A Writer For Real

I'm pleased to announce that I've had an article published in the July 2008 issue of Emel Magazine. It's s 2000 word travel piece on my time in Andalucia and I must admit that it looks quite swish on glossy paper.

To be honest I was a bit reluctant to do the article after a friend suggested to the guys at Emel that I could write a bit. It was more nerves and a lack of confidence than anything else, I guess; suppose it turned out rubbish? But I managed to get something out to them anyway (not that it's not rubbish, of course).

And I'm glad I did. I mean hey: Emel isn't the biggest magazine and I didn't get paid to write this particular article, but it is read by people all over the place and you can buy it in WH Smiths (possibly the best £3.50 I've spent on a mag) so it's some kind of achievement, and possibly more importantly, a start.

Even though it's a simple thing to see your name in print, the effect is pretty amazing and I can't stop grinning as I repeatedly leaf through the article. Reading it back there's so many changes I'd like to make (alas there's no edit button here) but I guess that's the curse of having something published on paper.

Anyway for those of you who want to have a look, the article starts on page 74 of the July 2008 issue. Unfortunately there is no online link (click through to see the cover and contents) but if you really want to read it and yet don't manage to grab an issue, drop me a line. And if you do end up reading it, I'd love to know what you thought about it too.

Book: Leo the African, Amin Maalouf

A friend lent me this book on hearing about the journey I was to make across Morocco and Andalucia. You see, a big part of the book covers the exile of our protagonist, Hasan as-Wazzan, from Granada to Fes.

So yes, although I did the same journey in reverse, it did add masses of value reading it as I did. Visiting the Medersa Bou Inania, Kairaouine Mosque and Alhambra were all a bit like coming home and it was interesting to see whether reality matched what my mind had conjured up from Maalouf's writing.

The book itself is based on the real life story of Hasan (later known as the Leo of the title), a 15th century traveller, diplomat and thinker as he moved across both African and European continents; I only shared half his journey as he continued to Cairo and ended up in Rome. Deeply, yet simply, written the book is accessible and before you realise it you're sucked into a world containing an Islamic Spain, warring kings and emperors, popes and sultans and wives and slaves. It's worth bearing in mind that I read an English translation of the original's Arabic, although this works well for the book, adding to its poetic appeal.

It does all end abruptly, although since it's based on true events it's probably left to the reader to follow the conclusion via a history book or something. Either way it's a cracking read while it lasts, even if you don't happen to be travelling at the time.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Twelve: Coming Home

Since we were all still whacked from yesterday's queueing up, we agreed on allowing ourselves a lazy start this morning. We were supposed to meet at 10am for breakfast, but it turned out that the Spanish are even more lazy (something to do with an election that day) and didn't open up their cafes till 11. We managed to finally leave our hotels at around 11:30.

The plan was to hang out in Granada during daylight for once, finally splitting up with the girls who would catch their bus, with us guys going on to check out the mosque and Sierra Nevada before catching our flight to London. On reaching the town centre however we found it to be totally and utterly dead with not much to do. We then decided to head off to Sierra Nevada together instead.

Sierra Nevada was pretty awesome. The views were amazing and for me the mountain driving tremendously fun - even though the diesel was a struggle to put up with. After an hour or so driving we ended up in a ski resort that was still in season where we played in the snow for a bit. It was all very similar to what I saw during my trip to Geneva but this time in the south of Spain. Very odd that.

After lunch on the mountain we headed back to Granada where we dropped off the girls at the bus stop. After saying our goodbyes we finally headed off, sad that we were back down to three from the seven yesterday.

We continued with our original itinerary and searched out the mosque. It took us a while, ironic since it was just next door to a popular Alhambra viewing point. We offered our Zhur and Asr and then looked for some food for the flight back. We managed to get a final kebab, even though it meant pooling all of the money we had together to do so, the one final lucky break for the trip which seemed to have been full of them.

The rest of the day was just getting back. After around 900km of driving (map here), the Spanish chapter of my trip was finally coming to an end. Looking back, I've done a lot over the last twelve or so days - and an incredible amount if you also consider Jerusalem and Jordan too. I've seen so many different things, met so many different people and had so many different experiences I don't think I've ever had a more complete time away from home.

The past three weeks really do feel like three months, and although I'm glad to be back without any further holidays planned I think I'm going to miss the freedom of being able to do what I did. One thing is for certain though: I'm definitely glad I don't have to go back to work quite yet!

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Eleven: An Early Alhambra

Today was all about The Alhambra.

We managed to get out of bed at around 6:15am, planning to get to the ticket office for 7. For once we did even better than that and were there twenty minutes early, a bonus of having our hotel opposite the place I guess. Amazingly enough we weren't even the first ones there; an American couple had made it there around ten minutes before we did and the queue was constantly growing every few minutes. It was good to know that we weren't the only desperate/stupid ones in Granada this morning.

