Sunday 29 October 2017 
We watch the sun rise over the Atlas Mountains and marvel at the beauty

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The ever reliable and ebullient Jilali is here at 10am to transfer us to the edge of the Atlantic. He has enjoyed his day off in Marrakech, except for his 4am airport transfer and his 8am airport transfer! Ah, that’s showbiz, as they say in the funeral business.
It’s a 4 ½ hour drive to our final Moroccan R&R destination, Qualidia. We drive through more beautiful agricultural country and pass more eucalyptus trees than the Blue Mountains can boast. OK, accuse me of exaggeration but there are an awful lot of eucalypts. We take photos but due to the speed at which we are travelling (clearly Jilali is feeling better) every one of them is blurred.

Eventually the speed catches up with him, and Jilali is flagged down by a cop. Not a word is spoken. We hold our breath as he gets out of the car, aware of his quick temper. The key is still in the ignition and I muse that we can drive ourselves in the event of fisty cuffs and subsequent slammer. But, Jilali turns on the charm, shortly later returns to the van and extracts some cash from the glove box and a lengthy handshake seals the deal. We are on our way again.

Jilali announces that he will pick us up early on Wednesday for our transfer to Casablanca and that we will go to his home, meet his family and eat lunch with them. He will cook couscous. We have anticipated this, because he has alluded to it several times previously without being specific enough for us to respond. We are fond of Jilali and he has done his best to take good care of us, but neither of us are keen to push the ‘friendship’ to this extent. Besides, I fear that we might have to sit on the floor to eat, which is impossible for me. My floor sitting days are gone. We certainly don’t wish to be rude and we are aware of cultural sensitivities so we explain that we do not leave Qualidia until after lunch on Wednesday.  Fortunately our itinerary confirms this.   He checks his copy of the itinerary at length (which curiously is not in Arabic or French but in English and he struggles to read it), all whilst driving at breakneck speed but show me a Moroccan who can’t read and speed at the same time and I’ll show you an illiterate Berber on a donkey. He then rings the hotel to which we are headed and after his Arabic conversation with them he announces that lunch is not included. We stick to our guns, with as much kindness as we can muster, and tell him that we want to take advantage to rest up before our long trip home. I hope his study of our itinerary does not extend to our three days in Madrid. He accepts our rejection with apparent good grace and we move on to the coast.  Has Jilali been to this hotel before? Two U turns suggest not but we arrive in time for a late lunch. Aware that lunch is not included in our booking, Jilali has encouraged us to eat in the local town but we are keen to arrive at our destination so we are insistent.

We note quite a haze as we approach, is it dust or smog?  We learn that there is a large phosphate mine here, a major export industry from the huge port nearby. Perhaps that causes the haze?

The hotel is situated on a large lagoon, and we look out on the heads to the Atlantic as we eat an excellent sea food meal.

And in a perfect bookend to the day, we watch the sun set over the ocean.

Monday 30 October 2017

You know that old saying…..When in Morocco do as the Moroccans do. Well, we decided to have  a hamman, the traditional bath where one is scrubbed and sauna-ed – by others. We throw caution to the wind and figure that the chances are we’ll
only live once and so we should experience this tradition – in the hotel, not at a public hamman. It’s an experience I think we are grateful for. We were in this together, in adjoining rooms and in hearing of each other. Undress to the altogether and put on this disposable g-string. Why I don’t know as it covered exactly nothing. I grapple with this, Cherrie less so as she spent 6 years at boarding school. We lIe on a hot marble slab and get several buckets of extremely hot water thrown over us. Get a rub (not a massage) with argan oil, roll over, repeat the experience. Lie there for probably 15 minutes in sauna heat, then more water thrown over us. Exfoliation with what felt like a prickly pear, shampoo, cold water so that I felt I might have been having a shower at Gordounston in mid-winter. A bit of relief with some warm water and then head wrapped in a towel, dressing gown back on (we were not
dried) and out into the tea room for a cuppa. Not a word had been spoken, except between us and not many of those. What was there to say? After we had finished our tea, we got up to leave, having cast the hair towel aside. But out of nowhere, our hammanists appeared and indicated that it was not yet over. Argan  lotion was applied to our arms and legs, and then it was over. I’m sure our attendants will dine out on this.  It’s unlikely they had ever seen such fat ladies, except perhaps when the circus was last in town.

Back in our room we put our swimmers on and marvel at how good our skin feels.
Down to the swimming pool where the water is an alarming 19 degrees,  I decide that I’ve had enough cold water therapy for the day and lie on a lounge and read. Cherrie braves the water,  but not for long and never again.

Another lunch, from a very limited menu, down by the lagoon. What a fabulously relaxing day.

We watch another spectacular sunset over the Atlantic , but skip dinner because we
are not hungry. In fact, Cherrie is quite ill. We continue to struggle with
Moroccan food, as do our digestive systems, despite declarations from others how delicious it is. Oh for a hunk of steak and a green salad!

Tuesgay 31 October 2017

This morning we take a bird watching tour on a little local boat

 around the lagoon, which is enormous, tidal and very salty. There are  surprising agricultural endeavours on its banks

 

More donkeys doing their work.  We love these industrious little creatures and dream of having Arthur

and Martha

in the front paddock at Quamby. But of course it won’t come to pass.

The lagoon is dotted with oyster farms.  I’ll bet someone’s shucked

 

The bird life on the lagoon is amazing

We leave the boat at the far end of the lagoon where a 4WD is waiting for us. We walk a little way with a heard of sheep and their shephard(ess)

and look for the flamingos. There they are

Back at the hotel we have a light lunch in the sun.  I have become such a fashionista that I had to order a glass of (inferior and, importantly, cheap) wine because it matches my hat so well

An afternoon by the pool, but not in it, reading and relaxing.  We eat in the hotel restaurant tonight. The breakfast and lunch staff are absolutely charming but
the evening staff have got the grumps big time. We are served by Lurch whose English is far superior to my Arabic but on par with my French. My French is very close to non existent, but then again I don’t work in a restaurant serving tourists.   The meal is nothing to write home and not even worth blogging about.

 

 

 

 

Wednesday 1 November
More leisure activities this morning, if you can call reading in the sun an activity and then a final Moroccan lunch, of delicious local lobster. Sans wine.
Jilali collects us at 2pm and transfers us to Casablanca, a 2 1/2 hour drive. We hug the coast for much of it, drive past the large phosphate mine and the huge port.
Casablanca is a large, modern city and we have arrived for peak hour. Jilali shows us where his eldest daughter goes to school, and the new tourist phenomenon Rick’s Bar, a perfect replica of where the film was set. Except, of course, the film was shot entirely in Hollywood.

We are staying at a nice hotel which also feels the impact of the film

And from our room a gorgeous view of the big mosque which we visited on our first day in Morocco, 3 weeks ago

Tonight, lying on the comfortable bed, we watch “Casablanca” on our iPads using Netflix. An amusing way to spend an evening in Casablanca, and our last in fascinating Morocco.

Thursday 2 November 

Jilali delivers us to Casablanca airport.  We tip him handsomely, give him little gifts for his 3 children which we had bought from home, and a hand written note thanking him for the care he has taken of us

Farewell Maroc.  It’s been swell