marrakesh express

My last night in Lund, Sweden, Europe. I'm sitting here in Murray's tastefully decorated room as he cooks up a farewell feast, sipping a longneck of german beer and reminiscing about the fun timez and crazy antics of the last couple of weeks. But i'll continue on in a linear fashion from my last post.

Our string of hilarious room mates in hostels continued in The Oki Doki hostel in Warsaw. We were sharing our room with Kevin, the recruiter from Norway who oozed positive energy and pithy inspirational one-liners (heard: "eliza, the future's so bright i need sunglasses"; "today is my favourite day - do you know why? - because it's a new day!"). We would have laughed him out of the room if it wasn't for his chiselled features, incredibly tight buttocks and his perchance for wearing leggings everywhere. Also: a girl who talked about nothing but museums: being in them, where they were, the little information labels, the opening hours, the fact she didn't eat lunch because she was so busy looking at exhibits. Great company.

In Warsaw I got my hair cut, a fun activity consisting of my one polish word "Dziekuje" and hastily drawn sketches from my notebook. I also went to the chemist. Oh, of course saw a lot of cool historical stuff, my personal favourite being the Palace of Culture and Science. It's Poland's largest building, a personal gift from Stalin and a dead ringer of the hideous communist buildings in Moscow.

After Warsaw Nikki and I headed north to the coastal village of Gdansk. We had an early train booked, but unfortunately when we awoke Nikki was shivering and feeling faint with a nasty flu bug and basically in no state to travel. She decided to take it easy in Gdansk, so I wandered around by myself being a solo traveller again. It's a really nice town, small and compact with history everywhere, and it would be blissful in the summer months. I took some sweet pics as well. We were the only people staying in the hostel so we took advantage of the eight free beds to do our washing, spread our stuff everywhere and use the internet at will, much to the annoyance of the procession of surly polish teenager girls who passed as "staff".

I said goodbye to Nikki and flew to London Stansted. Flying out over a snow-covered Poland was amazing - i've never seen snow like that from the air before. Last time I was in Stansted the queue was long and unforgiving. This time I was the only Non-EU passenger on our flight, so I went straight to the front, clutching passport in hand. Then it was a bus trip to London Stansted airport, where i was meeting Murray the next day. The 14 hours I spent at Luton Airport are ones that i will never get back and never want to repeat again in my life. Probably my worst night in europe so far - curling up on my winter coat behind the check-in desks, clutching my essentials close to my chest, teeth gritted as i listened to the security announcements every 15 minutes over the PA.

Then we were on the Ryanair Marrakesh Express to Morocco. In 3 and a bit hours we were in a different continent, and a country as different from Sweden as you could possibly get. We spent two nights in Marrakesh first up. Morocco reminded me a bit of Bangkok in its craziness. The traffic is chaos on the brink of disaster, with motorbikes, horses, bicycles and carts sharing the footpath with pedestrians. It's hard to ignore the fact that you look like a big fat western cash cow to the average person on the street - everyone wants to sell you something, whether it be carpets or orange juice or hashish. The focal point of Marrakesh is the Djeema el Fna square, a circus complete with fire dancers, storytellers, boxing matches, belly dancers and snake charmers.

The sitch is very different for women in Morocco. In the hostels of Prague and Budapest I'd heard the stories - how people buy rings and pretend they're married for the duration of the trip, unmarried couples being given shit at hotels, and the Borat-esque situation where men are asked "how much?" regarding their female companion. All in all, it wasn't that bad for Murray and me. We were conspicuous as all hell, being the whitest people in Morocco and dressed like your average students, complete with cardigans and converse shoes - but with my hand firmly on his arm I think most people got the message that I wasn't for sale. I got told that I had beautiful eyes, and that Murray was a very lucky man to have me on his arm, which did tickle me pink. Murray was very brave and competent with speaking French, which gave me the luxury to sit back and look good i.e. be a lady.

We bussed to the costal town of Essaouira in search of fine weather and perhaps the smattering of an African tan. The weather was quite tempermental and a bit on the chilly side but that didn't stop Essaouira being one of the sweetest towns I have been to, eva. Our hotel overlooked the main drag and we could watch life swish on by, complete with carts full of fresh mint, vegetable shops overflowing, hundreds of well-kept cats, fresh cow carcasses swinging in the wind and the colourful local citizens going about their business. On my final night I had a traditional hammam bath, which was a surreal experience. Firstly, you get naked. Then, the masseuse gets naked. Then you go into a darkened alcove where you are covered with black stuff, then scrubbed until your skin comes off in sheets. Then there's some more black stuff, including mud in your hair. To finish off, the masseuse throws eight buckets of water over your head. You leave with tingling skin and a spring in your step.

The Moroccans have this thing going with rooftop patios which speaks to me. In summer you can sleep on them, under the starry sky, or watch the sun set. In winter you can eat breakfast on them or have a bit of a petite smoke on the fine Moroccan hashish, as is your want. I've resolved to have one on my house, whenever I get around to building it. Australia is severly lacking in them. I will bring the change.

We came all the way from our Riad in Marrakesh back to sleepy Lund in one exhausting day, back though London again. My passport is getting a workout! In Stansted we spotted the Malmo checkin queue straight away - everyone was dressed in black and well groomed, in stark contrast to the Bratislava queue, where everyone looked like they were dressed in 1980s parachute tracksuits. I've spent the last few days either lounging around in bed, catching up with friends, or walking the hallowed streets and trying to remember everything so i won't forget it when I get back to Australia and back to real life. At the moment I'm feeling...well, honestly, a bit mellow because of the beer i've just consumed, but a mix of apprehensive and sad and excited. I will try and find an internet cafe tomorrow at Copenhagen airport and write my final thoughts before my return.