So it’s been a little while since we’ve been to Morocco. I would have written earlier only I’m me, so I didn’t. However since I didn’t want you to miss out on the excitement of hearing me talk about my trip, here it is condensed with photos:
It all began in the late afternoon on a Tuesday or maybe Wednesday or maybe Thursday (who can remember these things). We took the train to the airport extra early, checked in and then proceeded to explode with excitement, occasionally pausing to stuff our livers and intestines and other vital organs back into their rightful spots.
Our first stop was London Stansted. We landed there at 11pm and weren’t flying out till 6am the following morning. Mark thought the best way to pass the time was to buy me a bowl of coffee (seriously look at the size of that thing) and watch to see what happened. I swung off the chandeliers a little.
We boarded our flight without any dramas and landed in Marrakech at 9am-ish local time. Our riad sent a driver to fetch us and some 15 minutes later we were sipping mint tea in the atrium. Sidenote: Mark and I have decided that Moroccan mint tea should be made compulsory at all restaurants everywhere. Please take this news to your respective leaders.
Our first day in Marrakech was spent wandering around the souks, which were a three-minute walk from our riad. The plan was to bargain and make every local sing our praise and tell stories about the foreigners who could negotiate like Bruce Willis in The Fifth Element only with fewer guns and also fewer aliens. Instead we got totally ripped off.
Every conversation began with the vendor establishing where we were from, followed by some vague kangaroo-ish movements (on behalf of the locals) and enthusiastic nodding (from us). “Yes,” the nods said, “Kangaroos!! I know what you’re doing because I’m Australian.” And, of course, after a few pleasant moments of hopping and smiling and nodding and hopping we politely emptied our wallets. It was also widely acknowledged that Australians sound very much like “JACKPOT!” and one very determined man was convinced that as a nation we’re into big yellow pointy slippers. He was wrong though.
We had dinner back at our riad and then took a turn about the main square to see it lit up at night. It was both manic and very cool. Side note: we came very close to adopting about a thousand kittens.
Our second day in Marrakech was spent in a similar way, only we squeezed in a visit to the Saadian Tombs before we got into a transporter and set off for the Atlas Mountains.
We arrived at the Widiane Suites and Spa some three and a half hours later and shuffled along into the reception area -- the bottoms of our jaws skidding across the ground -- where we were treated to a welcome drink of goat’s milk and dates.
As part of a package, Mark and I got to stay at the resort for four nights and received a one-hour Thai massage, boat ride, foot-massage, traditional hammam and canyon trek (each). I could write a book about our time in this part of Morocco. That would probably bore you to tears though, so instead I’m going to put together a list of the things not covered in this blog and fill in the gaps when the inspiration hits me.
Mark and the snake charmer
Fantasia
The Miu
Our trek, deadly cacti and the benefits of a matching tracksuit
The hammam
The sewage room
Crossing the road
Yup. Right. That was our trip to Morocco. We’re hopelessly in love with the place and can’t wait to go back for more.
Okay, I’m going to confess something: I’m not sure which sound I should be making for Morocco. Instinctually “Arriba” feels both appropriate and completely wrong. I guess this means I shouldn’t be wearing a sombrero either. (Side note: I tried to write “misfitting” and the Mac, being all ignorant, corrected it to “mishitting” which I read as “mis-shitting.” Tee hee).
Aaaanyway, the main thing to take away from the first paragraph is that tomorrow night Mark and I are flying to London Stansted (where we’ll spend a lovely five hours touring the airport and sleeping on seats) before heading to Morocco. Arrrrrriba!
Sorry, again.
I shall report on how we both came down with a terrible case of something unpronounceable when we get back.
In other news – I hope you’re near the toilet because I’d hate for you to soil yourself with excitement – we are no longer homeless! We signed a lease for a two-bedroom apartment in Schwabing West today. Our landlord is all kinds of lovely and went to great lengths to explain the contract to us. We didn’t really need the explanations (our gazillion or so sub-leases have practically made us experts in the field of German property law), but it was mighty entertaining anyway. At least two of his examples involved a mysterious death in the apartment. Who knew legalities could be so much fun?
If all goes according to plan we’ll be picking up our keys on the 26th of April and moving in promptly afterwards. If somebody could call Ikea and forewarn it about the tornado of flailing, excited limbs that are about to hit it, that would be great.
