Culture Shock aboard the Marrakech Slow Train

Beware all those sly Brits trying to slip into Morocco!

The authorities at Marrakech airport were taking no chances. Three flights in an hour and the whole immigration system was totally plugged up.  The baggage hall was a wasteland of unclaimed bags.  About a hundred hotel shuttle drivers were holding up name boards with little expectation of seeing their passengers any time soon.  By some minor miracle Michele somehow managed to find our man out of all the drivers there.  

When a cab ride feels like a trailer for a CIA movie

You do not need to watch all of this to get the flavor:

http://youtu.be/HTFa766kv4A

Lost in translation

There was some "confusion" (translation "bait and switch") over our booking.  As a consequence we ended up spending a night in this very "authentic" (aka "dump") Riad in the Marakech Medina.  The owners apply an eclectic decorative style. This affecting porcelain tableau of some headless maniac cutting his customer's throat left me with nightmares:

There was a happy ending however, because I am writing this in a lovely boutique Riad fifty metres down the alley.

I also gained a stern warning in the perils of relying on Google Translate:

When I asked the store owner for permission to take the photograph, he was incredibly good natured about it - like everyone else that we have met here.  He realized that the joke was on him, but was happy to amuse juvenile tourists like me.