We started the day with domestic duties, wiping surfaces, cleaning floors - quite a bit of dirt and dust accumulate with it being dry and windy. There was no rush to hit the beach as the tide was in and both Tony's planned horse ride and my surf were better as low-tide activities. 'Tone' had arranged an 11 a.m. meet with the horse riding guys - but the timing was pretty flexible.
We met at the beach shack/restaurant/board hire place to do our thing. We decide to have a little bit of lunch before heading off (we both had a pork terrine) Whilst dining we watched the dynamics of the touts on the beach, all vying for business – horse hire, camel rides, quad bike hire – the surf/ windsurf/kite board outfit was pretty professional – good kit, well maintained staff. Then it all kicked off - much shouting in Arabic, one tout had pinched the clients from someone else – a fight followed, spilling over onto the terrace in front of the restaurant – one guy ended up with a cut eye. It's a serious business, mucking about with other peoples livelihoods, it was upsetting for the children in the restaurant who had to witness it.
Where as riding horses on flat beaches can be considered great fun, surfing on a millpond is something I have always struggled to find the enjoyment in. Tony went horse riding; I took the quad into town to look for 'action'. Surfing wasn't happening for me today.
I wandered through the streets of the town centre, the shop girls admiring my swarthy paunch, ankle socks and off-white tan. The men looking with envious eyes – not understanding the spell that men like Tony and I can weave over the innocent female. Feeling the eyes of an army of females on me, I ducked onto a male enclave to seek sanctuary – the barbershop. Sitting down, I chatted about football (Casablanca beat Tetouan in the final) men's health issues and the latest 'Morocco's Got Talent'. I emerged with a decent haircut and beard trim – the girls went wild.
Back at the beach, Tony had been given 'Silver' a fearsome stallion only recently broken. Frothing at the mouth, full of attitude, hairy and wild - Tony made the perfect rider. A bond of pure sinew, muscle and hair, merging together to form this hell fire relationship – riders at the gates of a brave new dawn, brought together to turn back the tide, to 'collide with the very air they breathe', to smite the devil and chase him to hell. But before that, there was a short health and safety briefing.
Tony's riding partner was a young lad 'Greggy' who was in charge of the route and general leader. It soon was apparent that he was quite inexperienced, flapping around on his steed like some rag doll, his horse out of control for most of the ride – Tony took charge.
After meeting up back at the beach shack, we spent time talking to 'Greggy' and his tout. It was interesting to get their perspective on life in Morocco – generally they were happy with their lot. He said the King of Morocco was great (but then we probed a little deeper, it seems people disappear for public dissent in Morocco). We asked for some advice around nightlife, places to see, and things to do etc. We fancied a traditional Hammam – bath/ scrub/ massage.
We went back to the truck, drank - read book - fell asleep - woke up – got sorted went into town for Hammam and food.
We didn't want a white tiled, white toweled, merchandise in the reception lobby kind of experience – we could get that in the U.K. We weren't disappointed.
Leading us down a narrow lane – the lady who does the 'bookings' led us into a dark dome shaped brick room, hot marble slabs on the floor. Two sweaty young men were there to greet us, buckets of water and running water. After putting the images of 'Midnight Express' behind us we took most of our kit off (I had previously nailed my swimming trunks on to prevent slippage). Without going into details it was very pleasurable – washed – scrubbed (layers of dead skin rolling off) – soaped – rinsed- massaged – then oiled with Argan oil (local tree oil).
We emerged into the dusty alley, clean, slightly wobbly and in search of food and some music. 'Taros' was the happening place – music – good food – fantastic location and cool décor. The guitarist singer was pretty good, singing a range of western stuff, he was followed by a young girl (singing the obligatory Adele stuff). Buoyed on by the polite applause from the diners, she brought her two giggly friends up (all X-factor wannabees). Forgotten words, giggling, off-key, it was beginning to turn into open-mic night. Thankfully the owner, had a polite word with the guitarist- basically 'get this * off and play your *-ing guitar' and all returned to normal.
Bedtime.
No comments:
Post a Comment