Well actually, I’m a little confused about the one-year thing because Simon, Mark and Dumpling are denying me my right to celebrate. The reason is because I went back to Australia for a month and our one-year-in-Munich anniversary fell smack-bang in the middle of that trip.
So, technically, I’m coming up a little short.
Except, if we’re going to count that holiday, then we have to count all of the time we’ve spent away from Munich, right? And that’s when things get complicated because we actually don’t remember anything that we’ve done before…ohhh…yesterday.
But I want to get to the bottom of this, so here is my non-chronological attempt of getting to the bottom of what we've done with our past year, travel-wise:
1) Trip to Copenhagen (Denmark) When: February-ish 2011 Who: All of the Hausfraus (minus Dumpling; he was probably slaughtering his former owners at the time)
I know it happened because: I have this picture (and yes, why thank you, my nostrils do look very bright).
Other things I can recall:
a) Going to the Dansk Melodi Grand Prix and finding it oddly German-sounding
b) Being bitterly disappointed that some poor pastiche of a 90s boy band won. Boo! (The anger rages on).
c) Having dinner with Princess Mary. By which I mean, being served by a chef who had also served T-Mizzy on a separate occasion. (Side note: need to write to T-Mizzy about her new nickname).
2) Trip to Berlin (Germany) When: November-ish 2010 Who: All of the Hausfraus (except Dumpling, so we rub it in his face like “nah nah you’re stuck in your tiny cage and you'll never see Berlin. We've seen Berlin. It's cool!” and he rocks on his swing, silently plotting our doom).
I know it happened because: I recall a man spitting a tooth at Simon (then picking it up and somewhat aggressively throwing it back into his own mouth, like “it’ll find its way back from here”). This, apparently, is the sort of thing you should come to expect from the S-bahn in Berlin.
Other things I can recall:
a) Simon suffering hypothermia on a walking tour and being all annoying with his shivering and his losing of the limbs to the cold. Who knew someone so fat could even feel the cold? I mean, right?
b) Best tapas ever. Tapas that should have been photographed, and it’s a great crime that they weren’t. And someone will pay for that crime. Most likely Mark (or maybe Dumpling).
c) A man spitting a TOOTH at Simon.
d) Questioning the intelligence of these:
e) But being charmed by this:
3) Trip to Amsterdam (The Netherlands) When: June-ish 2010 Who: Mark and I
I know it happened because: We got salt and vinegar chips and well, that was it, wasn’t it? There was no getting us off that high.
Other things I can recall:
a) My club sandwich with chips (important) ceremoniously arriving at my table as a club sandwich with a side of actual potato chips. Like, Kettles. Like, are you kidding me Amsterdam?! Here’s proof:
b) Staying in a houseboat and not being allowed to flush paper down the toilet – pipe troubles. I mean, was anybody going to do anything in that toilet? I dare say NOT!
c) The butt-germ bath.
4) Trip to Krakow and Warsaw (Poland) When: November-ish 2010 Who: Mark and I
I know it happened because: It snowed and we drank grzaniec (mulled wine) and hung out with my family and it was all very nice and jolly and oh yeah, FUCKING FREEZING.
Other things I can recall:
a) Mark’s best bud James wearing Converse sneakers in -18° weather because he hadn’t packed – nor did he own – winter shoes.
b) Inappropriate humour about adopting my cousin. Not sure how it started. I watched from afar; part disturbed, part drunk.
c) Mark falling in love with oscypki (handmade Polish smoked goat’s/sheep’s milk cheeses). I can tell you this much; Mark is awesome at being obsessed with food. Very, very good. Delivers a spinechilling performance every time.
Other things I recall:
a) Mark trying to kill me – several times
b) Learning why my knee surgeon insisted that I “DO NOT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES SKI AT LEAST (!!!) A YEAR AFTER YOUR OPERATION”. Turns out he was right.
c) Being informed by Mark’s dad that there was a delicious egg-based Austrian specialty that I simply had to try for lunch, then blindly sending Mark to buy it for me. So you know what happened right? Mark decided to get the Largest Portion Known to Man Doubled Or Possibly Tripled Please, and returned with a huge plate of Keiserschmarrn, which - incidentally - is not a savory omelette as I had been led to believe. Here's proof:
This is not an omelette; do not order for lunch.
