
Sandy buildings
Editor (Travel)
‘Next year we’re eschewing the winter wonderland Xmas-market schtick for a souk-tastic excursion to Marrakech. Moroccan sunshine + exotic gifts + end-of-year tan. It makes sense’, reads one travel magazine. Well, it doesn’t make sense to me now. Unfortunately, I was persuaded by this phrase to believe that it actually could be rather warm when I was packing my backpack. How wrong I was!
Let’s come back to the beginning. Clothes aren’t that expensive in Morocco so I could simply buy new ones there. Not a big issue. What actually was scary is that I nearly missed the bus to the airport – remember those Christmasy floods in the UK? I was a victim of them too in a way that my phone stopped working in the early morning of my departure day and I failed to keep in touch with my travel partner Ram. I was supposed to meet him in front of my house but I couldn’t see him. Phone is not working, bus is leaving in 10 min – panic panic panic! An idea to go alone to Morocco crossed my mind, so I would leave my friend in those floods. Selfish, I know, but that’s a trip to Morocco and someone was about to exchange that trip for a sleep (I thought he simply overslept). Some ‘genial’ idea came to my mind – write a message on ‘Facebook’. And yes, that saved our trip – my friend immediately replied that he was standing in front of my house. I grabbed my backpack and ran downstairs into the dark and found Ram with the taxi he had ordered – great! No time or willingness to talk, the only thing I carried about was to catch the bus on time. And yes, we made it – we were on our way to the airport, blaming each other and the bloody floods for a trip which had almost finished before even starting.
After reaching the airport, I calmed down. Yes, I’m actually going to Morocco; a two-week-long escape from the UK was about to start. Happiness was running through my veins as I was relaxed sitting and sipping my coffee. Soon I realised, Christmas holiday break does not bring joy for all. Behind me and Ram, was a bunch of Spanish people shouting at the airport officers that they had destroyed their Christmas. I’ve checked the departure board – all the flights to Spanish islands were cancelled. I guess due to floods. Spaniards were immensely furious with high-pitched voices and tears rushing down their faces. They are not going to meet with their families this Christmas. ‘At least you could have told us a few days in advance, it’s Christmas Eve!’ – I heard an upsetting voice of a woman holding her child. She is not going to meet her husband this Christmas. Her son is not going to meet his dad this Christmas. I realise how lucky I am. My flight is not cancelled (delayed though).
Sitting with my belt tightened and looking to an endless array of clouds is rather boring. Most people are sleeping. Lucky them! I can never fall asleep on a plane. I was trying to kill boredom with a book which I have already read, Dispatch from a Cold Country. It’s here just because Ram promised to finish it during this trip (since he didn’t manage to finish it in half year, I was quite sceptical he would finish it now). Rolling my eyes through the same lines wasn’t actually satisfying. I found a few ‘Snickers’ in my pockets and felt happy that I finally have something to do — eat! Soon a stewardess handed out boarding forms. The usual stuff. We needed to fill in the address of the hotel where we would stay. We made it up – we were going to stay at local people in different parts of Morocco and we had no clue of their addresses (we were using Couchsurfing — a highly recommended website for travellers who actually want to immerse themselves in the local culture). The flight didn’t take too long and after a few hours I was able to see the silhouette of Marrakech. First impression — sandy. All the buildings seem to merge with the colour of the mountains and land surrounding them. I woke up Ram and showed the landscape in which shelter we were about to spend two weeks. Get ready for us, Morocco!
Image Courtesy: Ingrida Kurlinkute

Ingrida Kurlinkute

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