It was all in good fun though, as we struck up a friendship with the Americans and the two Spanish speaking girls (Colombian and half-Argentinian respectively) behind us. I guess it takes something like queueing up for tickets at an insane hour to form such a close relationship in such a short amount of time but in my opinion this alone made the whole getting up early worth it - especially after we were told that there were actually two thousand tickets available for sale. Whoever told us thirteen deserves to be slapped a few times.

The Alhambra itself was as amazing as expected. Well kinda anyway. The main attraction is the time-restricted Nazrid Palace and we spent a good hour in there marvelling at the architecture and history. If I'm totally honest I was slightly underwhelmed, possibly because the place had been so hyped up but mainly since I had seen much it before during my tour of Morocco and the rest of Andalucia. In fact, rather than being something unique and special, The Alhambra acted as the last chapter in a book of Islamic architecture and history that had begun eleven days ago.

After a leisurely breakfast with our new friends we checked out the rest of the Alhambra (including the Alcazaba and Generalife gardens) just as our allotted time was up. We then went our separate ways, planning on meeting up later on that evening. I headed straight back to the hotel, hoping to catch up on some shower, teeth brushing and sleep before the events of the afternoon.

After our rest, the five of us staying around The Alhambra drove down to Granada Town Centre to doss for a bit before a Flamenco show we had booked. Driving down I realised how smaller Spanish roads are compared to those elsewhere. Driving on the right is difficult enough but I seemed to fare better in Australia and Austria where the roads seem to be wider. There have been an embarrassing number of wing mirrors clipped between the two of us driving.

Most of our time was spent just having a wander around the streets of Granada, just soaking in the atmosphere. I began appreciating the company of Spanish speaking friends; it's funny how less stressful the little things become once you have access to the language. The most impressive thing we saw was easily the Capilla Real, a huge, sprawling mausoleum toward the centre of town. We even found ourselves crashing a wedding ceremony in the catedral next door which was fun if a bit voyeuristic.

After meeting with the American contingent of our group we were picked up for the Flamenco show. Although I wasn't sure exactly how authentic the whole deal was (or perhaps I was just expecting more of a cave than what we got) I had bags of fun watching the moody dancers do their thing. There may even be evidence floating around of me having joined in, but if there was I wouldn't advertise it or anything.

We decided not to take up the offer of a lift back to the hotel, instead choosing to walk through the Albayzin, or Arab quarter, instead. We eventually ended up at Kasbah for coffees, crepes and shishas, lamenting the fact that this would be the last time all seven of us would be together. That's pretty amusing seeing how we had only known each other for a few hours.

There's not much doubt that the day had been made by the friends we made this morning - as excellent as the day's activities were in their own right, it would all have been so different without them. All the more reason I'm a bit miffed that it's happening now - tomorrow being the day my friends and I head back to London.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Ten: Deliberate Distractions

This morning we went to what was described to us as an Islamic History Museum hosted at the Torre de la Calahorra. We went under the advice of our friend from last night since it wasn't to be found in any guidebook or anything. This wasn't too surprising once we got it: to be frank it was a bit of a Muslim, One-Love, Peace and Harmony puff-piece than museum. That's not to say that it wasn't interesting; it's definitely worth a visit and I heartily recommend it.

We had a good few hours before Jummah so we grabbed the opportunity to get back to the Fiat garage in order to finally fix that accursed mirror. It was a relief to finally get it sorted - in fact I'm quite proud that we had the initiative and ability to have gotten it done at all under the circumstances.

Jummah was a strange affair. I mean the prayer itself was as normal (well apart from the Spanish khutba) but the mosque itself was not much bigger than a bedroom - I've seen company prayer rooms larger than this place. Oh and just in case anyone is looking for a place in which to pray Jummah as a Muslim in Cordoba then head over to Plaza de Colon and look for the mosque therein.

Before we headed out of Cordoba proper we managed to squeeze in a good 45 minutes in the Medina Azahara, a tenth century Islamic capital a few miles away. It was closing so we didn't get to see it in as much detail as we would have liked, although we had fun playing hide and seek with the guards trying to chuck us out.

It was finally time to leave for Granada. We chose the country road over the motorway even though the latter was supposed to be the faster route. This turned out to be the right decision: not only were the roads more fun and views more interesting but we also ended up making an unscheduled stop.

Around half way on the road to Granada we saw a picturesque town situated on a hilltop, a magnificent castle in the middle. It really was something from a fairytale and there was no way we could carry on without making a quick stop; after all we were over an hour ahead of schedule.

It turned out that the name of the place was Alcaudete. The castle and adjoining church were as impressive close up as they were from afar, but the real treat and deal maker was the young band practising nearby for an Easter performance. We spent a few minutes just chilling and enjoying the music without a care in the world. I think we distracted them more than anything else; I wonder how many Pakistanis they get sitting in on one of their practise sessions.

Getting out was harder than getting in, with some of the narrowest streets I've ever had to drive on. Were talking the scary stuff where you have to fold your mirrors in because the walls either side are the width of your car apart and a wrong turn meant reversing a few minutes because you can't turn around. Still, the whole visit was a wonderful and unique experience, well off the beaten path.

