Taken From The Autobiography of a Head
We found it easy getting to Barcelona but could not hitch south from there.
There was no good place to hitch and no cars stopped. So we took the train to Cordoba, visiting the famous Le Mezquita mosque / cathedral and then to Malaga, from there by bus to Algecires and then by ferry to Ceuta.
From there one walks across the border to catch a bus to Tetuan and on to Fez. We stopped just overnight in Tetuan, which did not attract us. Fez was wonderful.
We passed some beautiful views of the Atlas mountains. The weather was lovely for late September..
Angie was good to travel with, easy going, plus she had her own money from the vendage. We stayed just inside the main gate in a hotel close to where the bus stopped.
It never takes long to meet a local in places like that. Our guide-to-be was called Mohammed Couscous.
Fez had two medinas and a more modern sector., the Ville Nouvelle. We were advised not to go deep into a medina alone.
Fez had been part of the French colonial section of Morocco, since 1912 until 1956. Mohammed Couscous did take us down into one of the medinas one day.
A woman started shouting at him and pointing at us. I asked us what she was saying. At first he would not say, then she said that she was shouting “Why are you walking with the dog people?”
Apart
from that, we had found Fez a friendly place, with small cafes and
elderly chaps smoking sibsi pipes of kif (cannabis mixed with black
tobacco), which was
legal for them, but not us.
A sibsi is a traditional Moroccan pipe with a long wooden tube and narrow clay bowl called a skuff. Yet Couscous was happy to get some good Moroccan hash for us. We stayed there about a week before catching a bus to Marrakesh. Again some superb views of the mountains.
MARRAKESH SUNRISE 1977
Many times we've sat,
And watched a good sunset,
But the beauty of the skies,
Of the Marrakesh. sunrise!
Behind the Atlas Mountains,
There's a desert full of fountains,
Lakes of pale blue ice,
And golden coloured spice
And yellow sparkling sand,
Suspended from God's hand.
Today a brand new life,
Completely free from strife.
Whilst it is true that most of the time in Marrakesh. we were indeed free from strife, there was one unpleasant experience. It was in the market square, which was full of stalls selling Moroccan goods along with story tellers, acrobats and snake charmers.
We were walking passed a stall selling leather goods. Inevitably we were invited to “look not buy”. There was actually a really nice leather shoulder bag that I liked. I said I would buy it the following day as I did not have enough Dirhams and the banks were already closed for the day.
The dealer said he would change money but did not offer me a good rate so I refused. I said I would buy the bag the next morning. “Tomorrow no good,” he said, “maybe world ends tonight.” I said “if the world ends tonight then the money will be no good to you and the bag will be no good for me.”
He became very angry, started shouting and waving a stick. Being with Angie, I took her hand a quickly left the inside of his stall. He shouted and pointed at us and people started looking at us as if we were thieves or infidels. We made a quick retreat back to our hotel, which was called the hotel Mus.
The following day I decided to go back and buy the bag, but as I approached the stall, alone this time, he came out again waving his stick and shouting at us. Needless to say, I retreated again and never bought that bag.
Apart from that, I enjoyed Marrakesh a lot. It did rain though.
Tea Shop Grass Top
Marrakesh in the rain
Slices up your brain.
Saw some opium tea pots
Smoking green grass tops
Sitting in tea shops,
Losing the damp strain.
After a few
days there, we caught the bus to a small fishing village called
Mirhleft that we had heard of. It was on the Atlantic Coast.
A lovely place, we took a room which we shared with a French guy
called Bernard, who spoke no English so I had a chance to practice my
French. Right outside our room was a well which we often sat around.
Trucks arrived in the street every few days and emptied water into a
pipe that led to the well. We met a fisherman who said his name was
‘Mohammed Pêcheur’ that walked past every day and bought good
hash and good fish from him.
We cooked our own meals on a charcoal burner in a traditional clay tagine pot.
Each morning, we simply had to put in some vegetables such as onions, carrots and beans, along with some fish which we ate despite normally being vegetarian, a spoon of oil and a spoon of water, a little salt and pepper, and left it on the stove.
By the end of the afternoon it was cooked perfectly and delicious just with bread.
Also around the well were other rooms. In one was a large friendly Moroccan guy that reminded me of Australian Paul. He sold hashish too and we spent time in his room smoking and telling each other stories. He had been to London and spoke good English. He had his son, about thirteen years old, staying with him. The boy spoke English, French, German and Italian as well as Moroccan Arabic.
One day as we left our room after breakfast, the boy was sitting by the well. He said he was making hash cakes in the sun.
He was mixing resin and whatever it was, into small black balls and placing them on a plate in the sun.
We used to walk just outside the village and wash our clothes in a water tank that filled with water coming through pipes from up in the hills; people used to also swim in it! Water from the tank was also fed to crops of vegetables in the valley leading to the ocean.
It was wonderful just sitting there looking at the scenery.
By the time we got back to the little hotel, the boy had cooked the little cakes. He gave us one each, which we ate.
