Last breakfast. The food at the hotel has taken on a certain sameness and the flies become an increasing irritant, so that the sight of a browned fleck on the morning pancake produces an involuntary shooing wave. The jam jar has a large chip missing from the rim - but how long will it be before nostalgia sets in for the best homemade apricot jam we've ever had, full of sweet, golden chunks.Quick final trip to the artisan centre. The building itself is quite striking inside, with Islamic tiles and stucco lace reminiscent of Alhambra Palace in Granada. Through Bab Doukkala, our nearest gate in the wall. There is often a beggar at the gate, but beggars here are fairly passive. Is this a cultural tradition or are there penalties for aggressive begging? There is quuite a police presence today, and soldiers as well, J points out. And the air is almost thick with pollution, maybe because it's the end of the week.
Pack up and check out by noon, which leaves us two hours lobby time before the taxi J has arranged (50 dhirams rather than the more common 100 - both sums more than it would be if the meter were turned out, which it never is). As we're leaving the lad from Stockton-on-Tees says his goodbyes and we find out the reason for the heavy police and military presence. The king is in the city. He attended Koutoubis Mosque this orning, the one everyone uses as a landmark. Which was a little unfortunate for our friend and his brother, who had intended to go there but couldn't. The king's presence meant that other worshippers were allowed in by invitation only.
We're at the airport in plenty of time. Exchange our remaining 120 dirhams - quite a production. Do I have a receipt for the money? Eventuallly I find that I do. Ten euros in exchange, plus an extra three and a half dh in change. But first I fill out an information form and my passport is pput through a scanner and two large duplicate recedipt forms are produced, one of which I sig. More or less the same amount of paperwork required for a marriage licence. The nice young man doesn't actually have a ten euro note, but he does have a twenty, so I hand over two five euro notes as well as the Moroccan currency. This leaves us with 10 dh in coin, but we're not at the square any more. The only thing it would buy is a single rather dry looking croissant, so we don't bother. And after going through security it's euros only.
There are two queues for the scanner in security, separated by gender. J's little bottle of water is no problem - we're not in the EU here - but the woman hesitates over my tea bags in their foil bag. Thé, I say. She repeats it but checks. Thé it is - no problem. It`s a long wait, as the BA flight is late in and threfore late leaving, but the airport is new and clean and eventually we`re underway. The plane is full and we`ve booked aisle seats opposite each other. J is sitting next to a Scottish couple who live just outside Brighton and they chat happily for most of the flight. Collect our suitcases and head for the bus stops. A small typed otice points out that the times are wrong, but the ones I got after much searching of the internet are OK and the H3 bus arrives and delivers us to the Ibis Gatwick just before midnight.
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