We finally made it to Granada airport, almost an hour late. The hotel was more difficult to find than we thought considering it was placed opposite the Alhumbra itself. After yet another late dinner we hit the sack: tomorrow will need a super early start as we try our luck in the Alhumbra ticket office queue. I'm still worried that we might miss out so I'm doing all I can to avoid the disappointment - even if it means hitting the queue at 6:30am.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Nine: Mosques, Churches and Stuff In Between

After another inevitable late start we headed off to spend the morning at Cordoba's highlight: the Mezquita.

This is the most famous mosque of all Andalucia at one point; or at least used to be, it now being a cathedral. The transformation into the latter can only be described as blunt - with the mosque's original flat and open structure rudely interrupted by the church slapped right bang in the middle of it. Still at least the rest of the building, including the mehrab, has been preserved for people to check out.

The story goes that the mosque itself was built atop the foundations of a church and so there was a justification in re-appropriating it. Regardless, I had more unexpected feelings of frustration and injustice when wandering around the place, although I'm not what what I wanted instead: it's probably unreasonable to have it turned back into a mosque, although perhaps in some kind of naive and hopeful future it could be used as a shared religious space.

It being a chilly morning, I had my hoodie on. Although I had been previously told about the "special treatment" Muslims visitors receive here I was still a bit taken aback when I was asked to remove it - although others were being asked this also so I'm not sure if there was any prejudice in this particular case (I later saw a teen keep his baseball cap on; I suspected this was an act of rebellion rather than something explicitly permitted).

Less acceptable was the constant tailing by guards. Apparently there's a "problem" with some Muslims reclaiming the mosque and taking a few minutes out to pray. Although I don't see the problem with that in principle, I had no intention of doing the same. I had some fun with the guards anyway.

Before lunch we went to find the Fiat Garage we were given the address of in Seville. Despite my useless Spanish and the dealer's non-existent English, I managed to get a replacement wing mirror on order for tomorrow - never underestimate the power of gesticulation. Although I was smug about getting that far at least I know that I still haven't actually fixed the car yet. I probably won't relax till I do.

After a quick bite we turned to the issue of Jummah. Tomorrow is Friday, and we still had no idea where to pray. Ironically Google didn't help in this case, with all searches returning hundreds of hits for the Mezquita and nothing else. We then turned to friends and family and finally got the number of someone residing in Cordoba - he said that he'd meet us in the afternoon and sort us out. As a final long shot back up plan we also asked the hotel who, surprisingly (for me anyway), told us exactly where to go for prayer.

While waiting for our new friend, we checked out the Alcazar de los Reyes Crisianos. This was a smallish palace, west of the Mezquita, and turned out being a nice reward for all the chores we had done that day. A pretty place with its buildings and gardens reflecting a lot of the local history it was well worth checking out.

We were taken out for the rest of the evening. We discovered Central Cordoba, something we didn't realise had existed (our hotel was opposite the Mezquita so we didn't have to explore much). We were also shown the mosque and treated to halal kebabs (our first meat since arriving in Spain) and tea. It was pleasant being in the company of a local; as well as him being a nice guy it was nice to converse with someone living in the city. It's a fun way to get to know some of the insights, back streets and become part of the story itself.

I realised today how rich the areas I've been travelling are in language. Now I always find language skills very attractive and in theory a girl who was brought up in Morocco and then moved to Andalucia (not an uncommon thing apparently) could potentially know Arabic, French and Spanish. Add to that my Urdu and English and assuming we take some Mandarin classes and as a couple we could talk to the majority of the world. Not bad, eh?

Since we were spending the night in Cordoba we weren't in any rush to move on - this despite having completed most of the sights of the city today. Looking back this is the first time I'll be spending a second night in one place since Marrakech. I think that I quite like that statistic.

I also heard the news about the Jerusalem school shooting and ironically felt vindicated in going when we did.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Eight: Savouring Seville

Ah, Seville.

Okay, full disclosure here: I hadn't even heard of the place before a friend mentioned it on hearing I was visiting Andalucia. In fact we probably would have missed it out altogether if my travelling companion hadn't been flying into the place. It just goes to show how jammy I am with these things, since it turned out being a wonderful place to have spent some time in.

We started the day much later than the 8am I had grown accustomed to. I didn't mind much - my early starts had me finishing the sights before lunch so perhaps a lazier pacing would be more suitable anyway.

Our first stop was the Catedral - apparently the largest in the world. It certainly seemed so with its massive floor plan and looming internal expanse. Being built atop the foundations of a mosque, I did feel sad, poignant and even a bit frustrated, but at least there were some reminders of the Islamic heritage around.

The Giralda (or bell tower) for instance had been adapted from the original mosque's minaret and kept much of its flavour; and for some reason it was very familiar to me. This wasn't surprising really: I didn't realise it at the time but I had just unwittingly completed the visitation of the "big three" Almohad towers, the other two sisters being the minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakech and the Hassan Tower in Rabat.

Our next big attraction was Alcazar, a fortress-cum-palace built after the Muslims had made their exit from the region. This made it all the more interesting since it had clearly kept some major Islamic influences; I could almost imagine being back in Fes actually. Yet another reminder of what the landscape once looked like.

