GRAND TOUR OF EUROPE: July 13-14 Italy to Greece

Tuesday July 13 

Milan to Brindisi

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.grandistazioni.it/cms-file/immagini/grandistazioni/MI_p_1900_533x350.jpg

At midnight in Milan, we finally boarded the train for Brindisi.  Our busy day had begun with an early morning 5 km walk in Switzerland and not stopped till now and we were eager for sleep.

We had prepaid and reserved a first class cabin with couchettes! So imagine our dismay at finding two rather portly Italian Grandmas squatting in our fully rented cabin! 

When we informed the ladies that they needed to find another compartment, they cheekily pointed to the "Reserved" sign! 

Of course it was 'Reserved'. For us! 

I was rendered speechless by their hubris. But sensible Donna simply went looking for a guard to rectify the situation.

by kind courtesy of 
http://www.seat61.com/images/Italy-comfort-night4.jpg

Couchettes were crucial that night, since they would enable us to sleep horizontally for a good portion of our 22 hours journey down the Adriatic coast of Italy. But, before we could settle for the night, we had to search for someone needed to explain to these ladies that they were, indeed, in the wrong cabin.

Donna returned with a bevy of male guards. She then produced the requisite paperwork, showing that we, and not the portly impostors, were the rightful occupants of said cabin. I was SO proud of her!

After conferring with each other for 5 minutes, the guards seemed to have reached a decision. The main guard delivered the important announcement, as if he were a Shakespearean stage actor delivering a soliloquy. The cabin, he declared, was unequivocally and rightfully ours. Furthermore, his decision was unanimous and binding!

There was one blessed moment of silence, while the information sunk in. Then all hell broke loose! The two ladies gesticulated and wailed their objections, imploring the implacable guard to let them stay. Somehow Donna and I had been drawn into an impromtu drama akin to an Italian Opera! 

Viva Italia!

After much waving of arms and loudly expressive insults hurled in our direction, the ladies grumpily shuffled out of our cabins. For once I was glad that I could not understand a word they said.

As if by telepathy, every travelling train official had instantly become aware of our situation. So for the rest of our VERY long trip, we were guarded assiduously by 5 very intense Italian guards.

Donna slept like a baby. Alas, I was not so lucky since I had not remembered to re-stock a crucial medical aid before we left Lucerne! Having finished my Montreux companions' gift of 'wonder pills', I now had to endure, without aid, the full effects of the dreaded stomach virus. 
by kind courtesy of 
http://media.tumblr.com/8f214d430f1401ecdf023fd0b1a7cbb6/tumblr_inline_mgh3pch81U1rcf064.jpg

To compound my misery, our train seemed to stop every village en route, where train staff chatted endlessly with distant family members employed at various stations down the line.

Had I not spent an inordinate amount of time visiting the washroom during this trip, I would have been asleep in my couchette, and would not even have noticed these interruptions. I certainly would not have been inconvenienced by them! 

In Italy, in 1976, most distance trains had no tank in which to collect bathroom sewage, so it was directly dumped onto the track below. Apparently Nature would ensure that all such refuse became well composted!

To keep remote villages clean and hygienic, Italian train authorities simply requested that all passengers refrain from using or flushing toilets, whenever the train was stationary. Yikes!

Thankfully, by dawn, the virus seemed to have worked its way out of my system - along with the remainder of my wine. So I was finally able to rest for a few hours.

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.keycamp.co.uk/images/sites/ia014-cavalino-garden-paradiso-campsite-the-adriatic-images/gallery/IA014-Cavalino-Garden-Paradiso-Campsite-The-Adriatic-Beach-A-Second.jpg

The view of the Adriatic Coast from the train, though beautiful soon became painfully monotonous  as it was our ONLY view for hour upon hour. 

Believe it or not, one cannot gaze upon mile after mile of unblemished white beaches for long, when one is trapped in a hot, steel vehicle.

A part of me dearly wanted to escape that train to walk barefoot on that soft sand and swim in those warm azure waters. 

But we had miles to go before we could indulge in such hedonistic pleasures. And perhaps my body's greatest need was that I rest and allow it to recuperate. I would need all my strength to truly appreciate the glories of Greece that awaited us!

Brindisi to Kerkyra  11 hours 41 mins

https://maps.google.ca/maps

Twenty hours later - almost two hours overdue - we arrived in Brindisi a port city situated on the eastern peninsula (heel) of Italy, on the coast of the Adriatic sea. We were bound for Patras in Greece. And getting there would require us to book passage on an overnight ferry.

Donna and I were so grateful to finally hike our packs onto our shoulders and escape our multi-wheeled prison, that we practically ran from that train. 

But our relief was short-lived as we were greeted at the exit by a throng of smiling boys, all jabbering at us in broken English. 

At 8 pm, a multitude of travel-worn tourists filled the streets of Brindisi, each intent on purchasing a ticket for the ferry ride to Greece. The scene was chaotic as well as deafening. We eventually followed a smiling, but most vehement, pied piper to his place of employment.

