If I keep everything with me it reduces the risk of loss or theft. I slip my handbag in my rucksack, and although that is slung over my shoulder I keep the zips fastened to the front so no-one can sneak up behind me and unzip it to take anything. Even if our tour guide announces that we can leave our bags on the bus, it will be safe, I usually take my bag with me, as the driver does not always stay on the bus – after all, they get to eat lunch the same as the rest of us, need to use the facilities, or just meet up with other coach drivers for a cigarette and a chat.
However, on occasion I might leave the odd item in my seat; my shopping of the day, my cardi if it is hot and I don’t need it and likewise my hat. Occasionally I will slip a spare water bottle in the little net basket hanging on the back of the seat in front with my guidebook, items to lighten the load of my rucksack. Sometimes I leave things just so that I know in which seat I am sitting when I get back to the bus.
This morning I had been sitting in the second row on the right-hand side of the bus. I had left a large clear plastic bag (the shoe bag from the Casablanca mosque that I still had with me) containing my cardi, spare water bottle and guidebook on the seat. When I got back on the bus after lunch it was in the third row.
Gordon was sprawled in the second row, head down as if asleep. I thought that earlier he and Carole and been sitting behind me. I wondered why he had swapped seats. The amount of space and leg room were the same. It did not make much difference to me but I was a little wary about having my belongings touched and moved.
Even Carole seemed surprised; as she climbed the stairs she exclaimed, ‘Gordon! Whatever are you doing there?’ and made him jump. He immediately sat up straight and started rearranging backrests and neck cushions.
I made a cursory glance through my stuff just to make sure everything was there, and also that nothing extra had been added.
Keith slid into the seat next to me with a casual ‘Okay?’ I murmured an agreement. I did not want to say anything to him. Giving voice to any suspicions might make them sound silly but I made up my mind just to be a little wary of Gordon. After all, with the exception of Keith I had never met any of these people before. What did I know about them?
Touring holidays may comprise some odd assortments of people; that’s some of their charm, the people you get to meet. But I had learnt previously that not everyone you meet you can trust. I had been on holiday with one group and although I would never have accused a girl of being a thief, people lent her money willingly enough; if she had no small change for entrance fees people paid for her, no money for lunch as the cash dispenser had run out, people loaned it to her. She just “forgot” to pay it back.
And I was beginning to discover one or two new things about Keith. He was more casual, footloose and fancy free than I had imagined, for one thing.
The hotel that night was on first glance similar in layout to that of two nights ago. A reception complex, a separate bar (near to the swimming pool) and dining room complex but with the accommodation in separate little low-level clusters. My room was number 9 (how nice to be in single figures, as opposed to the large city hotels that combine room numbers with floor levels, giving rise to combinations such as room 614) and Keith was around the corner in number 11.
Inside the layout had similarities; a sitting area with sofa and a coffee table; a central wash basin to advertise the bathroom area, with the loo to the right and the shower - a rather large area with a ledge around the edge on which to sit - to the left. There was a built-in wardrobe (note, no open metal work tubular affair) with five, yes five, the count was going up every day, clothes hangers. I smiled, pleased to see a large double bed with decent sized bedside tables with lamps and even a selection of paperbacks, however a quick perusal revealed them to be in French or German.
I quickly washed and changed. I was reviewing the day’s photos on my camera when Keith knocked on the door ready for a pre-dinner drink in the bar.
I allowed Keith to read the wine list and spend some time making his decision. He opted for the same wine as we had had the last couple of nights, although I noted that here, as we had travelled a little bit nearer the north of the country, the price had also gone up ever so slightly.
In keeping with the more cosmopolitan feel of this hotel the food was less Moroccan in nature and more haute cuisine, with as the men pointed out, smaller portions. This was no buffet style dinner; we were served by smartly dressed waiters. However, everyone agreed, the food was excellent, the dining room, from the floor to the tablecloth and the cutlery, spotless. Even Gordon, who I had noticed was sometimes a picky eater, having missed lunch, cleared his plate.