We aimlessly hung out a lot here in Seville, surfing cafes and people watching. I don't think I've seen as many hot women anywhere let alone over the past few weeks' travels as I have here - it's like they're everywhere we look, and we were both enjoying the vibe tremendously (I had taught my friend The Calling Game just to keep us occupied on the streets). It's funny because I hadn't noticed this during my stay in Barcelona a few years back; it must be an Andalucian thing.

Toward the late afternoon we accidentally crashed the University of Seville. This turned out being one of my favourite parts of the day; it was nice pretending to be both native and a student and mingle with the crowd on a ground level. We weren't even fooling just ourselves, as a (young and female) student approached us and asked us something in a fast and undecipherable Spanish. To be honest we weren't much help.

It was then back to the hotel in order to pick up the car and our luggage. On the way out we managed to get stuck in the elevator which was fun for a while; we even became "oh, those guys" for a while. We made sure we made the most of our four star hotel's facilities as we got the concierge to book us tickets for the Alhambra on Saturday. Surprisingly (for us anyway) there were no tickets available, this a good three days before we needed them. Although I had been told to book I didn't realise we needed to do so with more than a couple of days in hand.

Our only option was to make it to the head of the queue on the day in order to get in on the thirteen tickets they said they'd have available for those who hadn't booked. Thirteen! We decided then to get there for 6am. In some kind of consolation we also got the concierge to find us numbers and addresses for Fiat dealerships in Cordoba and Granada. I still had to fix the car after all.

On the way out of Seville, we stopped off at the Plaza de Espana. The Plaza was a stunning, tranquil place and totally understated if the lack of mention in guides had anything to do with it. A good thing perhaps; part of the charm was the lack of tourists visiting it with us. Blatantly romantic, it was a total waste on the two of us.

But it was finally time to move on to our next destination. We eventually got to Cordoba at around 11pm: another late arrival, another late check-in, another late dinner, and in all likelihood, another late start tomorrow morning.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Seven: Burning Boats

After a well deserved late start, I went to investigate ferries to Spain. The intention was to follow in Tariq ibn Ziyad's footsteps and land at Gibraltar (but without the boat burning). Bizarrely, it turns out that ferries to Gib only leave once a week, and that on Fridays, so I decided to get the quickest and cheapest crossing instead, the one to Algeciras via Tarifa.

I met an Iraqi Mancunian on the ferry; he had a holiday home in Tanger and was heading back to the UK via Malaga. The crossing was made much better with the new company, although we had to part ways when we got off the bus at Algerciras.

Still miffed that I hadn't landed at Gib, I went through my options. There was an hourly bus to La Linea on the Gib-Spain border which would have provided me a tight 90 minutes or so on the Rock before having to return to Algeciras in order to set off for Seville. Luckily however I got my rental car early and drove straight there instead.

Forty minutes later and I was back in British territory. Gibraltar is a very strange place. It's like you're in Britain but not quite; all the road signs, buildings and people are clearly British and yet there are small things like having to drive on the right that makes it Not Quite Right. It really is surreal.

All in all I spent a couple of hours in Gib. I offered prayers at the relatively impressive mosque at Europa Point adding yet more feelings of being in some kind of alternate reality, but spent most of my time driving up and down Upper Rock taking in the views, people and monkeys so tame that they approach and play with you.

I quite liked Gib, and being able to spend a good few hours there vindicated the decision to rent a car. More and more, travelling to Europe for me means to rent a car as well, especially when sharing. European roads are so good that there's no hassle learning them and having access to your own transport makes things so much more easy and flexible. My top tip for travelling is to consider renting a car.

The vehicle itself was just a Fiat Punto, but it was better than what I had actually paid for - I've almost always got free upgrades when renting and I never pay for more than the minimum class knowing this. The Punto even had Bluetooth and a USB socket into which I could plug my iPod. On the other hand it was a diesel which didn't help while navigating Gibraltar. I also had a bit of an altercation: between driving on the wrong side of the road and Gibraltar's narrow roads I managed to crack the passenger wing mirror. I'd better get that fixed before I return the car; I'm sure the rental company will make me pay dearly if I don't.

Just as I was hitting the border back into Spain my friend rang to tell me he was about to depart from Stansted. The race was on: I now had to make it to Seville a couple of hours away in order to pick him up. An hour spent crossing the border itself as well as the police check that followed weren't really encouraging, but somehow I managed to make it just in time. It felt like I had been on my own for weeks rather than days so I was really glad for the company.

After a bit of trouble finding the hotel (it's non-central but only a bus ride away) we checked in. The four star was certainly the most impressive place I had stayed in over the past few weeks' travelling and I was glad that I wouldn't be roughing it for once.

Dinner was surprisingly difficult to find - Seville goes to be pretty early it seems. Once again we were saved by the rental car and a after a while driving around we managed to find a pizza place that was still open. I realised that for the first time on my recent travel I had to consider whether my food was halal or not and how I had gotten used to not having to worry about what went into my mouth.

