D-Dog’s Blog

Well, here it is, the end of the line; Pascoe and I are ‘bailing.’ I use inverted commas because I do not entirely agree with the use of the word in this context. While Frank, whose obscene bank balance is allowing him to continue onwards (probably south, I’m sure he will go into more detail), has been besmirching my good name to you all, I have kept my silence so as to maintain the fragile peace. But no more. I am ‘bailing’ because I’ve run out of money. I checked my balance today, and I have, before subtracting the money I owe Pascoe for the flight (about a hundred quid) £203. Enough said. Honestly, I’m not altogether saddened by my enforced departure; I’ll have thehashmark.com to work on, and I’m looking forward to seeing everyone over Easter. Of course, I’m not speaking for Pascoe – I’m sure he’ll explain himself of his own accord. But two months is no measley amount of time to be travelling; the trip, for me, has consisted of: one night in Paris (wahey!), two in Marseille, four in Barcelona, four in Valencia, four in Seville, two in Gibraltar (known as ‘Gib’ to the Tommy Saxondale look-a-like we met in Tangier), six in Tangier, nine in Chefchaouen, twelve in Marrakech, three in Essaouria, three in Casablanca (by this point we were making up time after our extended stay in Marrakech), three in Meknes and six in Fes. I’ve spent over £2000 (god knows how – even HSBC seem a little vague on the subject), eaten about twenty chickens (perhaps more), been in an earthquake (okay, so it was tiny, but I hardly think that’s the point), caught a cold, been punched, grabbed and gestured at by mentalists, been conned (well, almost), hustled, gotten lost on HUNDREDS of occasions, travelled god knows how many miles by train and coach, heard the call to prayer five times a day for six weeks (I’m going to really miss it), met Americans, Canadians, French people, Italians, Spaniards, a bloke from Chile (or ‘Tsile’ as he pronounced it), an Argentinian, some Slovenian missionaries and an 85 year-old Cornish anthropologist who cares for his 105 year-old father in between trips to Morocco and long-winded speeches about ancient Mesopotamia. I’ve been soaking wet, freezing cold, scorched by the sun, bored (only occasionally) and anxious. I’ve stamped on cockroaches (so satisfying, especially when you grind them into the ground), enjoyed cold showers (not so satisfying) and had the worst smelling feet I’ve ever known anyone to have.

Frank may be bitter about me leaving (I can understand why – perhaps I should even take it as a compliment) but I have no regrets. I’ve enjoyed pretty much the whole trip, and am enjoying home, peace and quiet. I’m sure at some point someone will ask me which part of the trip I enjoyed the most, so here goes. I’d have to say Fes is probably the most impressive city, but I think I enjoyed our stay in Marrakech more. I wish we’d spent longer in Essaouria and less time in Casablanca (okay, two regrets). I’d say Valencia was the European highlight. So, it’s been good. Back to civilization, 70p Guardians, expensive coffee and buses, surly public officials, subdued hawkers and the cold, cold weather. The journey home was nondescript, we got all of our connections blah blah blah. Flight was short, ferry choppy (at one point one of my ears quite literally went BANG and I couldn’t stand up straight. I had a good sit down and I was fine. Until I was sick). I’m going to miss a lot, and I can tell that within a couple of days I’ll be bored again, but I’m not bothered.

D-Dog has left the trip (although Frank is going to keep posting, so as of this point I suppose he should adopt the title seeing as you can’t change the name of the blog). Keep reading.

 duncan (the traveller formerly known as D-Dog).