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| Sitting in one of Brightons Gardens |
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| Yes, it was supposed to be me. |
Hello May! Now where did that come from? I believe my date of departure for the motherland was August 19th. It is now May 15th. This means that it is approximately 3 months to go to make it a year since I left and I couldn't tell you where it has gone. Well I am about to tell you where two long weekends of it went and that is as far as my memory will take me.
These Poms (not sure if it is a proper noun but I will give them the benefit of the doubt) love their holidays. We had a rocking two weeks where there was a 4 day weekend followed by a 4 day weekend...cheers Kate and Wills. Nick and I, annual leave being precious thought it wise to travel over both weekends, only our dreams were shattered by the price hikes in flights and accommodation over these periods so we had to settle for something a little more humble.
Over Easter we jumped on a train and in just an hour arrived in the beach town of Brighton, down saath. We booked a reasonably swankee hotel room but could only afford city views, Nick being the opportunist that he is always asks the question "any chance of an upgrade *flutter the eyelids* and somehow we landed a pad with teriffic views of the maria, couldn't ask for much more. The place, well...Australians would laugh at the use of the term "beach". Sand? Someone, anyone, show me some sand? No, just pebbles. The entire shoreline was littered with these gigantic pebbles and for this, I hereby swear never to speak badly of St Kilda's beach again. Nevertheless, the town did have a certain charm that has the ability to make home in your memories.
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| Brighton Marina |
They have these lanes which are a labyrinth of crowded, mismatch combination of flea markets, boutiques shops, cafes and wicked vegetarian restaurants which I feasted on with great delight. The pier is like a Luna Park on old rotting wood with noisy roller coasters and ice creameries (luckily the weather was sunny and 25 degrees the entire time so a soft serve with flake didn't seem out of place). Nick convinced me to go one one ride and being the control freak that I am this didn't go down too well.
In hindsight (what a mystically wonderful thing it is) it was really fun and seeing as nick decided to purchase a fridge magnet of me crapping my pants on it as we went down one of the drops it is something that may consider doing again. Shits and giggles, that type of thing.
All in all, as ridiculously touristy place that it is I quite enjoyed my time in one of the most renound beach towns that the UK has to offer. Wouldn't take it back thats for sure . This conveniently brings me onto our second weekend away, Marrakech - Morocco.
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| Sunset at our Riad |
Now, may I firsly point out that we were planning to travel to Marrakech over the second long weekend that we were given by the Queen for her grandson getting married to the far too skinny Kate Middleton.
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| Nick photographing the sunset from our Riad |
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| The aftermath of the bomb |
As you may know Marrakech was bombed by terrorists quite close to this time, killing 15 people. May the people responsible for this rot in hell and have their ashes pissed on by donkey.
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| Breakfast served daily on the terrace |
Thank goodness due to the price hikes we decided to travel the following weekend, just returning last Monday. Since then people have asked me "So, how was your holiday?" For some reason I can only conjure up the answer "Yeah, it was good". Surely this is not the normal response from a holiday from an exotic and culturally rich part of the earth. Obviously, I came away somewhat bitter. Why? I am not quite sure. Let me set the story, departure Friday afternoon, 3 and a half hour flight to arrive in Marrakech. Get a taxi to our Riad which is sort of like a house but with lots of rooms and get dropped off in some dodgy side street, not a tourist in sight wondering where in gods name we are. "Surely this isn't it" I am thinking to myself, all the reviews said it was close to the city centre? But the driver kicks us out, points down an alley and tells us its just down there.
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| Wireless is so 2011 |
So, the suitcases are unloaded and before you could say the word "dodgy" a young boy, perhaps 13 years of age tells us he knows where to go. Now, I have been traveling before and I know how entrepreneurial these kids can be if they smell a dollar so we say no, its fine, its just up here! He isn't stupid, we have suitcases and don't speak the language. Leading us down the street we were already on he stops at a door, looks like any other door and knocks the door handle. A lovely lady answers and greets us, "yessss I am thinking, finally we are here!" That little shit points to his hand asking us for money...I knew it! Cheeky bugger, I look in my purse and all I have is on pound sterling. I offer it to him and you woudn't believe he turned his nose up. Said something in Arabic and walked off, if only he knew how much that was in his currency he wouldn't have been so rude!