With Morocco a fading memory, I was at last in Spain.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Six: Mixed Feelings in Fes

For some reason I was excited about coming to Fes. The rich Islamic heritage that I had heard and read about was compelling to say the least - the book I'm currently reading, Leo the African by Amin Maalouf, has a big chunk set in Fes and I was looking forward to visiting all the historical places described in it.

The highlight for me was easily the Medersa Bou Inania. I took a few minutes just imagining the knowledge that flowed through and study that went on in such a place when it was in full swing. Aesthetically it was a magical place too - it was covered in intricately carved marble and wood. I wondered what it took to keep it in such good condition.

The rest of the morning was spent visiting various other monuments: the buzz around Moulay Idriss's tomb was a bit too surreal for my particular sense of Islam. I was more interested in the various wooden bars laid across the streets leading to the Zaouia as they marked the places where non-Muslims could go no further. I tried checking out one of the leather tanneries Fes was famous for but gave up after being hit by the stench - both the literal and metaphorical as I ignored the shouts of scalping shopkeepers promising me a free look from the back of their shops.

Second to the Medersa in terms of awesomeness was Kairaouine Mosque. Well kept and obviously modernised, it still kept the classic, spiritual, vibe that made it one of the most, if not the most, important mosque in North Africa. All the more depressing that I was asked to make a "personal donation" to one of the mosque's curators just to have a look during non-prayer time. Unfortunately the Medersa al Attatrin next door to the mosque was closed for refurbishment so I wasn't able to catch an aerial view of Kairaouine.

Speaking of getting ripped off, for me Fes had already taken the record as most notorious city in Morocco so far. A minor example of this was how that morning I was sold a six month old bottle of mineral water when there were much newer ones available. This turned out to be a bit of a blessing, as I had to use its contents in order to take an unscheduled dump during the day.

I was also still being offered hotels and food (am I really that obvious a tourist?). I had resorted to my previous plan of pretending to be "bakistani" (with a b); I wasn't sure if it had any affect on the prices I had to pay, but at least I could claim to not speak English. Actually, if I'm honest with myself I don't think I was enjoying my time in old Fes that much either; luckily I was almost done with it anyway.

My final stop was to the Merenid Tombs. The tombs themselves don't really offer much but the views they afford of Fes really were amazing. You could see all of the old city, and I spent more than a few minutes making out the places I had seen that morning.

While I was taking in the view I was approached by a random guy. He managed to strike up a conversation despite my attempts at fobbing him off, thinking he was yet another Fassi eager to extract dhirims from my pocket. It was only after he left that I realised that he was just being friendly and curious - and at any other time I would have welcomed the chat.

As usual I was quick in my sightseeing; it wasn't even time for Zhur prayer yet. It was then that I made the decision to offer the midday prayer in Kairaouine, grab some lunch and then get out of Fes. I didn't even bother wandering around the city while waiting, choosing to hang out in the Kairaouine library to read instead.

Amusingly we prayed at an angle averse to the building itself. It's hard to explain but we were in the row as normal, but then each turned to our left around twenty degrees or so, enough to have a good view of the shoulder of our neighbours. I could only guess that it was due to some kind mistake in the building of the mosque and that the correct Qiblah was established at a later date, but it was funny nonetheless.

A less amusing observation was how most mosques in Morocco seem to turf you out once prayer is over. It's interesting how "commoditised" mosques become in some Muslim countries, where they are just seen as places in which to pray. It's even more depressing considering what this particular place was used for back in the day - if I had been visiting five hundred years ago I'd have been able to use it as a sanctuary as I wanted to today.

After lunch it was finally time to go. I went to the hotel to pick up my bags and settle my bill. Originally we had agreed to 100 dhirims for the night: it was late when I checked in and I was clearly desperate, although I should have realised I was being taken for a ride when I was quoted the price without even being looked in the eye.

However I refused to pay and told the caretaker that I'd been told the rate was 50. Yes it was totally dishonest and wrong both morally and Islamically but after the way I had been treated today I suspected that karma was on my side. Heck, I probably still got ripped off anyway.

It turned out that I had a good three hours before my train was due to depart. A part of me wondered whether I should have spent the night in Fes's Ville Nouvelle, cafe surfing and chatting with the many students that apparently reside there. It would have given Fes a chance to redeem itself as I made use of the parts more accessible to someone like me. But I had such a negative experience of Old Fes that I bought my ticket to Tanger anyway, even though it meant that I would arrive in a place even more notorious than Fes at a much later hour. I really don't get how a work colleague managed to kill a whole two days here.

It turned out that I had made the correct decision. I managed to check into a decent hotel, ignoring yet more unsolicited offers for hotels (all of which seemed to be down some dark ally). And despite the hour I also got to wander around for bit while searching for dinner. Tanger is a pretty happening place at night it seems.

It was while walking around that I finally figured out why I wasn't enjoying the second part of my time in Morocco. Continually looking over my shoulder, hands on my wallet at all times and wondering whether or not I'd get mugged or hassled for money isn't a very nice place to be in mentally.

