Londontown

Jolly Olde England was the location of my most recent adventure. I headed out from Al Akhawayn last thursday to start the long trek to Marrakesh, where the cheapest flights to London leave from.

 

 

I had received a joking invite from a good friend to come and visit England over the weekend, and I, never one to pass up a ridiculous sounding adventure, took him up on it! I touched down in London Luton around 1:40pm Friday afternoon, and spotted a lanky character with a mischevious grin on his face and my name on a bulletin board. We headed back towards town, to a subburb named Enfield. I get the feeling that Enfield is like Whiterock in Vancouver, the argument being whether it’s a suburb or a town unto its own right, but all I knew is that the whole area is so incredibly British. Brick-lined streets, white shuttered windows, humorously named pubs, the whole deal. In my mind it was like the opening credits of a video series from my childhood, the “World of Peter Rabbit and Friends”.

That first night there was a party to attend, as well as the second night, when I got my first introduction to english pub culture! The first difference that I can tell between Canadian bar and British pubs is that the pubs seemed more relaxed and casual (which may have just been the pubs we were at, you never know); whereas bars are a little grittier, with more energy by the patrons, they’re less of a place to hang out and more specifically there for you to get trashed.

 

On Sunday I went out with my friends’ mother and brother to Camden Market, a great little outdoor market where you can get everything from printed tees to hippy beads to techno/goth/rave gear to vintage photographs. That, plus every ethnicity of food stalls and a historic “horse hospital” makes this a pretty neat place. Highly suggested alternative to doing the typical touristy stuff. It really reminded me of the souks in Marrakesh actually, so many little winding alleyways and overstocked tables. I got some awesome Indian jewelry and ogled neon hotpants in Cyberdog, a rave gear outlet with go-go dancers in cages on the roof.

Monday rolled around quicker then I would have liked, my last day in  London. We went out to see all the typical touristy sites, all in a day. It went something like this: London Bridge, Big Ben, London Eye, Trafalger Square, and Oxford Street. We went into a few museums to see a brief taster of the art and culture London has to offer, and got turned away from the British Museum by a geriatric guard. All the time I was regaled by the slightly abbreviated version of English history, which was vastly more amusing then your average history lesson. We rounded off the day by consuming a gigantic version of that English classic: fish ‘n’ chips. I even got a sample of mushy peas, which wasn’t as nasty as it sounds. The British certainly have a way with food names: mushy peas, fish n chips, toad in a hole, bangers and mash, bubble and squeak (the latter two I did not get to eat, for better or for worse).

Early Tuesday morning I trucked out by 3:30 am, to start the long lonely trek back to Al Akhawayn.

I have decided that these little taster weekend trips are not nearly enough to properly see a city. Both of my european jaunts have left me just wanting more: more time, more money, more fun! You need to dedicate a proper chunk of time to really see an area, I’ll never understand those people who “do” a whorlwind tour of Europe in two weeks. London was amazing, I left a bit of my heart there.

End of the Rainbow

I have remiss in my blog writing responsibilities. Ever so sorry, it’s been a stressful few weeks what with midterms and events and illnesses.

It was about three weeks or so when Venmar, a Mexican drifter that my friend and I met in Fez, came up to Ifrane to visit us. When he arrived we went to coffe with him and Brandon, an older student at the university. Venmar mentioned something about hearing from a dutch pair on the bus about a “rainbow party”, which was when I instantly perked up. I knew exactly what he was talking about: The Rainbow Family of Living Light. I’ve heard about this anarchical, egalitarian group from an old friend in BC, who would tell stories about going to live in the forest for weeks at end, with no money in a trade-based micro-economy. I’ve always thought it sounded intriguing, so I grabbed a few things to throw into my rucksack and hopped the next bus with the guys.

We rolled into Kenifra with no idea where to go from there, and after Venmar checked his email in a little cyber cafe, we got pointed in the right direction again. Unfortunately, it was now 7:00pm, and the grand taxis were rather reluctant to take us out into the middle of nowhere. They wanted about 60$ CND for the whole trip, a cost that the three of us did not want to pay. Eventually, after much haggling and begging, a local guy agreed to take us for about 38$CND. We piled into this little hatchback and bounced out of town. The fellow brought a friend of his along, and we drove through pitchblack mountain roads, listening to euro techno music and smoking complimentary marlboros that were offered by the friend.