‘Did you enjoy today?’ Graham asked, pushing his clean plate to one side and reaching for his wine glass.
‘I think with all the sitting on the coach and eating three meals a day I needed the walk,’ I smiled. It was very pleasant.
‘Are you much of a film buff?’
‘Not really,’ I confessed. ‘These days as soon as the lights go out in the cinema I fall asleep.’ I admitted to having seen “The Jewell of the Nile” on TV but had only made it through about the first hour of “Gladiator.”
Graham and Keith then proceeded to discuss action films and war films and I settled back sipping my wine. Abdul had earlier mentioned a ride around the town tomorrow in horse drawn carriages, if people were agreeable, and we had all duly nodded.
I tend to have a policy whilst on holiday of signing up for everything that’s going, as long as it is nothing risky like a balloon ride, although the camel ride was a little hair raising at times, on the basis that you might only get to try something once and may never get the opportunity again.
I am always amazed by people who when on holiday do nothing, as it were, but sit on the beach or by the pool or in the bar; they could have stayed in England to do that and saved some money (granted with perhaps less sun…). When I had been in the Valley of the Kings in Egypt a woman had declined the chance to enter Tutankhamen’s tomb, a unique place in the world that had only cost an extra £2.50 in addition to the admission charge into the Valley of the Kings; later that same day she had asked in astonished regret, ‘Why did I do that?’
‘I think the weather should be nice tomorrow,’ observed Karen.
‘Hmm, yes it brightened up nicely today after the misty start,’ Ann agreed, eyeing Phil as he poured himself yet another glass of wine.
Yes, we were being positively British, back to discussing the weather.
Carole and Gordon excused themselves, wishing everyone a ‘Good night,’ murmuring that they wanted an early night. This set some of the other men around the table, as well as one or two of the ladies, to nudge each other with knowing winks and repeat ‘early night.’
As if out of nowhere Larry announced, ‘We’ve got a lovely spacious room, huge shower.’
And there followed a general discussion about our various rooms, the number of coat hangers and the size of the shower area, with Nancy’s observation that theirs was large enough for an intimate gathering.
‘Well, what’s it to be,’ asked Larry, ‘Nancy’s shower party or the slightly more comfy, but less sexy, seats in the bar?’
We opted for the bar but I caught Diane’s smile and raised eyebrows towards Keith as if in invitation to the shower.
I sat with the ladies in the bar – well Karen, Ann and Nancy.
‘I say,’ exclaimed Ann, with a tipsy giggle, ‘I’m quite looking forward to the carriage ride tomorrow.’ She took a large gulp from her glass. ‘I simply adore horses, don’t you?’
‘I do hope they are well treated,’ said Karen. ‘I know we said that we would go but if there is any sign of neglect or brutality then Graham and I shall withdraw, won’t we dear?’ She appealed to her husband who had appeared at her side with murmurs of ‘Time for bed.’
We all nodded in agreement, whilst draining our glasses.
‘Holiday companies are quite particular about that sort of thing. They don’t lik
e to be seen to condone mistreatment of animals; it’s bad for their image,’ Nancy said, picking up her bag and looking around for Hugh, who was deep in conversation with Bob.
‘I’m sure,’ Ann said, ‘that it will be fine.’ She gave a little hiccup and another giggle.
I wished Karen and Graham a good night and fended off Ann’s query over whether there was time for another drink so she weaved her way across to Phil, a little unsteadily.
Nancy sat back in her chair and eyed me intently. ‘You know that according to legend Theseus abandoned Ariadne on the island of Naxos?’ she asked.
I glanced up at her, taken by surprise by her question. At first, I thought she looked concerned, but was she trying to stir things up?
What did I know about Theseus and Ariadne? That she fell in love with him at first sight and that, as well as the ball of thread with which to find his way out of the labyrinth, she also gave him a sword so that he could kill the Minotaur. Somehow, I did not think this was what was on the other woman’s mind.
