Not sure what I expected out of Morocco but I was taken from the first step. A pace and energy fuller than that I have come to know in so much of Europe. This was Africa, and arriving by boat. Like a draw bridge coming down, a beeping lowering cargo door. An immediate and unceasing blur of sights, sounds and smells. Senses only dumbed by the heat.
Between the coastal Tangier and the culture capital Fez, in the heart of the county, the temperature went up with every stop train stop. 42oC, 43oC... Not wholly incoincidentally with the number of people onboard, at least in duxieme classe. My travelling partner Tommo, read of Gregory David Roberts in India: "through the sleepy night, and into the rose-petal dawn, the train rattled on. I watched and listened, literally rubbing shoulders with the people of the interior towns and villages. And I learned more, during those fourteen constricted and largely silent hours in the crowded economy-class section, communicating without language, than in a month of travelling first class." I related to that. Crossed words of fellow passengers intermittently broken by laughter, or sharing of water or pillows... Less so of seats.
Where to begin with an etiquette as foreign as any tongue. slowmoves.
10 days. Miles and miles. Tube to train to metro to sleeper to bus to boat to train to bus to camel to taxi to bus to taxi to bus to another bus, and back. slowmoves.
Overland and sea to Morocco stays recommended!