The small man behind the counter of this well-lit but shoddy looking establishment efficiently sold us two tickets for a ferry that would be leaving for Patras in a matter of minutes.  

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.adriaticandaegeanferries.com/uffizi/proudionian/3213.jpg

To our immense relief, our ship looked more like a 70s pleasure cruiser than any humble ferry of our acquaintance.

It even sported a salt-water swimming pool!

By the time Donna and I had dropped our backpacks off in our overnight cabin, it was close to supper-time. Those living and travelling in the warmer climes of southern Europe tend to eat their main meal after 10 o'clock at night.

by kind courtesy of http://static.ifood.tv/files/images/editor/images/Greek%20food.jpg

Donna and I thus enjoyed a delicious 4-course Greek meal for the ridiculously low cost of $5, including the table wine.

Our supper was delicious.  But the dining room itself was also a joy to behold. It reminded me of one of London's 5-Star hotel dining rooms.

Our introduction to this 'ferry' was, indeed a successful culinary experience.

Wednesday July 14  Aboard ferry bound for Corfu

After supper, Donna declared herself ready to sleep.  But having slept for most of the day, I was wide awake, ! So, I quickly freshened up, changing into a dress and heels. Then I left Donna to dream alone in our cabin, while I visited the Esmerelda Lounge. It was past midnight, and I was ready to search for the company of other young travellers.

Our ferry temporarily housed a veritable United Nations of young adult passengers from United Kingdom, New Zealand, Canada, Norway, United States, Sweden and Denmark, in addition to its all-Italian crew. Before I had time to order a lemonade, half a dozen Norwegians arrived, toting a keg of ice cold German beer.

by kind courtesy of http://rlv.zcache.com/german_man_on_beer_keg_stickers-r67ba1409210d483ebdbbb50565a35d22_v9waf_8byvr_512.jpg

The beer was quickly shared among us all. And soon passengers with guitars joined us. Before we knew it, a party had broken out in the Esmerelda Lounge! 

by kind courtesy of 
http://oliverartscouncil.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/70s.bmp

Initially, a couple of the crew charmed us with some of their Italian songs. We listened politely. But as more beer flowed, the guitar players and passengers soon took over.

From my vantage point, we delivered passable renditions of (then) recent popular songs by Crosby Stills and Nash, The Byrds, Simon and Garfunkel, the Beatles, Donovan and more. And a few of us even danced!

by kind courtesy of 
http://www.deliciousmagazine.co.uk/images/articles/3468/3468_2.jpg

By 4 am, we were all quite merry and nobody cared if anyone was singing in key any more. Then the ferry's baker, instructed by the wise and compassionate Captain, supplied us with hot, fresh-baked crusty bread.

It was a most welcome interruption and a very wise move since the bread helped to soak up the excess alcohol in our systems. Also, one cannot successfully sing and eat bread at the same time! So, the bread also served to let us know it was time to quit partying and get some sleep.

Donna, who had missed the entire party, was one the few passengers aboard who actually got any sleep that night. The rest of us were happy just to let down our hair and socialize with each other! 

At 8 am, about twenty of my new 'party friends' disembarked while a new batch of travellers joined our ferry. We had reached Corfu (Kerkyra), a small island that stretches past the coasts of what is currently three separate countries - Albania, Macedonia and Greece.

Vehement promises were exchanged to meet in Corfu when Donna and I stopped there, after we'd visited Greece. And then my new tribe shouldered their backpacks and vanished.

Corfu to Patras 4 hours 53 mins

by kind courtesy of http://www.greece-ferries.com/images/pics/map_international.jpg 

Returning to my cabin, long after dawn, I found Donna cheerfully preparing to leave the cabin to spend the morning on deck.

by kind courtesy of 

http://thestudiobymdm.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/classicfrench-950x712.jpg

I showered, washed and set my hair and gave myself a manicure and pedicure before snoozing undisturbed till 1 pm. Utter Bliss!

The first casualty of travel is privacy. Thus, to have a secluded space to myself for several hours, without interruption, was a real treat!

Officially 1 pm was lunchtime, but I decided to wear my new bikini, and sunbathe instead. Perhaps my excessive partying contributed to my decision to avoid food, but I'll never tell!

To my delight, fellow party friends, Suzanne and Keith, had not disembarked in Corfu but were also travelling to Patras. They both looked and felt a little worse for wear, after their night of debauchery. So they, too, had decided to sunbathe by the pool. 

But the early afternoon sun became progressively hotter by the minute, so the pair decided to cool their overheated bodies with a dip in the salt-water pool. 

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.visualphotos.com/photo/2x4629470/woman_diving_into_water_BLD039735.jpg

Great idea!

I immediately dived into the pool with them. But a split second before my body entered the water, I realized, in horror, that I had forgotten to remove my brand new contact lenses! 

Despite the most assiduous efforts of ship's crew and passengers around the pool, my expensive lenses were hopelessly lost to the waters of the Adriatic that day.

