30th May - In the morning that followed my strange dream, leaving Marrakesh with our sense of ourselves intact was our main aim. We did not care when it seemed that our breakfast was served more indifferently than before, and there was not even any of the usual double strength Nescafe made with milk on offer to perk us up.
Anthony had already paid the hotel bill. We were packed by 10 am, and out of our rooms for 11 am, the room checked twice in case we had left anything behind before the cleaners went in. We sat in the foyer until gone noon chatting with the next person who was going to occupy our room. She was a wealthy middle aged English woman from the home counties who lived in obvious comfort. She had booked her holiday quite late, and had got a flight in to Marrakesh early in the morning. Whilst being tactful enough to not talk about money she obviously travelled in some style. There was conversation of how rotten the English government was, 'An election must come soon' and other Liberal nostrums. As always in these socially awkward situations, Anthony scrubbed up/better in the conversation than I did, he found more things to say than I could. It was less that my tongue got tied and more that my mind got snagged on the thoughts that it was obvious I should not share. Mostly I went sociably quiet. When she was was told 'Your room is now free' and the hotel manager took her rather large suitcase up the steps and we were more free too.
Soon after the lady went to her room we set off in our ten mins walk around the back alleys of Marrakesh to where a car there waiting for Anthony to drive for the week. We had time to spare and had a strong coffee whilst we were waiting. Nowhere outside in Marrakesh was quiet. Our experience of the cafe seemed fine at first. The busker sang several sixties songs in English which was fine. But when the busker played 'Knocking on Heaven's Door' I could have been figuratively doing the same. If there was one song that I could extinguish the universal memory of, then it is that song. I don't know what other song that Buskers the world over would grind into cliche to replace it, where they are all unaware of each other, but maybe it would be a more robust and cheerful song,
Our car was new, a diesel vehicle, white, and capacious. I presented the remainder of the money in euros, over two hundred euros, after we had paid the deposit. Getting in it to get out of the city was a relief. I will always be a passenger with cars. So if I was of any use then, then I had two small jobs, One was to look for the right signs for directions when I was told the name of what to look for. The other was radiate signs of patience when it was clear to Anthony that we had mislaid our sense of direction, this was easier than it seemed when it seemed to me like we were travelling via a sense of dead reckoning anyway. It was helpful that we saw signs for the airport on the way out of the city; I have often felt better for seeing where I am going before I actually have to go there. I can't be alone in this. The only persistent difficulty Anthony had with driving it was finding reverse, which with him being such a good driver was easily adapted around,
With only one moment of genuine doubt about our direction, and with every roundabout and section of dual carriage way passed we became more sure of our sense of direction, out of the city, the scale of which surprised me. I had not mugged up on Marrakesh before we got here, though Anthony drove away from the city as if he knew the way out of it of old, though the roads must have changed a lot since he last drove on the roads around Marrakesh. I did not count the number of major roundabout/duel carriage way combinations before the traffic got quieter and the development either side of the road more spaced out. What I did admire, which I have seen before, is the dogs basking in the heat on the grass of one well landscaped roundabout as the traffic raced around. The utter unconcern of the dogs and depiction of agreement among them, well, goes far beyond sentiment for me.
The sense of relief as there was nothing, no buildings, either side of the road washed over us as we passed through some of the Atlas Mountains. Neither of us had to say 'I am glad we are out of Marrakesh'. We felt each other feeling it. But there was a crisis to be met. We had been in Marrakesh two nights. Anthony had booked a two night stay in a hotel along the road we were on. But the booking was for two days away. We had to find a hotel or auberge somewhere a decent distance from where we had booked-say two hours drive-en route to that hotel for two nights. We tried two hotels before we found a place to stay, both hotels were fully booked, We soon realised that the combined effect of Covid ending, as well as more bookings being taken in advance online reduced our chances of finding food and a bed for the night. One place-clearly a place where truck drivers stayed the night-seemed pointedly rude to us when we asked. We were taking a chance by the fourth hour on the road because only he could drive and we both knew that he was getting eye strain.
I noticed the 'Auberge Dar Zara' stop first and he pulled in to the left, off the road and up the incline. Anthony could rest his eyes and start seeing single again, after the double vision /blurriness from driving four and a half hours. The place did not look much but it was cheap and welcoming, wonderfully Heath Robinson looking electrics, My single bed base was made from a pallet. Good mattress, poor fitting sheet. Anthony go the double bed. Our dinner was a green salad, vegetable tagine, fruit salad. We kept the banana for later.
I read more of 'Confessions of a Fallen Angel'- Death sure stalks this character's life. His knowing that drinker talk bollocks/cliches so readily and don't notice they are doing it is well observed. I could say something about my family here, but why bother? I have observed the lives I led around them with enough acuity for me to know I am addressing myself more than any reader of my words. However well they are trodden, old sour grapes are, they do not make for mature settled attachments.
Please left click here for part five of this diary.
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