Morocco, fin

It's true every time I go somewhere.
At first, I have plenty of blogging time and you get every little detail.
Then I get more involved in the reason I went wherever, and posting falls off.
For the last days, you're lucky if the end of the adventure is posted at all. What with being submerged by the pile of mail waiting on my desk, you understand.

I did spend a day and a half more in Rabat & Salé. Did I tell you about the gala dinner for the conference Friday evening? Ah, yeah, typical conference gala, plus 80 % of the conversation in Arabic. 20 % in French is not enough to get by, so I spent most of the evening just watching people and fiddling with my water glass and wondering when I'd be allowed to go home. Last tram to Salé at 11:30: do I make a solo break for it, or wait for an occasion to take my leave more politely?

Strange that in Morocco the munchies to keep you alive until real food is served are mostly sweets. Even the beverages were fruit juice. I like honey-soaked pastries, but enough is enough. They finally served the meal at 10:45, and then with such haste! The servers were whisking our plates for one course away before half the diners had finished them. I tasted just enough to be polite. All the rich food was getting to me, plus the LOUD music and the incomprehensible conversation.
My host Abdé and I were not the first to leave once it was polite to do so, but almost. Thanks, Abdé!
The night was not a comfortable one, and by the time the 5:30 call to prayer sounded, I had definitely decided to flake on my 7:45 train to Marrakech.
4h15 to get there, a big lunch put on by my friend Badia, then 4h15 to get back? Even travelling 1st class, you can't count on the toilet being anything near clean. My guts were Not Happy at the prospect. They were not happy at all. My stomach was on strike, my intestines catching up, and eventually I spent the entire morning in bed, and the whole afternoon lounging on the roof terrace.

No photos, no adventure. A bit of reading. Lots of napping. Thank goodness it was just an overload of rich food and fatigue, and not a real tourista bug.

Sunday morning I was better. A day of fasting and paracetamol did me good. I didn't get out all that early for a stroll around the kasbah in Rabat, but I spent an hour and a half on my feet before catching my plane back to Paris, and then a quiet evening catching up on the books I'd hauled around for so long.

There might be some last photos of Rabat soon, but maybe not.
After two more days in Paris, going to a meeting and catching up with my friend Letitia, it was blissful to get back home to my sweetheart and the cats and my own bed. Next trip I will definitely take Jean-Philippe with me!

In fact, the next trip starts Sunday...