6) Trip to Paris (France) When: June-ish 2011 Who: Simon
I know it happened because: I got several text messages updating me about how Simon and his boyfriend were on a bus with drinking…drunk…spewing Russians.
7) Trip to Amsterdam (The Netherlands) When: No idea 2011 Who: Simon
I know it happened because: I got text messages with Kath and Kim quotes. Apparently that’s how Simon rolls in Amsterdam.
8) Trip to Aachen (Germany) When: August 2011 Who: Me
I know it happened because: I was sober and it was lovely.
Other things I recall:
a) My cousin’s son being outrageously adorable.
b) Australian ice-cream being quite the hit in Maastricht
c) Going to Maastricht.
9) Trip to Regensburg (Germany) When: July 2011 Who: Me
I know it happened because: I have a ton of photos of my eye/nostril/chin/indistinguishable-part-of-fleshy-self, due to failed selfies.
Other things I can recall:
a) I scared a lady by taking photos of her child interacting with a crazy little dog. In my defence the dog was really crazy and the child was adorably fearless.
b) I made inappropriate eating noises while dining alone in a posh restaurant.
c) I ordered and ate a serving of ice-cream that was bigger than my head. And, well, anybody who has ever met me is now feeling both horrified and impressed. It was deeeelicious:
10) Trip to Erlang (Germany) When: June 2011 Who: Mark and I
I know it happened because: a lot of photos, which I can never take back, happened.
Other things I recall:
a) Desperately wanting to steal/ not give back a festival stein…but returning it for reasons of morality, ethics and drunk generosity.
b) Mark constantly running off to get food. Every time I’d turn around he'd either be missing or chewing on a pizza/sausage/pretzel/another pizza…
c) Sleeping at the train station because we had no Plan B and Plan A had left the platform at least seven hours earlier.
11) Trip to Switzerland (Zurich and Luzern) When: Swissmass 2010 Who: Simon, Mark and I
I know it happened because:
a) My cousin took us out to a brothel, then a seedy dive bar. I showed my outrage/ lack of coordination by smashing a glass of beer all over the bar. We left soon after.
b) We were abused with heating on the way in, and when we endeavoured to quench our thirst with three large cokes from Burger King the privilege cost us $21!
c) $21 for three Burger King cokes. You are one crazy MoFo, Zurich.
d) There was fondue and then I cried (tears of happiness for I had found my true love).
I shall never forget you, my love. Side note: Mark's arm looks like it swallowed an apple.
And that covers it…I think. Of course we don’t remember how long we spent in those places. We do recall that various lovely people joined us for our adventures – you know who you are, there’ll be no naming and shaming here.
But this whole post was supposed to be about our one-year anniversary…and I’m no closer to working out when that technically is – thanks for making it super complicated Simon and Mark. I’m going to shit in both your teas.
So this is what we’ll do; we’ll all agree that any trips away get completely nullified by our attendance at Oktoberfest (or Wiesn as it’s known to the people in the know. That’s us, by the way.). And you’d better believe that we were there. It went a little like this (give it a little time to load; it's totally worth it):
Personalize funny videos and birthday eCards at JibJab!
I have a confession to make. And just warning all of the romantics, this might throw you straight off your stools. Wham! You’ll be on the ground before you can even think of throwing rose petals to soften your landing.
I think bathtubs – including those corner spa things you find in honeymoon hotel suites – are awful. So awful, in fact, that I’d prefer for a guy to fart me a little tune in bed than to ask me to get into a bathtub which has previously been occupied by anonymous arses.
Because that’s what it is. I’m well aware that mere hours before I got there, the hairy arse of a giant sweaty man (or woman) has rubbed itself all over every bathtub surface and now I’m about to cover it up with warm water and sit in it. And you know what happens in warm water right? Bad things.
This makes things awkward for Mark because he’s a normal human being, which means he appreciates being submerged in scented, bubbly warm water. It’s relaxing and comfortable, and there is no higher compliment than to be comfortable. Not to Mark. According to him comfort is the bar by which all things should be measured – clothes, chairs, bathtubs...if Mark had his way we’d all be wearing moo-moos.
Because of this, all of our more romantic trysts are marred by The Bathroom Scene. That is the process whereby we inspect our room and, upon discovering that it has a bathtub, engage our alternate personalities. Mark throws his shirt over his head and does laps around the room shouting about comfort, while I curl up in a ball, find a suitably dark corner and rock back and forth mumbling about butt germs. They are the healthy foundations upon which our relationship is built.