As the type who comes to a country to meet its people and witness its atmosphere Morocco wasn't really offering much. Furthermore it brought out a horrible side of myself as I attempted to form a defence against it. I had become a more stingy, paranoid, suspicious and even nasty Shak and it was really someone I didn't like being.

It's obviously time for me to leave Morocco.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Five: At Home In Rabat

I normally try to get breakfast included with my hotel room - as one who brushes their teeth after breakfast it's convenient and efficient that way. For some reason though Moroccan hotels seem to exclude breakfast (if they offer it at all). This was a good thing though since it allowed me to check out Rabat while it was waking up. It's almost surreal watching the empty streets bustle into a working day.

The day was to be spent in Rabat doing the sites. Looking at my various maps, everything seemed to be within walking distance and this turned out to be the case - whether that was due to the city or my being on my own I don't know.

First up was the Citadel of Chellah, toward the south of the city. A magnificent ruin situated just outside the city wall, Chellah had its basis in both Roman and Islamic history, and it was interesting to see the two empires side by side, albeit in ruins. On the way back to Rabat proper I stopped by the Royal Palaces. This wasn't anything too inspiring so I took a few snaps and left for my next destination.

Hassan tower defiantly stands to the east of Rabat. Incomplete but not any less intimidating because of that, the Hassan tower is a lonely structure, clearly missing the mosque it once could have belonged to. Alongside the tower, separated by the courtyard where the mosque once stood was King Mohammed V's mausoleum. Since the whole area was peaceful and quiet I dropped my anchor for a while and caught up with some reading.

For lunch, I headed toward the Old Medina. It was then that I noticed the structure of this and other Moroccan towns I had visited and read about - they almost always had an Old Medina, meticulously preserved as a tribute to the time they came from, surrounded by a "Ville Nouvelle" built up by whatever colonial power was in control at the time (probably the French). It was an obvious mark of a Moroccan city and made orientation much easier once I had realised it.

The main sight of the Old Medina was the Kasbah where I spent a big chunk of time looking over the ocean. After lunch and Zhur prayer, I headed toward the Parc du Triangle de Vue, as much of a central park as you could get in Rabat. Nice and shady it was here that I decided to while way my time waiting for my train to Fes. I didn't think that I needed any more time in Rabat, although I wanted to hang around and soak in a bit more of the atmosphere I seemed to have taken a liking to.

I wasn't alone. There was a lot of people in the park with me, just chilling out and doing nothing. In fact I had spotted this phenomenon all over Rabat - a striking difference to the people of London who always seem to be doing something or going somewhere of importance.

There was also something to be said of the couples I spotted. A lot of them appeared to be mismatched in terms of, well, hotness. This worked both ways with an equal amount of good looking guys and girls hooking up with others at least a few points below them. Either my calibration was off or people here just aren't as shallow when it comes to physical appearance. Good on them if so.

As if they had known how much I rated their rail system last night, my train to Fes was delayed by an hour. This wasn't much of a big deal really - I had set tomorrow as my main day for Fes exploration, but nevertheless I didn't want to enter the town too late, especially after all the tales I heard about being hassled for various commissions.

I arrived at the train station at around 9:30pm, and caught a cab to Bab Boujeloud getting ripped off by an unset meter on the way. This was a minor taste of things to come - by the time I had checked in I had been forcefully approached and followed many times with people offering hotels, food and tourist guides and having the gall to become offended when I ignored them. Bab Boujeloud is the tourist centre of the Old Medina so I shouldn't have been too surprised really.

Since the Old Medina was, well, old, there was little chance of getting anything comfortable. The place I eventually checked into was very basic - my room had a single window and no on-suite - no shower for me tomorrow morning then. I considered spending my second night in Fes else where, probably in the Ville Nouvelle. I planned to get as much out of Fes el Bali (the Old Medina) as possible tomorrow.

Venturing out for dinner brought more hassles - a sharp reminder of the dollar orientated Arab hospitality I had been experiencing since Jerusalem but had forgotten during my time in Marrakech, Casablanca and Rabat. As you can probably tell, I'm not too impressed by Fes so far, but perhaps the day will bring a new, more favourable, opinion?

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Four: As Time Goes By

The original plan was to leave Marrakech yesterday after Jummah, spending the night in Casablanca. The change of plan was due to family wanting to check out Casa too; and so we all set off on the three hour drive to the coastal town together for the day.

Despite being the title and location for one of the biggest films of the forties, Casa itself was pretty underwhelming at first. There just didn't appear that much to see or do here. We started off with the Cathedrale du Sacre Coeur, and left wondering if we had wasted our time coming up.

That was until we saw Mosquee Hassan II.

A part of me wonders if it's ironic marvelling at mosques like that of Hassan II. Truly awesome and definitely impressive, I'd say that Casa is worth a visit just to see it, particularly if you happen to be a Muslim. The sheer scale of the place is amazing and something you only really consider after walking a good five minutes across the expanse that it its courtyard. New, shiny, modern yet classic I'm running out of adjectives trying to describe it. Just go see the pictures already.