We arrived at night next to a lake in the mountains, near a “town” called Oum Erribia. I say “town” because the population couldn’t have been more than a few hundred. Just as much as some of the gulf islands, but I don’t consider them towns either ; P.

We followed the amorphous directions of “follow the river on the right side until you see the signs that say “Welcome Home.”, and after alot of scrambling and some cursing, we crested a ridge and could see several fires glittering in the distance. The sounds of drums met our ears as we got closer, a primal sound that was accompanied by singing and wailing. As we walked down the path towards a circle of strangers, we were greeted by several people getting up, coming over, giving us hugs and saying “Welcome Home”, “We Love You”, and “There are more brothers and sisters!”. It really was something else.

After talking to a few grungy, dreadlock bedecked characters, I gathered that the Gathering had been in full swing for a month already. The people there were from all over Europe, Britain, and a few Americans and Mexicans. I even heard rumor of a fellow Canuck, but never had the chance to meet him/her.

We settled in with the fires and the drumming, did our best to contribute to the singing, and became part of the Family for one night. The following day I had to leave, as reality and midterms were looming on the horizon, but I promise to find a Gathering in the Pacific Northwest when I return home. It’s definitely something to do again.

Lifehacker

Warning: Navel Gazing Ahead

Right, so I was reading this guys‘ post on how he travels on 10 pounds of luggage or less , and thought I’d post up my travel gear. This website is also interesting, and so true, as most middle-class kids I see backpacking these days fit more into this category then the old 60′s mentality of dirt-poor pilgrims gallivanting around the world on shoe-string budgets.

First, the packmule bag. I remember backpacking around europe several years ago (damn, I feel old saying that), and everywhere I went that big, huge, bulbous, nylon monstrosity on my back would immediately point out that I wasn’t from around there. Even in countries where I could pass as a local, the backpack says “Look! North American young tourist!” (Or at best Australian… maybe German). I never ended up needing to use the full capacity of the bag (it was 70lt), and it spent most of the time with all straps tied as tight as they would go. Really, the weight and cumberance of the backpack was unnecessary, I met other travelers that were going to be away for several weeks, and were simply living out of a carry-on sized bag.

So, now that I have a home base in a country and have a place to store the larger, warmer items of clothing that normally take up all that space, I have the freedom of traveling with as little as possible. All I take for a weekend exploring is: skirt, loose trousers, a very worn pashmina, bikini (doubles as underwear!), a shirt, undies, and my Birkenstocks. In warm climates you really don’t need as many clothes as you think you do, and the new people you meet every day won’t know you’ve worn the same thing for the past 3 days (as long as the smell doesn’t give it away).

My leather backpack has 4 pockets around the exterior, a top-opening for packing, and a zipper on the side for accessing small items. There’s a secret compartment on the back for valuables, and a loop for hanging it above nasty bus stop floors. It’s beaten-up, worn-in, and stretched out, but I love it. I can fit in with this thing pretty much anywhere, and it definitely doesn’t scream “TOURIST!”.

Second, the general everyday contents that keep me sane whilst traveling solo. Clothes and such are just a given, what you use for intellectual or leisure activities is more interesting. I pretty much always carry around my moleskine sketchbook for documenting locations and events, jotting down illustrations and descriptions of trips. I have a smaller, pocket-sized moleskine for real thoughts that have nothing really to do with traveling. If you’re not surrounded by friends to talk to, bounce ideas off of, or rant at, I find that thoughts can build up and build up to the point of being detrimental in thinking about anything else. Therefore, writing it down helps let off some steam. My trusty home-made pencil case, enscribed with my parents’ whole address (in case someone happens to want to ship it back to Canada if I lose it…unlikely, but plausible). Burts Bees lipbalm, the tin is handy to store little stuff in when empty. Sunglasses. And necessary documents. With all these, I can keep myself far more entertained then with an ipod or laptop, and they don’t need to be charged!

The Great Hot North

The area where Al Akhawayn in located is one of splendid natural beauty, and it really is a shame that I haven’t taken advantage of this more often. Last weekend, I was convinced to come along on a hiking trip to the Rif Mountains, a mountain range in the north of Morocco. After heading out on a thursday afternoon, my colleague and I arrived in Tetouan at around 5am, with very little sleep and mild levels of annoyance. Tetouan is on the meditteranean coast, a fact I could not enjoy that day since we found a cheap hotel and caught roughly a mere 4 hours of shut-eye.

