The writers of guide books like Lonely Planet and Rough Guides have us believe that there are sites of interest at almost every corner not to be missed, but we’re getting wise to their deceptively descriptive ways.
We are becoming more determined not to answer “Bonjour” to the charming “Bonjours” singing out to us from every trader, in every souk we pass through. This opens the door to “Where you from?” “England? Ah, I am part English, or I have a cousin in England, or I lived in Devon when I was young boy” Followed by “What’s your name” & “You’re very welcome in Morocco” – “come visit my shop”. Multi-lingual Abdel, leads us up this particular path. He can sense we’re far too nice to tell him, as Michael McIntyre would say “Go and shove your shopping trolley”. We know we’re in deep trouble when a couple of drinks get poured and what looks like a leather dog’s sleeping basket, ( – to clarify – a leather sleeping basket, not a leather dog) gets placed at our feet and we’re asked to place all the items we want to buy in it before negotiations commence. Mary-Ann, AKA the family accountant has wisely come out with a basic amount of cash for our day’s ramblings. Abdel’s sixth sense picks up that we don’t really have enough cash on us to bring forward his retirement. He allows us to make our excuses on the pretext that we’ll use the local ATM and return later. Keep-net turns. Plop! We’re back in the water. He’s got a bigger fish to fry on the line. A Portuguese man and his friend walk in. He’s fluent in Portuguese too. Aah, Is that right? His granny lives in Lisbon? What? His grand-dad was Eusébio da Silva Ferreira – no way. Incredible.
So we climb and walk the Portuguese Ramparts. Say Cheese. Take a few photies. This one snapped by a young couple with a younger child in arms. He’s Moroccan, speaks Arabic, French and English. She’s German. Speaks English fluently too. Their 2 year old already understands all three! English a formality.
We leave it too late to enter the Portuguese Cistern at 12.45 of course. It closes at 1pm for two hours. Bien sûr. Enjoy the exquisite stuffed sardines for lunch at the boutique L’Iglesia Hotel – a converted church. Its counterpart, the converted American Consul building around the corner, equally charming. (you’ll have to Google for pics!!!) – sacré bleu!
We should have guessed that the Portuguese Cistern was not going to offer too much in the way of entertainment (just listen to me), as the entrance fee was only 10 dirham (less than one pound). Basement reflections offer the perfect photo shoot. We shoot up the place.
We change plans and tomorrow will head east to Marrakech.
It’s have another moan time. We will not be unhappy to leave this “International” camping site. The facilities are atrocious. Diabolical beyond belief. We don’t use them. Prefer Beastie’s on board. A shame, because the site is in a good location and spacious. We just don’t get why, or how they can get away with it.
Still, the swimming pool compensated . . .
