Monday October 23rd
We 'broke new ground' when we discovered where the breakfast hall was in the hotel, and also found that we could pay 50 Dirhams apiece on the spot for a much better breakfast in a much nicer ambience than the one we might have bought if we had taken the walk out of the hotel, and gone down the street. The hotel did a self service buffet of different breads and pastries with a varied selection of jams and spreads to accompany them. They also presented a choice of tea, coffee, and orange juice, which tasted as if it was freshly squeezed. Anthony secreted several pastries in one of his deeper and cleaner pockets for lunch, later. For not having slept so well I did not think as clearly as he did, to take advantage of the self service character of the buffet.
Back in the room, post breakfast, it was 'tidy up, make sure you have left nothing out or behind, and leave the suitcase and hand luggage' time. Anthony had to buy herbs at the market because the herbs and spices in Morocco are so much fresher than their equivalents back home, whether home was France or County Down. I had around 400 Dirhams in me, and they were no use outside Morocco so we had to spend them now. There were about three stalls open in the whole market, every thing else was shuttered and closed. The three stalls that were open were herb and spice stalls. After a little indecision we got the best selection of spices we were going to get. I still had 200 Dirhams on me, Anthony was itching to spend them and I looked at the postcards that were for sale in what was otherwise a silversmith's shop.
One thing I am never sure about is when salesmen engage with the targets of their sales pitches how conscious are they of the theatricality of their sales pitch? How aware are they that the boundaries and roles of the situation are artifice, artificial and there is a degree to which, if we both chose to acknowledge it, the contact between two people could be played out in a much calmer way? The silversmith was either a very good actor or absolutely desperate to sell what looked to be very good wares. So for 200 Dirhams Anthony bought a silver bracelet from the silversmith where with all the dramatic salesmanship the silversmith employed to get Anthony to buy the bracelet, the bracelet was surely worth 800 or a 1000 Dirham. And maybe the display of dramatics in salesmanship was worth paying something for as well.
I still wonder if by having so little cash on me I cheated the silversmith. Something about the scene still does not read right with me. If he was in a conversation with Anthony and me, then as he kept dropping the price, not knowing how little we had, the more he lowered the price the more it felt more like he was talking to himself and were meant to be witnesses to his diminishing grasp on reality. He got his 200 Dirhams, though. Back at the Hotel Kamal we took our luggage, rugs and all, to the car. Having given the silversmith all our Dirhams, all I had left were Euros. Anthony paid the doorman as we left with a 10 Euro note. We were out to the car hire office and their driver was booked to use the car for our last journey, to the airport in plenty of time. But Anthony and I have always had a different sense of time with travel. I like to give myself plenty of time ahead in airports, train stations and bus stations, and he likes to have less time in such places, where we meet is that we both know that they are good places to read and ignore the bustle for journeys other than the one we want to take.
The driver the car hire company offered us was hired because he knew the most direct route to the airport. Anthony sat on the front passenger seat, I accepted a back seat. I enjoyed seeing areas of Agadir that I would not have expected to see, seeing these places was part of the premium of being a back seat passenger. Even when many of the sights I saw could be described as 'urban sprawl', they left me intrigued. Our arrival at the airport seemed sudden, even with all the clear road signs that long in advance clearly signalled where we were going. With travel, time will play tricks on us, and each trick has to seem fresh for it to work.
I was relieved that we had more time than we thought we needed in the airport. Anthony had been unable to print his boarding pass for the journey before we left home. He did not know what the wrinkle with the form was but the boarding pass download simply would not download. So he had to go three desks and explain how he tried to print his boarding pass, but to no avail. The best help he got was directions from one of the many policemen in the airport. Anthony's persistence won out in the end and we went through security. Again, his luggage caused more delays. He had left a small pair of scissors fit only for cutting paper with in his suitcase, on the upside this meant that security were not interested in the large tub of yoghurt that was in his is hand luggage, which we could then take home.
Sitting and reading kept us calm up to a point, after all the 'duty free' shops in Agadir airport were full of tat that you'd be appalled to be seen carrying with you. But then there was knowing when to move to the departure gate and guessing how long we might have to wait there. It all clarified slowly. First the many people formed queues because they thought they ought to then some staff appeared and they were absorbed by the screens behind the desks that were their stations. Then there were announcements and the queue was a buzz with the expectation of movement. From being in the position of being part of it, expecting to board the plane for Toulouse, I could not be objective about how the sense of time felt vs what it might have looked like and been measured as, by somebody looking at it with hindsight. The sense of time passengers have with airport queues defies analysis unless you are an airport manager. I have no idea how airport managers form over-views of the passengers they process.
The flight was calm and ordered, I made notes about the days, rather than read. Being sat nearer the back then Anthony was, I was slower than him to get through Toulouse Blagnac Airport. It felt good to be within reach of home, But on leaving the airport we were still several hours from home and bed. The car was parked on a side street that was about four stops away on the relief bus out of the airport that was running because at present the tram was shut down.
Everything went smoothly, The car started at the second attempt. We were soon whizzing round the ring road that went around Toulouse, and found the junction that would get us to the toll motorway that would take us towards home. The evening skies either side of the motorway were rather dramatic but we were travelling at speed so whilst I could have my fantasy of taking a picture of that sunset, the memory of wanting to take the picture was the nearest I would get to it. Anthony had his five euro not ready for the machine when we got to the exit point, so we were calm getting off the motorway. Soon the colours muted. It was not dark yet, but it was getting there. Anthony dislikes driving in the dark, so it seemed to be a mix of good planning and good luck that we got home with enough light in the sky for his liking, at 7.30 or 8 pm.
We had a light meal of salad and leftovers from the fridge that was surprisingly good. The end of very good holiday.
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