A Holiday In Marrakech

The idea was supposed to be very simple.  I would fly out of Gatwick on British Airways, have four nights in a riad in Marrakesh and then fly back on Thursday afternoon. I’d booked through a well-known travel agent and they had arranged everything.

Ten years or so ago, C and myself had flown to Marrakech and stayed for a weekend in the Villa des Oranges and I’d hoped to bring back some happy memories, with perhaps a trip to the Atlas Mountains, taking a lot of photographs and writing my blog.  I’d also checked out that the riad had wi-fi and was rated to be friendly and good for solo travellers.

But everything went pear-shaped when I found that my mobile-phone had been lost at Gatwick. I use it constantly for keeping in touch with the world, but no matter as I’d bought a small netbook computer with me and the riad had wi-fi.

The riad was good, except for the wi-fi, which perhaps ran for a minute or so before it dropped out. I even found it virtually impossible to send an e-mail using my Google account. I think I managed just one short post about my mobile phone. But no matter, as from previous experience there were some nice Internet cafes in Marrakech. But of course, I couldn’t find it and all I found was a grotty place, where the computers were virtually unusable.  These days, who needs an Internet cafe? Only those in trouble.

I should say there was a nice computer for guests to use in the hotel, but it had the most complicated keyboard I’d ever seen. I couldn’t find the @-sign and it just turned me off everything.

I then booked a tour of the historic sites in the centre.  I had been told it would be 400 Moroccan dinars, when I booked it, as I’d have to pay for two people, but in the morning, the guide wanted 400 each for me and my non-existent companion. I also found the tour would be just me and the guide.

That was it! I don’t like being ripped-off and I can afford to take a stand, but others perhaps cannot, so I told the guide where to go in no uncertain terms.

Marrakech was also depressing me, as it wasn’t the place I remembered and i couldn’t seem to find a nice cafe for a drink anywhere outside of the riad.

So as I didn’t want to be trapped there, I did what I always do. I cut my misery and took a taxi for the airport to get a flight home. I had checked that seats were available on easyJet, so perhaps I could be in London by nightfall.