Thoughts On My Home Run From Marrakech

Once I got on the train towards London I felt safe, although even then, I could have suffered from overhead line problems or a breakdown in the tunnel.

But the whole holiday could have been so much worse!

Getting off the plane in Marrakech was a very protracted affair, as the guy in the row behind needed a wheel-chair and this held everybody up, whilst his conveyance arrived.

I was virtually last off the plane and it took me forever to get to the luggage carousel, where there was just one bag going round and round on the conveyor. It looked like mine, as it was a grey/blue Mandarina Duck pull-along. So I picked it up and got ready to pull it outside for my taxi.

But something wasn’t right! I checked the pocket, which was where I put my book and I found a blue scarf that I didn’t remember as being mine.

Then I noted it had a red label with the company Rambler on it. Now that wasn’t the company I’d used, so I checked the label, which was in a name of Burnage!

It wasn’t my case and obviously Burnage, whoever he was, had taken mine!

But the place was deserted, so I evenbtually left the case and went outside.

A guy was holding up a board saying Ramblers, so I approached him and eventually I was reunited with my case.

But the Ramblers party, were on their way to God knows where and as I had no mobile phone how would they have reunited me with my case, which of course contsined my medical supplies!

A bad holiday could have been turned into an absolute disaster.

The morals of this trip are as follows.

1. Don’t use travel agents, who book you economy, when judging by your record with them, you’ve always used Club.
2. Make sure that the wi-fi and/or Internet in your hotel comes highly recommended.
3. Don’t travel on the same plane, as idiots named Burnage.
4. Don’t go to Chamartin station and above all avoid the hotel there.
5. But above all don’t lose your mobile phone!

I reckon I spent about two grand on this holiday and the only pleasure I had in Marrakesh was an afternoon in the hamman. I could have spent the money on an exclusive massage with half-a-dozen blondes and got a lot more pleasure!

I do have one regret though.  I had thought of doing a home run from Marrakech by train and ferry, but my son was apprehensive. When I decided to come home, I should have gone straight to the station and got a train to Tangier, followed by a ferry to Spain, from where I could have got a train to Madrid and onward to London.

To read all of my Home Run from Marrakech posts, click here.

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From Madrid To London

As the hotel at Chamartin didn’t have a restaurant and there wasn’t any tea or coffee making facilities in the room, I went for an explore at about four and found the station opened at 04:30.

So as I didn’t have any soap or shampoo with me and my luxurious four-star hotel didn’t provide any, I went back to the station as soon as it opened, after a breakfast of an EatNakd bar.

As I was hungry, in the most strange of hotels, I decided that the best thing to do, was take a train to Barcelona, then a TGV to Paris, followed by a Eurostar home.

At least the train companies seem to have systems that men you can get a keenly priced ticket from a machine without an ego or communication problem.

I found out by a roundabout way, that contrary to my informant from Spanish Railways at the airport, there were no trains to Barcelona from Chamartin, but one left at 05:50 from Atocha.

So it was a taxi to Atocha station at a cost of twenty euros, which I could have done the previous night for nothing on my ticket from the airport. Talk about the airport information guy, being a Spaniard in the Works.

To add insult to injury, there were several hotels in the area of Atocha, one of which was a brand I trust!

I bought the ticket to Barcelona with ease for €59 and after going through a full airline style security check, I just made the AVE high speed train to Barcelona. It was a Siemens train and like it seems all of their products had been designed without litter bins, although it did have an ash tray.  The latter was unneeded as the train was non-smoking. I did get a reasonable drink in the buffet, but of course nothing to eat was gluten-free.

The change of train at VBarcelona was pretty quick, but I did need to buy another ticket from the ticket office, rather than an intelligent machine.  I also had to go through security again to get back on the platform, where I arrived to get the TGV Duplex to Paris. Just 25 mins after arriving at 08:55, I was on my way to Paris. There are four trains a day for Paris and I paid a full fare of €170. Seat61.com has a full description of the journey.

This railway line up the Spanish and French coasts to the Rhone valley, is one of the best train rides in Europe. I didn’t chose to be on the top deck of the train, but that is where I was allocated a seat.

The Pyrenees

This picture shows the snow-capped mountains just before Perpignan and this shows the Etang de Thau before Sete.

Etang de Thau

They don’t show in the picture, but there were lots of greater flamingoes in the lakes. I never realised that these birds were so common in France, until a holiday in the area in about 1975.

Once in Paris at 15:53, I didn’t hang about but just jumped on the RER at Gare de Lyon for Paris Nord and the Eurostar. An hour and twenty minutes after arriving in Paris, I was leaving.

I finally arrived in London at 18:30 or just thirteen hours forty minutes after leaving Madrid.

This journey will get quicker, as for quite a way along the south coast of France, the trains don’t run on high speed lines. I can’t find any references to the distances on the journey, although Madrid to Barcelona and Paris to London are given as 621 and 495 kilometres respectively. Map Crow gives the Barcelona to Paris distance at 831 kilometres. I know this isn’t accurate and is probably a bit short, but that gives a total of 1947 kilometres, so my journey was at an average speed of 142 kmh. This compares with an average speed of 200 and 220 kmh on the first and last legs from Madrid to Barcelona and Paris to London respectively.

If the centre section was capable of an end-to-end average of 200 kmh, then a time from Madrid to London of under ten hours should be possible, especially if it was one train all the way.