So you can imagine my horror and Mark’s complete euphoria when we discovered that our romantic Amsterdam houseboat* not only had a bathtub, but a little tray thingie-ma-bob which could hold two wine glasses and a bottle for top-ups. Alcohol without having to leave the bathtub? SO MUCH COMFORT! And we had two hours before Luke and Bec would arrive.
So yes, no amount of whimpering was getting me out of this one. Anyway I just wanted to share that story because if Mark ever tries to mar my good name with tales of how I steal the blanket and roll him off the bed, you can remind him about the butt germ bath. Also I couldn’t sleep. You know, because of the nightmares.
* We shared this houseboat with Mark’s brother and his girlfriend. The reason why we got a romantic one was because the others were taken.
Last weekend was quite monumental for me because I didn’t die. And, trust me, the odds were stacked against me. I had even prepared several significant texts (namely “Hey Simon, could you take our laundry down?” and “Mum, you win. You can have the cats”).
Not great, I admit, but it’s hard to be inventive when you’re busy not dying. Mostly, your brain just screams in a high-pitched voice. Like when you take a baby seal, dress it up to look like a pumpkin and make it watch Two and a Half Men. Or is that just me?
So anyway there I was, careening towards the edge of a steep, icy ravine and thinking about seals and about how I was going to get those texts out while skiing and trying to shut my brain up and the most incredible thing happened: I stopped. Like, before I fell and snapped all of my limbs into convenient pocket-sized pieces. Even though I was on skis and hadn’t strapped those to my feet in over half a decade. This is your chance to be impressed and also to hurl all kinds of insults at Mark (like, for example, “you giant-thumbed whoopsie, just what do you think you’re doing taking a crippled incompetent on an icy, narrow, ungroomed, steep, ten-kilometre red track!” I mean, whatever, I’m sure you can put it into your own words.)
So yeah, Mark tried to kill me. Unhappily for him I hadn’t lost all of my skiing know-how and in between whimpering, swearing and shitting my pants I managed to get to the bottom just fine, thank you. And that man who I had to push over the edge totally understood.
And that’s how we passed three awesome days in Austria’s Stubeier Glacier. It was magical.
Tomorrow…or technically today because it’s totally 3am and I’m totally going to finish watching Pride and Prejudice (the BBC version not that awful makes-me-want-to-pry-my-eyes-out-with-tealight-candles–or-something-similarly-unlikely Keira Knightley one) I’m taking off for Zurich.
I feel that this is the appropriate place to boast that given enough time and alcohol I could have stammered that sentence out in German. I might have come unstuck at the preposition side of things because, dudes, Germans use the weirdest prepositions. Like you travel after a country (what?) and you go into the theatre (who? Bobby? Bobby B? Bobby Brauuuun?).
Most of you would have just read that and been like “that bitch is crazy” and then you would have given it another thought and been like “but at least she’s stopped talking about prepositions”.
I thank those of you who totally got that Saturday Night Live reference, by the way.
But I don’t blame those of you who are being real C*&ts about the whole thing because I’m feeling angelic and full of Christmas spirit.
Not the least because I’m off to Zurich in a few hours. (And we’re back!)
The one thing – aside from my inability to speak in German, that is – that’s getting my knickers in a twist is the weather.
According to two out of three weather forecasts, Zurich is supposed to be a balmy five degrees for pretty much all of this and next week. There was a time when I thought that was cold, but that was before I publically fell over at Tollwood and landed in a whole heap of snow…oh and before all of the snow storms. So if it is five degrees I’m totally packing my bikini and nothing else.
But…the other, third website – the reputable BBC one at that – claims that the temperature in Zurich will drop well below zero and that we’ll get more snow before Christmas, which obviously requires a one-piece…and ear-muffs. So now I’m confused.
On the one hand maybe the BBC just missed its plane because of the snow and has fallen into reactionary panic like the rest of England, but on the other, maybe it doesn’t care so long as someone can feed it Yorkshire pudding. It’s hard to tell.
So thus far, my backpack is filled with nothing but promises that I’ll get my act together soon. It’s just like that one time when I moved to Germany with only three pairs of socks…