Awaking later that day, it was time to head out to Chefchouen, a city that is famous for notorious things (which you will easily find out by goggling it). The city itself really is beautiful, with Meditteranean white-washed walls and blue paint everywhere. Someday i’ll go back to enjoy a more leisurely stay, but this visit was all about the business of getting out to the mountains. Caught a pricey grande taxi out to a teeny town that links a series of hiking trails that can keep you occupied with days of verdant scenery and dramatic views. Since we only had a weekend, a day-hike was the order of business, and after rapidly scaling the cliffs surrounding a lovely river canyon we sat and enjoyed a hawks-eye view of the countryside.

As the sun started to set we went back down the trail, a tricky task as best, with loose gravel and absolutely no hand rails to save you from falling. After alighting back at the base, we gave some compatriots a call to come and get us (they were chilling in Chouen [nickname for Chefchouen]), and we settled down at a little shack-come-restaurant just down the road. The propriator of this place was a jolly Moroccan that didn’t speak a lick of english or danish, but we managed to communicate our hunger fairly easily. Out of nowhere (seriously, there was no food or cooking utensils in this place) he produced a bubbling chicken tagine after about an hour or so, which we promptly devoured.

Brightly-painted fishing boats pulled up onto the beach

After getting a pickup from our buddies, we headed for the coast! In a little town called Oued Laou, we rented a house on the beach for a mere 300Dh’s a night (50Dh’s each, about 6$), and spent the next 2 days basking a frolicking in the sea. Down a rough rubble and garbage strewn road sat a row of restaurants and cafes, which would dish up fried seafood (caught that day), and mint tea for very low prices. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, needless to say (beach, friends, and seafood!). Something about the ocean, I could never live away from it perminantly; it’s just such a calming force.

Quick Update

Hello All,

Since I haven’t been doing much blog-worthy stuff recently (it’s midterms, and I’m trying to not spend too much after Amsterdam), here’s some links to other people’s interesting blogs about life in Morocco:

This is an interesting blog by a couple living in Fez:

http://riadzany.blogspot.com/

Moroccan recipes for the uninitiated:

http://moroccankitchen.blogspot.com/

Until next time!

I Amsterdam

So, last Sunday I took a trip to Belgium, with a side-trip to that liberal haven of northern europe: Amsterdam!

I can’t even begin to describe how much I loved that city. It was so beautifully European, with the picturesque buildings and canals, the lovely people, and the wonderful culture. Yet it was also young, gritty, and with a definitely audible counter-cultural element to it. I wasn’t there long enough to really meet anyone or go to any parties, but I could still tell that there was a large underground scene there.

I stayed at the Flying Pig Downtown hostel, it’s a friendly place right in the heart of Amsterdam, walking distance from the train station. I would definitely stay there again, but it’s a little pricey (all things considered, that wasn’t a big deal). After checking in and ditching my stuff I poked around a little; the hostel has a smoking room in the back, with a raised platform and tons of pillows. I got into a conversation with a guy who works there, he was really helpful and took the time to suggest a couple sites to see and parties to go to. Spent my afternoon chatting with him and others at the hostel, and then headed out for my first night in Amsterdam!

As this is a school blog, the telling of these stories shall not be posted. Friends, if you want to know, you can ask me later.

The next morning I entertained myself quite well by simply walking around and people watching. I could have done that for a few days alone. The dutch are lovely: tall, blond, stylish; and the proportion of young people in Amsterdam is rather large. I got a lot of inspiration from simply looking around and wandering. And the bikes! So colorful, individualized, and completely non-hipster (unlike Vancouver). Cycling is a much more univeral concept, everyone from schoolgirls to businessmen use their bikes as primary transport, and it’s obvious in the different styles of bicycle you can see around the city. Vancouver, get your act together, create more bike lanes!!

Waffles, Chocolate, and Beer…Oh My!

Ok, so first real travel tip of this blog: Cafe Clock in Fez Medina. It’s super cool, really.

http://www.cafeclock.com/home.html

That, and make sure before leaving a country, you have: A grasp of time, and a gadget that will tell you the date/time accurately.

This comment will be explained later.

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‘Ello my lovies..

So, this weekend was a special one. The end to Ramadan, we are granted a long weekend for the holiday of Aid El Fitr, and long weekend which was well taken advantage of by the gaggle of international studies here at AUI. So people went to Marrakech, some went to Essouira, and I went….to Belgium??