After offering Zhur/midday prayer at Hassan II, we ate. Lunch was provided courtesy of Pizza Hut. Interestingly the whole place was served exclusively by women, three of whom were down right pretty; all of a sudden I was even more excited to explore the rest of Morocco. We also noticed another common Moroccan phenomenon: that of relationships involving older men with much younger women. Very bizarre and unsettling... yet comforting at the same time. Cough splutter.

We then headed to Ain Diab a few miles west along the coast. Ever since Australia, I've come to expect a great deal from non-UK beaches and Ain Diab wasn't disappointing. Clean and fine, we spent the rest of the afternoon paddling in the Atlantic and basking in the warm sun, watching the youth of Casa play beach football and volleyball. We all simultaneously wondered what it would be like to live in the vicinity of such a place.

But at last it was time to say goodbye. I was to continue my journey east, to Rabat, while my family was to return to Marrakech. After being dropped off at Casa Port we said our goodbyes and parted ways.

I arrived in Rabat around an hour later. From my journey I concluded that the Moroccan rail system was an order better than that of the UK's: it was more cheap, efficient and comfortable than anything I had used anyway.

After booking into a hotel close to the station, I sought out the Grand Mosque in order to offer my Esha or night prayer. Between that and finding something to eat I quickly got my bearings in Rabat; everything appeared to be within walking distance and the streets seem safe with the people friendly.

After dinner I ended up in the cafe at Hotel Belima, a cup of hot chocolate at my table, partly reading my book and partly watching the people go by. I knew then that I'd enjoy my time in Morocco's capital.

I saw two pretty girls walking by; not a usual sight from what I had noticed walking around Rabat at night. Probably unsurprisingly they were continually being called upon by passing guys and did well to ignore them all - except for a particularly persistent fellow who decided to take the complete ignoring of him as a indication to follow his quarry for a good couple of minutes.

The girls finally broke and had a conversation with their stalker. After a further three or four minutes the guy left, the number of one of the girls in his mobile phone. I was glad to see that the pattern of girls getting hassled, ignoring and then relenting and finally exchanging numbers was an international occurrence. Good stuff.

I whiled the rest of the night reading some more in the central boulevard bit of green in Avenue Mohammed V, thinking about where I was. This was the first time I had been on holiday by myself and I was loving it; it certainly wasn't as scary or boring as I feared it would be.

All that was left to do was to eat at a fancy restaurant on my own and I would have completed the loner hat-trick of holiday, food and cinema.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Three: Jummah and Gardens

Another Friday, and again today was all about Jummah prayer. We remained in Marrakech for the whole day in order to attend the prayer at Koutoubia Mosque.

But before that, we spent some time window shopping in Djemaa el Fna. My brother needed to buy some souvenirs and the like for colleagues back home and it turned out that he's a bit of a tease - he got prices down pretty well only to not actually buy anything; I suspect that bargaining and haggling is a bit of a sport for him.

Jummah prayer was interesting since it was the first time I had joined one with such a Sufi vibe. We got the pretty early and found ourselves in the middle of a group Zikr, or remembrance session. There was group recitals, chanting and a fair amount of movement (although nothing more than just rocking on the spot); I tried to join in as much as I was able to but the Quranic script and pronunciation used in Morocco made this quite difficult. I also noticed that they had three adhans (call to prayer) for Jummah, but apart from that the rest was what I was used to.

The bus back to the hotel was amusing. In my solitude (the others had gone to get lunch from McDonald's) I took the opportunity to people-watch. I overheard a couple of European tourists trying to figure out when to get off for the same hotel I was heading to. I offered my assistance and we struck up a conversation. During this I was complimented many times about my standard of English and how accessible I was being - it all became a bit too much for me so I explained how I was British, of a Pakistani background and how I was as out of place in Morocco as they were. It's funny how you can be seen in the eyes of others, although I can't really talk: I thought that they were both French.

Morocco women are a mixed bunch, both in terms of attractiveness and style. Some are hot, some are not. Some are very western, others cover up and wear the hijab and most are somewhere in between. But there also seems to be a lot of French tourists in Marrakech and unfortunately it was them who took the crown for hotness from the natives: tons of natural beauty? Yes please.

After lunch we visited Jardin Minara, one of the town parks. It wasn't as grand as had been made out although the large square pool in the middle was strikingly peaceful. The garden itself was a nice enough place to hang out; we bumped into some local youths singing, dancing, clapping and playing music in a style possibly influenced by their distance to Spain. I could have watched them for hours if I was by myself.

The rest of the evening was spent in the hotel, chilling out. After dinner the five adult members of my immediate family sat down and thoroughly enjoyed some lovely games of cards, something I can't remember the last time doing. It's not something we'd do back home that often (if at all) and another indication of how different this holiday was compared to my usual trips away.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day Two: The Atlas Mountains

Since there's so little to do in Marrakech, it made sense to make it the base or launching pad into exploring some of the towns and cities close by. Today we hired a minibus and ventured into The High Atlas.

