Tales of the Lecrin Valley

A personal view of life in an andalusian village.

Not written for a while as we have been back and forth to Morocco all month.  Seems like I know Rabat like the back of my hand and also Tetuan and Casablanca.  Had massive floods whilst we were there, with the road from Tangiers to Rabat sitting between the sea and a 200km long lake.  Casablanca was cut off for a couple of days and a lot of people were killed.  200mm of rain fell within a day, which is a lot by anyone’s standards.  I love going into the bookshops in Rabat.  They are so cheap as everyone is desperate to learn, in three or four languages.  Books start at 70 cents and even dictionaries are less than 8 euros.  Had a nice entry to Tetuan on one of our trips, as someone had decided to hang himself from a massive tree in the park.  There were more rubberneckers that I have seen anywhere and the Fire Service had its work cut out trying to get the ladder up and the body down.  I found it quite disturbing, although I am not unused to death.  Had some lovely meals, all for less than a fiver a head, and apart from one crowded restaurant, where we found the two of us seated at a table for eight (I had passed by earlier that day and asked for a table for eight (o’clock)) we were well understood, although eating off the beaten track.  The shops had loads of fruit and veg in season.  Athough they weren’t all the same size and shape, a-la-Waitrose, the taste was fantastic as all had been picked that day and not frozen and transported, and was harvested when it was ripe, not picked early and brought to ripeness in some maturing shed.  Tetuan and Rabat are different, Tetuan reflecting its Spanish colonialism and Rabat its French.  The bread and croissants are fantastic in Morocco, I begrudgingly admit because of its French past. On the ferry on the way back I went into the Gents to find some men abluting for afternoon prayer, or for a special prayer to bless the crossing which I must admit was a bit rough.  The most incongruous sight was one chap trying to wash himself in the prescribed manner whils holding forty cartons of Marlborough Light.