Yes.

You see, one of my top ten favorite bands is currently touring in Northern Europe: the Dana Fuchs Band. This top ten list includes CCR, Springsteen, and CCR, all classics, and Dana definitely competes with the bug boys of rock and roll. Check out a video of them performing in NYC here:   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBLMRBjjeoo

They have never toured in Canada, let alone the west coast, so I made the decision that come what may, I was to put out whatever effort was needed to see them live. I effectively became a groupie. So, after much cruising, I found a vaguely affordable airfare to Brussels, the closest city to Binkom, a teenie tiny town where the band was playing at the “Binkom Blues Festival”. I couldn’t find any kind of hostel set-up near Binkom, so decided to test out a website that I’ve been a long-time lurker on: Hospitalityclub.com. Basically, it’s an online club for people to make profiles, and then get in contact with people around the world who can help travellers out by hosting them for a night, showing them around town, or just meeting for coffee. A similar, but unaffiliated (i think) site is couchsurfing.com, the hipper-styled version, aimed more for just finding a place to crash for the night.

Anyway, I sent out a mass of emails to members, asking for a place to crash Saturday night. I got two replies, one was a  no-go, and the other was from a fellow named Ewan, who said he grew up in the Binkom area and could probably help me out. I hopped onboard the first train to Leuven, the town where he lives, and ran around to find a pay phone once I arrived (3hrs later then expected..).

Ewan met me at the train station and showed me his place, before getting one of his friends to come over and pick us up.

This guy and his buddies own a decommisioned bus, which they have parked in a field and gutted with the intention of building a bar and dancefloor inside of. So we rolled up to the party bus and hung out for awhile before the concert started. It was a big grassy field with large trees on all sides; the guys were also building this structure out of logs and twine for a Scouts event the next day. Combined together, the mix of good ol’ boys, beer, nature, and strange objects gave me such huge flashbacks to Bowen this summer (shout out to Bowenation, love you guys!).

Later we drove down to Binkom, and accidentally went into the artists gate instead of general public. Sam, Ewans’ friend, started talking to the bouncers about how I was Canadian and came all the way from Morocco to see the show. The guard replied to this with “Oh, she came to see the Canadian band?”. I had no prior knowledge of The Perpetrators, but the guard decided to introduce me anyway. Went into the backstage tent and sat down with these four guys, introduced everyone (one was from Vancouver) and chatted for around an hour or so. They not only got my an artists pass bracelet for the duration of the show, but a whole roll of drinks tickets! And this is Belgium, the land of good beer, but even I couldn’t finished the 15+ tix that were available to me…

So the show was amazing, The Dana Fuchs Band puts so much energy into their shows, and Dana herself was on a roll the whole night. Check them out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FBLMRBjjeoo

The crowd demanded two encores at the end, and wanted a third, but Dana looked a little exhausted and started signing autographs instead. I got a chance to hop up onto stage and talk to her, told her I flew from Morocco to see the show (which she looked rather surprised at), got a photo with her and then left her for the largely male adoring crowd that had formed.

Ewan and his bro were kind enough to come and pick me up after the show, we then went back to the bus where they had a gigantic bonfire going, and partied until 3am! Went back to Leuve, crashed at his place on the couch. In the morning he wished me good luck and I packed my bags for AMSTERDAM!!!

To Be Continued…

Fez Redux

A fellow student was hosting a birthday in Fez this weekend, it was a large gathering of international students, with everyone migrating to the city for the same few days. I went with Rachid, a Moroccan student here at AUI;and  Shing, a hong-kongian Chicagoite. Basically our time was spent exploring the medina a little further then in the previous visit. I’m starting to feel like I know the area a little better, I can now recognize streets and alleyways pretty well. My goal is to be able to confidently navigate the Fez Medina as well as a local by the end of this trip, maybe make some money hasseling tourists as much as the Fezis.

The first night we went to a restaurant by the name of Mezzanine, it’s very close to the Blue Gate (Bouj Loud in Arabic). It was a nice place, but at the end of the night when we went to settle our bill the serving staff informed us that instead of charging the 15DH per drink on the menu, they were actually going to charge us 50DH! The bill was going to be over 2000DH! Luckily we had Rachid with us to argue with them in Arabic, otherwise we’d have been up a creek without a paddle. That little skirmish cast a pall over the night, but overall it was a fun time had by all.