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| Poor Kitty couldn't survive a harsh world |
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Our Riad was lovely. Hosts were french (everyone in Morocco speaks Arabic of French as it was colonised by the pastry loving country) and after being server with mint tea (with at least 5 sugars I am pretty sure) and some snacks Valerie sat us down and explained the whole town to us, drew maps of where to go, what to see, where to eat, the whole shebang. We had the entire place to ourselves because everyone was scared off by the bombing we were treated like Kings! That night we ventured (lead by our trusty map drawn up by Valerie ) into town for some dinner, felt so out of place! Seriously, you could walk for miles without seeing another toursist! Finally found what we we thought was the right dining place on the map, got a good possie on the terrace and ate a mediocre tagine while watching fully covered Muslim women rummage through a pile of underwear that someone was selling on the roadside which looked like it had dropped off the back of a truck! The following three days continued like this, visiting the city square, bargaining in the Souks (markets), museums, seeing the gardens and generally just walking the streets. Now you are thinking, "it doesn't sound so bad what is she whinging about?".
Although the country had so much to offer in terms of country, sights and serious history I am not quite sure, maybe it is just because my travels prior have been to places which were not so off the beaten track but I couldn't help but feel a certain animosity from the public just for being a foreigner. There was no smiling, no laughter, no happiness towards us, not to mention tho horrendous treatment of animals which I don't even want to get into.
Even when we tried to have fun with some of the kids in the villages the old folks told them to stop and go inside. After speaking with an old French guy named Mark who had evidently lived there for 5 years he said they were jealous of us and our money and our lifestyles and so they didn't want to open themselves, their culture or their way of life to us tourists. I think if they know how many emails I got over those 4 days that I had to face the coming week they may not be so jealous. Alas, this is travel I guess. On the whole I am glad I did the trip but definitely would not go back, ticked of the list and now it is done. Next stop is Scotland with mum and dad, cannot wait to meet Hamish the hairy Coo!
So, the suitcases are unloaded and before you could say the word "dodgy" a young boy, perhaps 13 years of age tells us he knows where to go. Now, I have been traveling before and I know how entrepreneurial these kids can be if they smell a dollar so we say no, its fine, its just up here! He isn't stupid, we have suitcases and don't speak the language. Leading us down the street we were already on he stops at a door, looks like any other door and knocks the door handle. A lovely lady answers and greets us, "yessss I am thinking, finally we are here!" That little shit points to his hand asking us for money...I knew it! Cheeky bugger, I look in my purse and all I have is on pound sterling. I offer it to him and you woudn't believe he turned his nose up. Said something in Arabic and walked off, if only he knew how much that was in his currency he wouldn't have been so rude! 
Our Riad was lovely. Hosts were french (everyone in Morocco speaks Arabic of French as it was colonised by the pastry loving country) and after being server with mint tea (with at least 5 sugars I am pretty sure) and some snacks Valerie sat us down and explained the whole town to us, drew maps of where to go, what to see, where to eat, the whole shebang. We had the entire place to ourselves because everyone was scared off by the bombing we were treated like Kings! That night we ventured (lead by our trusty map drawn up by Valerie ) into town for some dinner, felt so out of place! Seriously, you could walk for miles without seeing another toursist! Finally found what we we thought was the right dining place on the map, got a good possie on the terrace and ate a mediocre tagine while watching fully covered Muslim women rummage through a pile of underwear that someone was selling on the roadside which looked like it had dropped off the back of a truck! The following three days continued like this, visiting the city square, bargaining in the Souks (markets), museums, seeing the gardens and generally just walking the streets. Now you are thinking, "it doesn't sound so bad what is she whinging about?". 
Although the country had so much to offer in terms of country, sights and serious history I am not quite sure, maybe it is just because my travels prior have been to places which were not so off the beaten track but I couldn't help but feel a certain animosity from the public just for being a foreigner. There was no smiling, no laughter, no happiness towards us, not to mention tho horrendous treatment of animals which I don't even want to get into. 
Even when we tried to have fun with some of the kids in the villages the old folks told them to stop and go inside. After speaking with an old French guy named Mark who had evidently lived there for 5 years he said they were jealous of us and our money and our lifestyles and so they didn't want to open themselves, their culture or their way of life to us tourists. I think if they know how many emails I got over those 4 days that I had to face the coming week they may not be so jealous. Alas, this is travel I guess. On the whole I am glad I did the trip but definitely would not go back, ticked of the list and now it is done. Next stop is Scotland with mum and dad, cannot wait to meet Hamish the hairy Coo!
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