out The Locals
Marrakesh feels like a sensory overload test – something MI6 would put you through if you applied to join the Secret Service, as a means of gauging how well you hold up under torture pressure.
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.
Continue readingMorocco | 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.
Continue readingMorocco | In Which A Lot of Things Go Wrong In Quick Succession, Just For A Change
After finishing up in Budapest, I spent three weeks back in the UK. I had a big plan laid out, and it was a good one: I was going to visit one of my best and oldest friends, Sam, for a holiday weekend in Brighton, along with his girlfriend and a bunch of their friends. Then I was going to spend a week visiting family in Leeds, and then I was going to head to France and find a Workaway or HelpX on a farm somewhere, and stay there for two to three months to improve my French and try to enjoy some more of the farm life that I loved so much in Australia. After that – well, I hadn’t planned any further, but I was confident something would come up along the way. Amerique du Sud, peut etre.
Continue readingHungary | Out On The (Gou) Lash
Okay so as I write this I’m on a train going through the desert somewhere in Morocco, and Budapest was a month ago. Buuut I don’t want to not write about it because it was a lot of fun, so I will remember what I can and wang it together into a nice summary.
Continue readingHungary | In Which, Once Again, I Get All Flustered And Fail To Handle Even Very Simple Problems
Checking out of my hostel in the hot hot morning, I shook hands with the two friendly guys that ran the place, humped my dusty rucksack up on my back, and made my way across the city to the bus station. It took me some 45 minutes, and by the time I arrived I’d sweated clean through my shirt and nearly been bonneted by half a dozen cars and buses.
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