 

A Strange Hotel

According to the guy at the airport, Chamartin station was the place to go to get a hotel and onward travel.

I had three options.

1. I could travel on to Barcelona, as I knew it was only three hours away by high speed train.
2. I could stay in a hotel and go round the Prado, before getting a flight home on the 13th.
3. I could stay in a hotel and get trains home the next day, via Barcelona and Paris.

I queued up for information and as ever in Spanish rail information offices, you got no help whatsover.  The ticket machines didn’t help either, so that eliminated option one.

So I had to find a hotel. There was actually a four star hotel by the station.

It was the strangest hotel, where I’ve stayed in recent years.

I walked straight in past a security guard and approached the desk and asked if they had a room.  They did and said it was sixty euros.

I asked about wi-fi, so I could plan my escape to London, but the receptionist said it wasn’t working.

The bed was comfortable, but as to the soap, shampoo and other things you expect in a four star hotel, there was none.

I did get a snack in the bar of Iberian ham, but I was still very hungry as I not eaten since a runny omelette in the morning, except for a couple of EatNakd bars.

Some of the reviews in Trip Advisor are not very complimentary. Under a heading of Never Again, there is this one.

 I booked a surprise weekend away for me and my girlfriend and I came across the so called 4 star Husa Charmartin Hotel and I was very astonished, not just by the poor service and the presentation of the hotel but also at the lack of good facilities. There were no tea or coffee making facility, no extra pillows and NO DUVET (yes Duvet). The Bathroom had mould and cracks.

But at least my room was clean, had a duvet and it didn’t have little furry friends running about!

If you read the Wikipedia entry for the station, you’ll see that it was built for the 1982 World Cup and it is now suffering from a rebuilt Atocha station. This probably explains why the hotel was at it was. It’s a bit like having a four-star hotel at Willesden Junction. Would anybody stay there?

Would I Go Back To Marrakech?

I certainly wouldn’t go back to Marrakech by myself.

The place was not what it was, when I went with C about ten years ago and although everybody at the riad tried, it’s not the sort of place you expect, when you pay the money I did.

Normally, I don’t need the wi-fi, as I have a mobile phone with me, but without any method of communication, I feel lost and somewhat trapped. When you are widowed, I suspect mild paranoia is something you live with!

My alternative holiday, would have been to fly to Bari.  But I discarded that trip, as it would have meant flying on Ryanair. But even Ryanair at its most crowded and annoying, is something I can put up with, after this flying visit to Marrakech!

Leaving Marrakech

I got to the airport in a rather scruffy Fiat taxi and then had the problem of buying a ticket.

There appeared to be only one place to buy a ticket and I spent about two hundred pounds getting a ticket to Madrid, where I hoped I could sort the mess of this holiday out. There were no easyJet or British Airways desks, as I suppose everybody buys their tickets over the web these days.  And there were no Internet terminals like you get in most big UK airports.The ticket desk didn’t take credit cards either, but at least the cash machine worked well. I can’t remember when I last paid cash for an airline ticket. If I ever have!

But it all worked and at 14:00 I was on my way in a smart Iberia RCJ-1000 to Madrid. I hadn’t flown in one of these before and it was certainly more comfortable, than the British Airways 737, I’d taken on the way to Marrakech.

I looked at the menu and noted that they had some gluten free snacks, so I thought I’d have some with some water.  But unfortunately, they weren’t carrying any gluten-free snacks and I couldn’t buy any water, as I didn’t have any Euro and they didn’t take any other currency.  They wouldn’t take a credit card for two euros either. However, the stewardess did bring me a free glass of water, with which to take my Warfarin.

I had thought that once in Madrid airport, some sanity would prevail, but the only ticket to London would cost me eight hundred euros.  They did say I could buy one cheaper from an Internet terminal. But the design of the terminal was totally for Spanish and must rate as one of the worst pieces of design, that I’ve ever seen.

So if nothing, I learnt that unlike with trains, don’t ever turn up at an airport without a ticket. I have done this before from Greece. But that was a couple of years ago and I did pay about two hundred odd euros for an easyJet ticket to London.

So I thought the best thing to do, was go to the centre of Madrid and find a hotel. The helpful guy at Spanish Railways advised me to go to Chamartin and sold me a ticket for a couple of euros.

Home Run From Marrakech

I hadn’t expected this trip to be one of my home runs, but after abandoning the holiday in Marrakech, that is how it turned out. So I’m putting up this start page for the adventure.

So now there is a tag called Home Run From Marrakech.

Welcome To Marrakech

This picture sums up Marrakech to me!

Welcome To Marrakech

I did see an open-topped tpurist bus, which might have been worth riding, but there was nobody about to sell me a ticket.

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.

I’ve Lost My Mobile Phone

Somewhere on the Road to Morocco my mobile phone has gone missing.

If anybody, who reads this can they please inform O2, as I have no means of contacting them.

Plastic Belt Buckles

I object to taking my belt off in airport security, as because of my gammy left hand, I need a mirror to get it back in again.

At Gatwick, I said could I not and said why, but the guy said you’ll have to take it off, if it beeps in the machine.

It didn’t beep and I kept it on.

In the 1970s I worked for ICI Plastics and there were plastics then, that were strong enough to make belt buckles, that wouldn’t be dangerous or set off medal detectors.

So why don’t we have them now?

If nothing it would speed up security!