We stuck to the tourist trail of Ourika Valley and did everything the guidebook suggested we should. This included stopping by a Genuine Berber's House™ for tea. Still, despite my cynicism I have to admit that it was interesting to meet some of the more native people of the area - those Berbers I had met in Marrakech were pretty much Arab in all but name (the majority seem to be Arab-French speaking Muslims), and I sometimes found it difficult to figure out the origin of someone without speaking to them directly.

The end point of the drive was Setti Fatma, a small village at the bottom of a well trodden hike deeper into the mountains. Apparently there are some spectacular views and waterfalls to be seen a few hours into the mountains, but due to time and who we were with (both my nephews and niece were in tow) we didn't go that far in. We managed to catch a smaller waterfall though.

We made it back to the hotel by 5pm, where we again played a bit of pre-dinner football (both real and on a PS2 someone had brought along). After dinner, however, we decided to hit Djemaa el Fna again, this time to check it out at night.

The square had transformed into a bustling playground of musicians and street performers, each clambering to gain the attention (and wallets) of passer bys. To be honest I wasn't too impressed and they weren't a patch on the stuff you see on the streets of London or elsewhere. I was especially unimpressed when they started charging us for taking random pictures. Still, it was interesting to see the contrast of the square between night and day.

In terms of money, negotiations, finance and payment, it's clear that most Arab countries seem to share a common heritage. Morocco is much cheaper than Jerusalem, of course, but we still get offered "Muslim" prices that are anything but. If I was a sensitive kinda chap I'd have been offended. Instead, since I wasn't in the market to actually buy anything I just got my own back by ignoring potential sellers in my contempt.

The night was tailed off by another enjoyable game of poker - and not only because I had jumped from last position yesterday to first today.

So, we're still having a good time in Marrakech. Not bad considering I've never spent as much time in a hotel as I have this trip.

Morocco-Andalucia, Day One: Breakfast In Marrakech

Whoever's idea it was to fly at such an hour was either a sadist or crazy fool. I mean the 6am part is decent enough, but it only becomes apparent how early you have to leave to catch the flight in time the night before. Needless to say I didn't get much sleep last night - we were out of the house by 2:30am. Apparently there was an earthquake this morning too which I totally missed.

The funny thing is that I wasn't even going to come on this trip. I'm not sure why - it was a family holiday and I was certainly invited. It just took a potential rishta of all people to get me to reverse my initial declination and book my ticket. In fact, I had booked before the dates for Jerusalem were even set, so at one point it was my only holiday this winter.

The original plan, the one which my family will stick to, was to stay in Marrakech for seven nights. I was to do the same but changed my mind after realising that a) Marrakech for seven nights was not something I could remain sane for b) I always had the romantic dream of doing Andalucia and Morocco in one go and c) I didn't really have a job or anything to rush home back for. The idea was so blindingly obvious that I felt stupid for not having thought of it initially. The single from Granada cost another forty quid or so and I'll be throwing away my return flight from Marrakech.

We were in our hotel by 10am. Just like that morning in Jerusalem, we managed to get our hotels mercifully early: we all hit the sack and slept till midday. Lunch was provided by McDonald's - a novelty for some of us seeing how they don't usually serve halal meat back in the UK.

The group then split up. A couple of us went to Djemaa el Fna, a kind of central town square a bus ride away. The place was full of souqs and snake charmers, a typical sight during the day. Weather wise we were comfortable although could feel the heat building up as the minutes ticked on.

After a couple of hours we walked to the nearby Koutoubia Mosque. This was an amazingly charming and rustic mosque, one in an original structure far older than any I may have been to before (barring Al-Aqsa, but this was a local mosque) and in a style of an age gone by - like for example the shared pool in which we were to perform out wudhu/ablutions. It was a brilliant feeling washing in defiance of the hot weather - although I did take a bit of care not to swallow any of the water.

Due to the manner in which we had arrived, we we ready to head back to the hotel pretty early - and it wasn't a problem staying in once we got there. We each had a kip for a couple of hours, after which we played a quick game of football until it was time for dinner (the hotel provided half-board). After that we settled down to play some poker till late, using toothpicks and garden shingle as makeshift chips.

Although it may be a bit too early to say, as nice as Marrakech is I do think that its totally devoid of anything to do. In the few unstructured hours we had wandering around, we had pretty much covered all of the main bits of interest in the town itself. Don't get me wrong; I have no doubt that it'll be great to chill out with the family (there are over twenty of us here related in some fashion or another, mainly via the marriage of my brother and sister in law) and Marrakech is absolutely perfect for that. I just feel a bit vindicated in my decision to move on come Friday.

Speaking of family, I can't remember the last time I was abroad under these conditions (well, where we weren't in Pakistan anyway). It's definitely not something I'm used to and it's nice to have a different vibe (including the impromptu football matches and poker games) to that when travelling with friends, no matter how close they happen to be - it seems to be much more relaxed, welcoming and chilled out; there's no kitty here, that's for sure. It's just the ticket after some of the stress I experienced in Jerusalem.

Pictures of my whole time in Marrakech can be found here.