‘He stole away while she was sleeping,’ Nancy said softly, so that I had to lean towards her to hear. I thought - how often recently has that happened to me? Then other notions crept into my head - had she noticed Keith leave my room late at night? Had that been her bedroom door close that I thought I had heard Sunday night? Then as I sat silently wondering what to say she added in the same low voice, ‘Some versions of the tale say it was because he had taken another lover.’
Across the room Keith was in deep conversation with Diane. Every now and then her laugh drifted across to us, high and shrill.
I sat and stared into my empty glass as, without another word, Nancy rose and joined her husband at the bar; I prepared to walk back to my room alone.
Chapter Thirteen – Wednesday - to Agadir and Beyond
If this was a story in a book I would have spent the night dreaming of Keith and sandy beaches, with rolling waves spiralling into a nightmare, as I slept on the shore, whilst he rowed away into the night.
However, it wasn’t like that. Once in my room I tried the air conditioning unit, decided it made too much of a rattle and switched it off. Concluding that those poor unfortunate women who had come to sticky ends whilst on holiday had reached their sad demises through villains entering via the door and not the window (after all this was not Transylvania), I decided, despite my ground floor room, that I was safe to open the side window to allow a cool breeze and some fresh air. No-one, I decided, was going to clamber through the flower beds in order to climb through my (rather small it must be said) bedroom window.
Then I lay on my back wide awake, staring into the dark and listening to the sounds outside. However, I soon decided that was silly; I would be unable to tell if anyone passing was actually Keith, who had to pass my door to get to his own room, or someone else. Anyway, what did I care if he spent the night with Diane? If Larry wasn’t bothered, why should I be?
I still spent a rather sleepless night. And it was only partly due to the heat.
I awoke feeling grotty and not a little irritable. A hot shower in the (spacious) cubicle restored me a little and I headed for breakfast feeling in need of several cups of tea. Some yoghurt, fresh fruit, orange juice and home-made bread with honey, and four (large) cups of tea later I felt revived; there were no eggs or other hot food here but the selection provided was delicious. I was in need of the bathroom and hastily made my way back to my room, passing Keith who on his way to eat. He was casually sauntering along the path, hands in pockets, giving a little whistle.
He stopped when he saw me and wished me a ‘Good morning’ with a grin, but the smile soon slid off his face as I rushed passed with only a muttered reply. Let him think what he liked about my avoiding him. There would be time to explain about the four (large) cups of tea later.
I made a second visit to the bathroom before heading off to the foyer where we were meeting ready for our carriage ride. When I arrived, Keith was sat in a corner all alone looking a little dejected. I left him there and wondered over to Karen and Graham.
‘Phil and Ann aren’t coming,’ Karen said. ‘Phil’s got an upset stomach this morning.’
‘I’m not sure if that is a euphemism for hangover,’ said Graham, busy cleaning his glasses before popping them back on his nose. ‘Even heavy drinkers have it catch up with them occasionally.’
Abdul, busy herding people outside, hurried up to us muttering, ‘Eight, nine, ten…’
We obediently went outside, where pulled up at the roadside were three brightly coloured carriages. Allaying Nancy’s fears all the horses looked healthy, well-fed and groomed. I could not see any patches of skin discolouration or hair loss to mark out any animal as ill-treated. As if she was just checking Nancy was busy stroking the nose of one dark brown pony whilst muttering endearments. Larry stood a little further back and I pondered whether professionally he was drawn to contemplate our steeds but being on holiday he decided to do so from a distance.
Bob, it appeared had much the same thought as he sidled across and I heard him tentatively enquire, ‘Umm, you’re the vet, are you? Know much about horse flesh hmm?’ He gave a sort of nervous laugh and added, ‘Don’t suppose you’d care to give me any pointers for when I have a little punt?’
I left Larry tactfully trying to explain that whilst he could, and had, treated horses he did not think he could offer any tips, however in an effort to placate the other man he offered to sort him some tickets for Ascot, and sauntered over to where the rest of the group was gathered preparatory to our little trip.
Each carriage could fit four passengers, in sets of two facing each other, plus one passenger riding up front with the driver. As the couples of Diane and Larry, Karen and Graham, Gordon and Carole hastily got in the back seats of the carriages so they could face the way we were travelling and I did not want to sit backwards, I opted to sit up with the driver. Abdul showed me how to climb up using the wheel spokes as a step.
