After a small goodbye celebration in Glasgow on Sunday night, I caught the 1pm train to London, sad to be leaving Jo for two months but with a lot to look forward to. I spent that night with Caitlin and the next morning did some last minute shopping for a decent stock of books and malaria tablets. Another goodbye, to Cait and Billy, was followed by my uncle Andrew and I being treated to a tour of Westminster Palace courtesy of Lyndsay Anne. The politicians having skulked off on recess hoping for some disaster to blow their thievery from the front pages, we had the place largely to ourselves. However we were just too late to get either of the chambers so made do with some subsidised pints off Guinness and arranged a return in September. Here's a pic of Andrew and I on the terrace by the Thames.
Andrew and I then espoused the brilliance of Toots and the Maytals to Lyndsay and her boyfriend Iain (another friend from school), until they decided to come to the gig. Anyway it was worth it, the show was great and Toots, who must be at least 60, was even better than expected. By that stage bed wasn't really an option with a 6 o'clock flight to catch so we all met up with Laura for a few more drinks and a bit of table football, great day.
The next day couldn't have been more different. I woke up with the thud of wheels on the Marrakechi tarmac, briefly wondering whether my early morning beers with some Rome bound Mancunians had been a dream or not. Away from the airport, the early morning sun woke me up properly and the sensory feast that is Marrakech blew any remaining cobwebs away. If anything the hustle and bustle was a bit too much so I decided to head out of town the next day, after watching the demise of my Mancunian friends in the Champions League Final, in a room full of dancing Moroccan Barça fans.
I arrived at the Cascades d'Ouzoud at about 3pm on the Thursday. I set up camp (literally) on a mud terrace beside the a the forested slope before venturing further down the stall and restaurant lined steps to have a look at the falls.
As you can see the falls themselves are quite photogenic and as pretty in reality, especially when the sun catches the spray to produce a rainbow which would place a pot of gold somewhere in the plunge pool. However, standing still to relax and appreciate the view was made more difficult by constant hassle from locals ( I say locals but these guys were more likely opportunistic hustlers attracted by the area's ability to attract tourists). Even if this can be forgotten with kind but persistent resistance, the omnipresent litter and grime made a more permanent impression on me. After a wee trek down river I left the next day, regretting the apparent demise of what must have once been a magical place, and my role as a tourist. Also, on the way back in a shared taxi, a late arriving Englishman in the front unwittingly agreed to pay 4 times the amount charged myself and two French girls in the back, the exploitation is seemingly mutual. The next day I met my friend Scott at Marrakech airport, he had a week off from a busy RAF officer training schedule (making paper aeroplanes and taking elocution lessons) for a week of travelling in Morocco, a blog about which is next on my to do list.
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