That’s today. I think I may have a dip in the Atlantic Ocean for the first time in my life. Then I might pop up to Casablanca and try to find a coffee shop that has French satellite TV so I can watch the All Blacks smash the Springboks.
EMAILS I DONT WANT TO SEE
Now that I am travelling I have become very particular about what sort of emails I want to receive. The following is a list of emails that I have no interest in:
- Offers to lose weight fast (not too big an issue)
- Offers of university degrees (reasonably sorted in that area)
- Offers of instant finance with no credit check (although I may change my mind in a month or two)
- Offers to see Brittany spears naked (love her but if she won’t return my calls…)
- Jokes (will have to rely on own limited wit for a while)
- Jpegs/gifs (love them but they take too long to download)
- Complaints about how long my emails are
Ok that’s all for now. Sorry about spelling, typos, capitalisation, grammar and tense (some was written at the time and some more recently).
This was going to be a cracking day but it turned out to be my worst yet on tour. I got scammed 5 Dinah loading my luggage at the el Jedidad bus station. It was only 30p but it’s the principle and I am a little over being scammed all the time in Morocco. I got the shits on the bus on the way to Casablanca. It had to happen sooner or later because I’m eating all the local stuff. It’s worth a little anal insecurity though because the local food is pretty tasty.
Only just made to the bus station before having a big brown soup of a poo. Then had 4 cabbies refuse to use the meter for the short trip to the hostel and instead offer me special, fresh off the boat, 3 times what it should be, tourist price. The last one was nice enough to point me in the right direction though. Or so I thought. About a kilometre down the road I asked another guy and I had been sold a dummy. A 180-degree dummy. Grrr! By then I was a little over walking in the hot Moroccan sun so I flagged another cabbie. This guy not only used the meter but he spoke English as well. Things were looking up. Until I had paid him and I realised that he had had no idea where we were going. Grrr. luckily this new place was easy to plot on the Lonely Planet map so I started the 2-kilometre walk to the hostel. I didn’t cab it as I was a little over cabbies by this stage. Got to the international youth hostel and it was full. Booked into a run down place just across the square. Dodgy room. No shower. A toilet that backed up and 3 long flights up. Feeling decidedly, and understandably I think, anti Moroccan by this Stage so I had McDonalds for dinner in protest. One nil the Hubster. Until I squirted it out 2 hours later. One all. And again an hour after that. Two one Morocco.