I was settling myself in the seat when a hand holding a camera appeared and Karen asked from behind whether I would mind taking a picture of her and Graham. I duly turned around, noting as I did so that Keith was climbing up to sit beside the driver of the carriage containing Diane and Larry. Hugh and Nancy climbed in with Gordon and Carole. That left Bob who was dithering between sitting up with the driver of their carriage or sitting in the back of ours, (I noticed he preferred to give the threesome of Keith, Diane and Larry a wide berth). In the end he settled for the high seat next to the driver and with Abdul placing a helping hand on his back to give a little push and the driver holding his elbow to steady him, he climbed up. Abdul then settled himself in the back of our carriage (also avoiding the threesome of Diane, Larry and Keith), and we were off.
We were soon travelling at a sedate pace along a dual carriageway. There was surprisingly little other traffic. I tried to remember what day of the week it was – Wednesday –presumably the rush hour was over and those that needed to be were already hard at work in the nearby shops and offices. The large rampart walls of Taroudant soon appeared, a pinky orange stone that looked surprisingly modern. Perhaps they don’t have the same amount of dirt laden, acid rain that we have to age their buildings.
We clip clopped down the main thoroughfare. Every time we went around a corner the driver and I slid a little on our seats and seemed to meet in the middle. He would then slide himself back to his original position to avoid any bodily contact. Behind me I could hear Abdul pointing out landmarks to Karen and Graham.
Our driver would occasionally point out something to me with his crop and mutter but I had no idea what he said. I would nod my head in agreement and occasionally take a photo just to please him. Whenever I raised my camera he would draw to a halt to allow me to take a steady picture, leaving us often quite far behind the other two carriages and then we would have to pick up speed a little in order to catch up.
We came to a dirt parking area and I reached down for my rucksack safely wedged between my
legs when I noticed that tied to the carriage behind the horse was a large blue plastic bag to catch the dung that had dropped as we went along. No wonder the roads had looked clean. I was reminded of the busy workmen we had passed in Marrakesh, sweeping the roads and trimming the hedges.
I climbed down carefully, again using the wheel as a step. Abdul gathered us together in order to give a little talk. It had been previously commented that as tour guides go his information had been a little sparse at times. Taroudant, he told us, was completely contained within the walls. It is known for its local crafts such as jewellery and carpets and has two large souks, one by each of its main gates. The ramparts are six kilometres long and contain nine gates to allow access to the town.
Abdul proceeded to lead us through one of the souks. By this time I was getting used to them, the narrow little pathways, the stalls that sell just about everything imaginable from the items necessary for day to day life for the locals, fresh fruit and vegetables, to the usual tourist trash. We walked through at the usual speedy pace; Abdul did not like to stop to shop, not that anything here caught my eye but if it had, it would have been nice to have the opportunity. On the other hand, I appreciated his need to keep his group together, to cut down the amount of time that anyone could wander off or take a wrong turning. There was also the ever-present danger of pickpockets and thieves to consider with tourists being easy targets.
At the end of one section we came across a group of ladies grinding grain. Bob and Larry snapped away, taking photos of the lady nearest to our group and then each man tossed her a couple of coins in appreciation of her smile as she worked, at which point another of the ladies started grinding energetically but unfortunately for her no-one else felt they needed any more photographs, and her labours gradually slackened as sadly no coins were forthcoming in her direction.
Our walk completed, it was time to drive back to the hotel. It was all change on the seating arrangements; Bob decided to ride in the back with Karen and Graham as he did not fancy the climb back up into the high seat with the driver. Likewise, Larry decided he wanted a bird’s eye view and swapped with Keith, leaving the latter to sit and chatter with his wife on the backseat. From my perch I could see their heads close together in cosy conversation as they travelled in the coach in front. For a second I thought about swapping my seat for one in the carriage but I am not a good traveller sitting backwards. I would just have to brave the view.
Thirteen in the Medina Page 19
