I wasn't entirely honest, however, because amid all of my drama and groaning, there was the tiny fact of our week-long vacation to Morocco in January. Yep, we went to Marrakesh and the Atlas Mountains for seven days and while I did BRING my Introduction to edit, I didn't actually look at it until we were on the Ryan Air flight home. All this to say, that I know I really shouldn't moan too much about writing my thesis. Anyway, the stupid thing is out of my hands so who cares.
The reason we went to Morocco was that we scored a sweet deal through a discount airline -- our tickets to Marrakesh cost 75 Euros total... Of course, travelling on a discount airline means that you have to pay for any extras and they're super strict about carry on. Andrew and I prefer to always carry on, rather than stowing luggage, since we've had so much luggage lost over the years. Anyway, I didn't think travelling to Morocco would be such a challenge, so I packed only one pair of pants, my hideous MEC hiking pants, and one thick fleece thing. I knew it wasn't stylish, but I figured it didn't matter that I would look like this for the next 7 days:
I mean, the woman couldn't be fashionable in Morocco. It's a Muslim country, so they'd be all veiled and covered up, right? Ah, I'm an idiot. The women were gorgeous, dressed to the nines, some wearing full veils, but many others wearing western dress. All of them we're stunning, and me? I was in hiking pants and shcleppy clothes. I felt like a complete bum the whole time I was there. To the point, where, when Andy and I were going out to our one nice dinner in a fancy restaurant (I had my birthday while there) I asked the guy at our hotel if what I was wearing (see above) was okay. He looked at me, kind of sighed and said it was fine, because "you are a tourist."
Aside from my poor wardrobe choices, we had a fun time. Morocco is hands down the most exotic place I've ever been to. I mean, we went to Dubai, but it's just basically Kanata (for those of you not privileged to know, Kanata is one of Ottawa's sprawling pre-fab suburbs) in the desert. Morocco was genuinely foreign... There were dudes selling spices and herbs and magical things:
There were beautiful ancient mosques:
Snake charmers:
Yes, SNAKE CHARMERS:
and mysterious robed men feeding the hundreds of stray cats (shudder).
Since we saved so much on our tickets, we splashed out on where we stayed (Well, splashed out for us). Our Riad was super cool.
They gave us slippers to wear:
And robes:
And breakfast on their rooftop patio:
This was our first room:
and this was our second when we came back from the mountains (more on that in the next post):
The hotel put fresh roses all over the place:
Still, even though the hotel was quite swish. I take no chances. I'm insanely paranoid about bedbugs and so no matter where we stay, I investigate:
Also, just so you don't think our life is one of unending glamour -- we ended up playing a lot of cards on our vakay, but though the hotel was cozy and intimate, it meant that the lighting sucked. Luckily Andy had packed head lamps for our stay in the Atlas Mountains so we used those in the room:
And, when you drink a bottle of Moroccan wine all on your own while gloating about how you're beating your puny husband at cribbage sometimes you get the hiccups:
Ah, Moroccan glamour -- if only the hotel clerk had seen me... He might not have been as confident that I could just say I was a tourist and get into the chichi restaurant...