The next day I branched out on my own. Travelling with people is ok, you always have company and there’s more people to watch your stuff, but it takes away on your ability to really observe what you see. The Fez medina really is amazing, the sounds and smells of the dusty alleyways is more than my descriptive abilities can handle.

It’s mysterious, hot, crowded, and confusing; but it’s also magical. One moment I wish I could fix in my mind forever is entering the walls of a guesthouse, scrambling up a trilayered staircase that is basically carved into the walls, to emerged on a rooftop terrace covered by a tarp and layered with a daybed, moroccan rugs, and pillows in all shapes, sizes, and colors. It starts raining, and thunder rolls over the horizon. Swallows are emerging from their secret roosts to swoop and dive over the city, consuming the new-born insect life of the day. Just as the host family settles down for F’tour, the call to prayer starts to wail from a near-by minaret. Soon, the call is joined as mosque after mosque sends out their evening calls, a chorus of modern yet ancient voices. The smell of mint wafts in the air from a glass of tea that the family insists you drink, and the heaviness of the atmosphere and moisture in the air mix to create a blanket of smell and feeling that wraps you in its’ embrace. Looking out over the rain-drenched city, you realize that this scene hasn’t changed much in the past hundred years, except for the people; acting as the lifeblood of this old city, bringing modernity and satellite tv.  It’s just amazing; if you look in the houses stairways, you can see the ridges where the original buildings’ roof was, and how there was another mudbrick layer added on top of it, then another and another, to create a mixed layer cake of dwellings, all tunneled through by the families that inhabit them. The tiles that decorate these passages are intricate and busy, sparkling and twirly, so far removed from the egalitarian and clean style of northern climes.

Pilgrimage to the Sea

As an islander, I am used to the constant presence of the ocean. It’s always there, creating a breeze, making white noise, just being a force that I’m used to. I’ve never lived very far away from a large body of water, so being in a landlocked town has been mildly wearing for the past two weeks. Therefore, this past weekend I made the decision to go on a quest to find the ocean.

Friday afternoons are normally the time when all the international students start scheming for where they will go for the weekend. Most of the time groups will congrigate outside of the cafeteria based on city of destination. You can either latch onto one of these groups or start your own, the latter of which I chose to do. Most of the kids were going to Tetouan, but I wanted to head out to Rabat (a city i’ve already visited, three years ago on my last international adventure). I recruited three guys to go with me, two were the same as last weekend, and one new guy (a hilarious Italian fellow).  It’s generally a good idea, if you want to travel in a group, to only be with 2-3 people. Otherwise getting taxis are a pain (petite taxis can only take 3 people at a time), and god knows getting liberal arts students to go in the same direction in an organized fashion is like herding cats.

So we headed out at about 4pm to wander down to Ifrane and grab a grand taxi to Meknes, a medium-sized city nearby that’s on the train route to Rabat. The grand taxi cost about 50D’s (dirhams) each, the equivalent of about 6$ CND; This was for a close to hour-long drive. Then in Meknes, the train tickets were about 60D’s; needless to say, travel in Morocco is rather affordable. In the station we bumped into a fellow Akhawayn student, who has an apartment in Rabat. He offered to find something fun to do later in the city, but we couldn’t sit with him on the train because we bought second-class tickets and he had first-class.

We arrived in Rabat around 9pm, and walked down to the old medina. It was so strange finally revisiting a city that I had been in when I was backpacking at 18, it’s like having flashbacks. But, it was handy as I kind of knew my way around already. Anyway, in the medina we found ourselves a roach motel to stay in (50D’s each) and went out for some Tagine. Right now it’s Ramadan, so it can be very difficult to find food as a traveller except in the most touristic of places.

After food, we met up again with Bima (the student) to go over to his place. We stayed up late and ended up crashing on his couch (didn’t even need a hotel!), and had breakfast at a nearby McD’s (the most expensive and nasty meal I’ve had yet in Morocco). They have these things called McArabia, a burger patty wrapped in a piece of flatbread… very strange.

So, the point of this trip: to find the Ocean! We caught a grand taxi to Temara Plage, a gorgeous beach south of the city, and vegged out for the rest of the day. There were quite a few surfers and bodyboarder there, two hobbies I would really like to pick up whilst in this country. I realize that I really do miss the geography of BC, the ever-present mountains and ocean, two forces of nature that are just a comforting presence in my life. Not being able to go to the beach on a weekend (without alot of planning) is really rather annoying.