A short while later, I was just sitting enjoying the high. I remember I was looking at my legs which seemed like mountains with creatures that were actually a few ants on the slopes.
Suddenly the mountain, my legs, just crumbled away.
I suddenly came back to this world as I saw Angie stand up, then fall over backwards and start shaking. I quickly went to her aid.
She was laying on her back. I said “You OK?” She opened her eyes and said “Yes, why?”
I told her she had fallen over and been shaking and was on the floor on her back. She just said “No, I’m not” and stood up. She was fine.
MIRHLEFT
Mirhleft is a village grand
Made of pink rock and yellow sand.
It's good to laze besides the sea,
And sit and watch, just you and me,
The sunset or the street outside,
Where nothing changes with the tide.
Mirhleft, village by the sea,
A place to stay if you'd be free.
A place to sit and rest a while,
Watch the donkeys single file,
Walking up and down the street-
Burdened in this sticky heat.
And I wonder why those men,
Walk up the street and back again;
Maybe it's to look at me,
Watching them whilst drinking tea?
Sitting outside in the sun,
Wondering what they do for fun.
Then I dream that we ride our bikes,
Or catch a bus or go hitch-hike,
Up the valleys, over mountains,
Rivers deep and magic fountains,
Fields of kif and grass and hash,
Where together we can rest, smashed!
But I return to hotel room,
Where all the morn and afternoon,
We can lay and smoke and play,
But in this place one has to pay:
Five Dirhams a gram:
"C'est n'est pas cher, man!"
We stayed in Mirhleft for about a week and then went to Agadir. We didn’t like it at all so two days later we went back to Mirhleft for another two weeks. One thing I must mention, the night skies. They were so clear and wondrous, especially after a good smoke, of course.
Stopping in Essaouira for a few days, we went back by bus to Marrakesh. and then on the Fez
Essaouira was a nice place. It is a port city on Morocco’s Atlantic coast. Its medina (old town) is protected by 18th-century seafront ramparts called the Skala de la Kasbah, which were designed by European engineers. Old brass cannons line the walls, and there are ocean views. We met a young man there who supplied us with good hash at a good price
Back in Marrakesh., it was starting to get cold and raining. We stayed not far from the market square in a small hotel called Hotel Mus.
After a few days, we left Marrakesh. by bus to fez, but an hour after boarding the bus, I had to get out and go back to Marrakesh. Angie had to go on alone with all the baggage. I hoped Mohammed Couscous would be at the bus station and help her, which he was.
GOD'S GAME
Left Marrakesh today, to Fez, but on the way,
Felt a lacking of some sort - forgotten my passport!
Got off the bus again, cursing my damned brain,
Went back to where we'd stayed. God's little game was played.
Amidst all this goddam fuss, in little Hotel 'Mus',
I got the passport back! But my head's about to crack!
It's started now to rain. I think I'll catch the train.
'Cos lover must be there and I wish I was with her!
Not possible this time, to use the railway line.
So I sit in sorrow, waiting for tomorrow,
When I hope that I can go, if rain don't turn to snow.
Well the money goes so quick, I'm gonna have a fit,
I want to smoke some stuff and call the Devil's bluff.
Illusions all around, and my head aches from the sound
Of rains and cars and mules and stupid tourist fools.
But writing down these lines has made me feel quite fine.
It's just that I couldn't half do with along hot bath,
And get rid of the dirt, and wash my only shirt,
And jeans and socks and all, and go and have a ball,
In Fez.
Sure enough, having retrieved my passport which I had hidden under the mattress, the next day I took another bus to Fez.
Angie and Mohammed Couscous were both at the bus station to meet me. All was well. He had taken good care of her.
But then it got really chilly and damp. I was sweating in the bed, soaking the sheets, suffering headaches and pain in my joints. There was no way to dry the sheets.. I thought I’d get pneumonia. I said to Angie that we just had to get up early the following day and catch a bus to Tetuan, which we did.
As soon as we left Fez, I started to feel better, but still not well.
Then as soon as the bus arrived and we got out, we were approached by a street hassler, offering to show us to a cheap hotel. I said no and we started walking but he stayed with us. We found our own hotel, but he hung about and before I knew it he was in our room. I just did not have the strength to kick him out.
Then before I could say anything, he asked if we had any hashish. Angie said she had some kif (the leaf and black tobacco mixture that locals smoked) and showed him her little tin.
He grabbed it and said it was illegal and his job was to report us to the police, but, if we wanted he would just give us back and we could pay the “fine” to him. I said I was ill and we had little money. I showed him my wallet that actually had little money and he said that would do. Then he said he was sorry but she was stupid and that was how he made his money.
Then a strange thing happened, most unexpected.
I said it was OK for him, but now I was ill with no money.
He actually gave me half the money back!
We did not like Tetuan at all, especially after that. So the following day we took a bus back to Ceuta, boat to mainland Spain, and a bus all the way back to London, sleeping on the bus. That whole journey from Tetuan to London took us five days. We were back in the Norwich early December.
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