AN ILL WIND.......

It was not a great start to our last morning in Tunisia. And true to form, the day only just got worse - and worse.

Concerned about my mum's deteriorating health, I tried to send an early email to her aged care home in Sydney but the Wi Fi was down in our hotel room. So while Alan attended to checking out procedures, I stumbled down in my night attire to the Club Lounge which usually had both "free" Wi Fi and hot coffee. There was no Wi Fi and the coffee machine was turned off. I tried boiling a kettle only to find there was no instant coffee anyway. And then on my return my key wouldn't open our room door so I had to find Security and ask them to open it for me. In my nightie, I must have looked ridiculous.

Our 11.35 am Air Maroc flight to Casablanca, Morocco gave us plenty of time to enjoy our last buffet breakfast at the hotel and to farewell Ms Fawzia before we left. Initially, our tour had included transfers to and from Carthage airport but somehow these arrangements had sort of "fallen through the slats" and we didn't bother to argue about a relatively trivial matter. We were very pleased however, when Fawzia in her usual enthusiastic manner exclaimed "Ahh, Mr Alan and Ms Wendy. This morning my driver will take you to the airport FOR FREE!!". Well, that was nice, we thought.

The especially pleasant, neatly dressed man who seemed to live at the Sheraton Avis Desk did drive us to the airport and all in good time. We were grateful. Well, until he demanded that we pay him 10 Dinar, about AUD $6.70 and twice the going price of a normal taxi fare. There was no point in arguing, we just paid him. And as Alan pointed out, it wasn't much money and in any case, we had to get rid of our Dinar as it is illegal to take any currency out of the country. But it did leave a slightly bitter taste in our mouths.

Carthage airport is very close to the city and we had plenty of time to cash our remaining Dinar. Alan queued up at a Currency Exchange Counter but when he was finally seen to, the official told him he had to proceed to another counter where he again lined up for over 30 minutes.

The queues to the Immigration Counter were also huge. As we were travelling Business Class, we lined up at the Priority Fast Track Counter for First and Business Class Passengers. We eventually reached the counter only to be told by the abrupt official that we had to join the Economy Class very long and slow queue. A young Tunisian businessman must having been watching the circus as he stopped and talked to us, saying that we had every right to go through the priority counter. He didn't add however, that there was no way that we could convince the surly official. We just sighed and queued...

We recalled the experiences of our friend from our home village of Crowdy Head. In 1995, when he when flying out of Tunis Carthage airport to Palermo, Sicily, he had been mistaken for an American gangster of the same name, arrested and detained in a room full of armed military officers for a day. Before we left Australia, our friend said solemnly "Whatever you do, don't argue with Tunisian officials..." We had had a similar scary experience in the early 2000's at Pudong Airport Shanghai. No, there was no point in arguing.

Oh well, we thought - at least we can sit down and have some coffee and something to eat in the Business Class Lounge. But the Lounge was closed and we were directed down several floors to a plastic seated cafe. "Where are your vouchers?" demanded the disagreeable waiter. We gave up. It didn't do too much for our tempers either. By that time we had spent so much time frigg'n around that there was no time for coffee anyway.

Our take off over Tunis revealed a gleaming white city sprawling along the Mediterranean coastline and back to Lake Tunis, dissected by wide boulevards and major motorways. We farewelled Tunisia - it had been a short but really enjoyable and interesting visit. We were finally on our way to Morocco, a destination we had been looking forward to for nearly two years. The "Camp Granada Syndrome" - our name for typical travellers' mood swings - had set in and like the famous and very funny old Alan Sherman song, life just suddenly became a lot, lot brighter...

MANALI, NORTHERN INDIA JUNE 2012 - A CHANCE MEETING AND AN INSPIRATION TO VISIT MOROCCO

"If you love Ladakh, then you will just ADORE Morocco!" enthused our new French-Canadian friend Madeleine. We had just travelled the hair raising but simply fascinating jeep trip from "No Go Zone" Kashmir through the rugged and desolate Ladakh Himalayas and down to the Himachal Pradesh Province of northern India. And like Madeleine, we were staying in the pretty mountain village of Manali for the night (Refer travelogue "Restless Lands: Frontiers of Northern Pakistan and India, 2012").

Madeleine was part of a small French Canadian group of tourists who were travelling from Manali in the opposite direction to us, back over the notorious Rohtung Pass and back through Sarchu (where like us, they would camp overnight) and onto Ladakh. Madeleine had also recently returned from a trip through Morocco, a country about which she was extremely enthusiastic.

Travellers exploring precarious places make friends easily. In no time, we had exchanged contact details and Madeleine had also given us the name of her travel agent in Morocco who she described as "just fantastic". "Mohamed, Man of the Moroccan Desert" was also the business partner of her close Canadian friend Danielle. Madeleine's passion for Morocco was infectious and further ignited our desire to travel to northern Africa.

Alan's serious ill health postponed our 2013 trip which included a tour booked with Mohamed's company. Both he and Danielle had been wonderfully understanding and had generously credited us with a significant proportion of our payment. From our extensive on-line communication, we felt as if we had known them for years and although Danielle had work commitments and would not be able to see us in Morocco, we were very much looking forward to meeting Mohamed at long last.

AN ILL WIND CONTINUES.....

The flight to Morocco took us over northern Africa. The countryside over western Tunisia and Algeria was fascinating, with extensive agricultural terraces and occasional salt pan lakes. I had no idea that it would be so heavily farmed. Somehow I imagined northern Africa being essentially arid or even marginal desert country.