After the beach we met up with a friend of Michele (the Italian) and went to her families house for F’Tor, the Islamic breaking of the Ramadan fast which takes place around 7pm each day. It was amazing, there are several courses of sweet and salty foods, and I was stuffed by the end of it. They were so nice and welcoming, her father didn’t speak very much English, but we tried to get by with the little french and Arabic that we all knew. Then afterwards, they took us on a driven tour of the city to see the mausoleum and Hassan tower! A thoroughly lovely experience.

Next day was also spent on the beach, not much to say about that. This time it was at Mohammedia, a beachy resort town that was pretty much closed up for Ramadan. I have a feeling it will be alot more fun after Ramadan is over.

My suggestions for future students: Make lots of Moroccan friends, it’s way better to see a city from the eyes of a local.

Leather and Heat: Fez Medina

Salaam!

Yesterday, Sunday Aug 30, some of the guys from AUI had the idea of going to Fez to check it out and do a little shopping. My goal was a towl, the travel towl I have ain’t cutting it, and Maels’ goal was a chess set. Introducing the guys: Mael, multi-lingual Cali guy; Jonas, a Norwegian; and Gabriel, a Montanan. We wandered down to the taxi station in Ifrane and got a Grand Taxis to Fez. There are two different kinds of taxis in Morocco, petite taxis and grand taxis, which serve two different purposes. Petite taxis get you around town and are usually little hatchbacks painted bright colors, grand taxis are usually Mercedes-Benz, and they will drive you between cities for not too much.

We got the Fez and caught a petite taxi to the gates of the medina.

For more info on Fez and it’s historical medina, go here: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/morocco/the-mediterranean-coast-and-the-rif/fes

A couple of minutes into the streets, Jonas bumped into someone he met last time he was in the city, a Moroccan guy nicknames Couscous, who was very happy to see him and invited us back to the riad that his best friend, Ourhet, is renovating. The riad is down a low alley with the entrance as a door in the wall. There is a narrow staircase going up to the main area of the riad, a big open-air square with many large intricately-carved doors going into large rooms. We sat down with Ourhet, who is recovering from a car accident, and basically chilled out for a few hours. Did I mention how incredibly hot it was? About 43c! With no wind! I was just dying, sitting there melting, slowly soaking clothes with sweat.

Anyway, we expressed interest in seeing the tanneries and going shopping for musical instruments. They guys said that we could head out at 5:00pm, because that’s when the tourists leave and it gets cool enough to walk around.

So we left at 5:00pm, and were guided around by Couscous and another guy that I forget the name of. I’m so glad we had them, because I can see how you could get easily lost in there. It is a rabbit-warren of humanity, with houses built on houses, little tunnel alleys leading off into the darkness, doors of all shapes and sizes plastered on the walls of the street, slopes going up, down, and under buildings. Absolutely amazing, all those people living so close together. I wish I could get a flat in the medina, and know it well enough to be able to navigate on the fly, but I have a feeling it takes a lifetime to know those alleys that well.

We made our way to the Tanneries, they are these vast vats filled with a combination of dyes and animal byproducts that are used to cure the pelts of camel, goat, cow, lamb, sheep, and any other leather that they want to produce. The vats normally smell pretty rank, but theyweren’t too bad when we were there. We viewed them from a terrance that’s attached to a large leather emporium. I’m going to go back later and buy a bunch of stuff to bring back with me, so let me know if you have anything in mind.

After that, we went shopping a little, kinda was shown the runaround by our friend/guide, who brought us to not only the places we wanted to go, but also some extra stores. There was a jewelery store and a spice store, at the spice store I bought some tagine spice and sweet curry spice to send home to Neil and Helen (Village BakerFTW!), and after the shop keeper tried to sell us some opiun (!?) which was promptly denied.  After that we went back to the riad and break fasted with the guys that lived/worked there. Hung out again for a few hours, then caught a cab to the bus stop. At the station we paid 50DH for tickets, and found out when we got on the bus that it was only supposed to be 16DH. Mael got off and argued with our conman with the help of a tourist guide, and managed to get most of the extra money back (right on Mael). We got back to Ifrane just in time for the midnight curfew!