Morocco

Here's the dude I was dating in Morocco. It didn't work out but we're texting.

So Marrakech. I narrowly avoided moped death about 6 times a day for 4 days, a total of 24 times and yes I had to use a calculator.

Lets start the story with the hotel mix up. My sister and I had made the booking with our local travel agent and it is safe to say that something got fucked and by something I mean us.

Our “hotel” was a flee bag complete with Arthur the bathroom wall art (squished bug on wall that was there every day) and “pool” (two metres of water inhabited by Dutch children set in a shadowy courtyard of shame).



The eating area in the hotel is located on a mezzanine and I know what you’re thinking and YES, it overlooked a supermarket that made frequent loud speaker announcements. Awesome. The waiter staff cleaned tables by wiping discarded egg shells and bread onto the floor with their hands and had a perpetual “I’m on my break” attitude which was bothersome as there was always something missing at the breakfast buffet like bowls, cups and breakfast.



Needless to say, we spent every day in search of adventure and luxury. And we found it twice in the form of La Plage Rouge, swanky Delano style pool retreat complete with resident DJ and lots of French tits. We sunbathed to the tune of Jill Scott, Bill Withers and occasionally, the Middle Eastern version of “I Will Survive.”

Wine and cigarettes later and I’m feeling positively jet set until the DJ got Euro at 4pm sharp, turned the volume up to 11 and unleashed an assault of house music. Most offensive was the version of Captain Timberlake’s “My Love” raped by techno. Even though the good song is trying to come through the cancerous beats, its just not enough - like seeing a hot guy and then noticing that he has a tribal band tattoo. Hot with a deal breaker = ruined.

Next time we went to La Plage Rouge we (Heidi) politely asked them to delay the techno explaining that it was like a "hammer to the head". Not only was it delayed (4.30pm), but it was radio friendly hip hop in the form of Outkast and Brandy. Oh happy day.





One day we spent at L'Hivernage Hotel and Spa where Helly treated all us girls to treatments. I had a no nonsense bare ass body scrub delivered by a strong armed local woman who kept pointing out the layer of epidermus she had removed. The dead skin had collected in clumps all over me until she hosed it away, slathered me in green paste and left me in a steam room to think about it. This was followed by another hose down, a full body massage and mini facial. I walked out shiny and new and then executed my new skin in the sun the next day. I feel guilty.

More on Morocco soon in "Morocco Part Deux." Stay tuned.

your fan,