The two and a half hour flight to Casablanca was pleasant. The Air Maroc staff was friendly and the food was, well substantial. It was our first introduction to Moroccan tagines and although the meal was tasty, it was huge and very heavy - and topped off by a very rich dark chocolate desert.

Our plane dipped its wing as we began our descending into the Casablanca Mohammed V Airport, revealing intensive agricultural industries and a patchwork of yellow-cream harvested plots contrasting with the brilliant green fields of ripening wheat. It was exciting to be finally landing in this exotic country.

We knew exactly where to meet Mohamed at Terminal 2 of the Mohammed V Airport. Danielle always wrote the correspondence as she was fluent in both French and English, and she assured us that he would meet us near the exit of the terminal at 2.20 pm Casablanca time. Fortunately, our flight arrival was on time.

It is usual for us not to be collected by our tour guide. It has happened on numerous occasions throughout the world and on our arrival to Morocco, it was the same old story. Groups of excited tourists were met by friendly guides holding up placards and very quickly - and once again - we were the only tourists left waiting. I tried calling Mohamed on my mobile phone but it - as usual - had decided it was not going to work. Alan was fuming and my blood was boiling... And the blessed phone was on thin ice - as usual....

A large friendly guide in a flowing white kaftan was waiting for his tour group whose flight had been delayed. He had obviously been watching our lonely charade with the phone and asked if he could be of any assistance in calling our guide. After some time he managed to contact Mohamed who said he was "just outside the terminal" and would be with us "any minute". Another thirty minutes passed and still no Mohamed.

When he did finally arrive, our Mohamed was even more sour than we were. We never really found out what the problem was either but he told us he had been "waiting for ages". He grabbed my bag while we ran after him to the car park - in blazing heat of a 45 degree C day. Our trip to Casablanca city was a not a happy one. A sullen Mohamed did not speak a word and as we hurtled along with the windows fully open, blasting us with white hot heat. "Where was this exotic Berber man from the desert?" we wondered. "And what happened to our air-conditioned car?"

We also both silently wondered what on earth we were doing in the country. If only we had known at the time that our Mohamed was to take us to fantastic places we could have never dreamed of visiting on our own and that our Moroccan trip was to be the highlight of our 2014 travels. But it sure was an awful start.

Our hearts sank as we arrived in Casablanca. The outskirts, like many big cities were depressingly poor, and frenetic traffic and long gridlock jams greeted us to the city centre. "I hate Casablanca" snarled Mohamed. I could have assured him that we were beginning to agree whole heartedly. Mohamed then told us that he had changed out hotel from the Ibis to Les Saisons. There was no reason given. We just sighed. How much worse could this day become?

To our surprise, we didn't go straight to our hotel. Instead, Mohamed dropped us off at the massive paved square surrounding the famous Hassan II Mosque saying that he would pick us up in roughly an hour's time. The visit to the mosque was certainly on our itinerary but we had no idea where to go and where to find the entrance. In the blistering heat, we stumbled across the square, only to find that the mosque was closed for the day. Secretly delighted, we flopped back on the grass in the shade along with a lot of exhausted looking students - and took a very deep breath.

I am afraid that at the time we were not impressed with anything. But in hindsight, the massive mosque was a truly remarkable piece of architecture.

The colossal Hassan II Mosque is located on the coast of Casablanca city between the harbour and the El Hank lighthouse. It is the largest mosque in Morocco and in Africa, and the 7th largest in the world. The mosque was built by the late King Hassan V to commemorate his 60th birthday and was completed in 1993. Designed by French architect Michel Pinseau, the mosque rises above the ocean on a rocky outcrop reclaimed from the sea. Its location is supposed to signify the verse from the Quran that states that God's throne was built upon the water. The 210 meter minaret is topped by a laser beam that shines toward Mecca - amazing. The walls are hand crafted in marble and the ceiling is retractable. The mosque can accommodate a mind boggling 25,000 worshippers inside and a further 80,000 in the surrounding courtyards. An Islamic Media Centre and Library are also situated in the beautifully landscaped grounds.

I am afraid to say that the day did not improve. We wandered down to the well known Boulevard de la La Corniche, a beach side corso which extends from the El Hank Lighthouse and past the coastline of Casablanca city. The ominously milky grey surf was filled with swimmers and the sand was an equally dirty looking grey-brown in colour. It looked horrible but to be quite honest, I don't think that anything would have impressed us at this time. We were dangerously sliding down the Camp Granada Slippery Slope.

Mohamed dropped us off at the Casablanca medina souks which were even more tacky than the Tunis ones and were full of absolute junk and disappointed looking European tourists. It certainly was a market set up for the tourist scene, and was not even vaguely interesting. Needless to say, there were no donkeys either...

It did not take us long to have enough of the medina and reluctantly made our way back to our hotel, wondering what else was in stall for us. To our shock, our Hotel les Saisons was actually very nice. Our room was well appointed in warm wooden tones and even if a bit dark and dreary, we had to admit that the hotel was centrally located, the staff was friendly and it was all very adequate.

Our first mission after checking in to our hotel was to find a drink - fast. In the hotel lift we chatted with a group of Australian tourists who had been in Casablanca for two days awaiting their tour. They were similarly disappointed with Casablanca, a city with which a lot of us associate with the famous Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman movie of the same beautiful name - and a reputation for romance and the exotic.

The hotel bar was friendly and the drinks - well, after our terrible day - were just wonderful. And I'm sure we toasted each other with "…Here’s looking at you, kid.”