Apparently the water for the ship's swimming pool was siphoned directly from the sea and returned directly there after use. Neither incoming nor outgoing waters were ever filtered.

I like to think that my bio-indestructible lenses have been enjoying a permanent vacation in the sunshine of Greece for the last 37 years!

I spent the rest of that ferry ride seeking shade on deck, anywhere but in that filter-less pool which had lost its appeal for me after it swallowed my lenses without mercy. And what Brainiac had decided against using a pool filter? Really!!?? 

The day had begun really well, with laughter, song and free flowing booze. But, since I had taken several weeks to carefully break-in a new pair of lenses before flying to Europe, I was quite upset with myself for so carelessly losing them.

I would now be forced to wear my hated spectacles during what promised to be the hottest leg of our journey through Greece. Oh well, at least both Donna and I had finally overcome our Montezuma's Revenge of the past few days. [Montezuma's Revenge is a jocular term for traveller's diarrhea] That was a blessing we both could count!

At 3 pm, I returned to the cabin, showered - again - changed, and went to the bar for a lemonade. Two Swedish guys, that I didn't recognize, were playing a game of chequers at one of the tables. So I challenged them, winning once and then, diplomatically, losing one game. When Donna joined us, the guys broke open a bottle of Corfu Firewater before we all packed and left the ferry.

by kind courtesy of 

http://www.ferries.gr/italy-ferries/images/wonderful_greece.gif

We docked at Patras about 5pm, to a slightly less chaotic scene than the one we'd left in Brindisi.

It seemed no buses had yet arrived to meet our ferry. And since, at that time, there was no other way to transport our ship's few dozen passengers to Athens, this was a very big deal! Today's travellers can now take a train there.

All those wishing to reach the capital were forced to stand, with their luggage, for over an hour in the still-blazing afternoon heat!  And, despite our united misery, it made me chuckle to see English travellers quietly queueing for the bus, even in that unrelenting sunshine. 

In 1976, the traveller abroad could not always depend on travel companies to take care of their needs. Where we had disembarked, there was no shade, no seating and not even a concession stand where one might have purchased cold drinks or an ice-cream. But Suzanne generously shared a glass of her orange juice with me, so that I could remain hydrated.

We spent an uncomfortable hour waiting. But, upon further consideration, I decided that the general lack of liquid refreshment was a blessing in disguise since there seemed to be no bathroom facilities available.

Eventually the buses did arrive to chauffeur us to Athens. But fate had not yet finished messing with me! The very moment I stepped onto the bus, the remains of the Corfu Firewater that our Swedish chequer-playing friends had given to us slipped from my hands. 

That bottle smashed upon the ground, its contents forever lost. But, before I could lament its passing, I stubbed my toe climbing the bus step, and spilled my remaining orange over and through my thin skirt. 

After my recent experience with an exploding coke bottle in Trier, I at least knew how to walk in a sodden skirt. But this time, I had no opportunity, either to wash or to change my clothes. 

I was NOT amused! 

To keep from screaming in sheer frustration with the insanity of it all, I reminded myself that some of our most enjoyable adventures had begun the day following a particularly trying experience. So I figured the Greek Gods must have something really spectacular in store for Donna and me.

Despite my irritation, I easily napped on the bus, and dreamed I was chatting with the cotton fabric of my skirt, begging it to PLEASE not do its own laundry, especially while I was still wearing it. Thankfully Donna woke me, before my skirt could respond.

by kind courtesy of 

http://goodfoodgoodfriends.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/08/2012-06-22_18-44-50_281.jpg

Our bus was pulling off the road into a dusty area next to a rough looking shack, from which delicious aromas emanated. The driver was first in line to buy souvlaki, or lamb skewers, and suggested that we do likewise.

Donna refused to eat, afraid that this roadside cafe might not adhere to safe food practices. But I had experienced similar roadside treats in Morocco and survived.  Also, I had skipped lunch so my stomach was loudly growling. I risked buying 3 skewers, which proved so tender and delicious that I quickly went back for more!

It was dark by the time we resumed our journey, and I noted with interest, that it was only 9 pm. Three weeks earlier, in Sweden, the summer night had been almost non-existent. But because Greece was closer to the equator, we lost several hours of scorching daylight but gained hours of dark, warm, spice-scented nights. No wonder dark-starved Scandinavians headed for Greece each summer.
by kind courtesy of 
http://farm1.staticflickr.com/131/409078576_99c50c5890_z.jpg

At 11 pm, we reached Athens, and immediately sought out a hotel for that night. Our driver was very helpful in suggesting a hotel where one of his relatives worked.

Travelling in the seventies really was just that casual and trusting, even in Greece!

We had been warned not to wear short shorts or tank tops in public, so as not to over-excite the hot blooded Greeks. And one had to be careful to travel with someone one already knew, when catching a taxi. Apart from taking these sensible precautions, we had no fear of being molested or harmed in Greece.
by kind courtesy of 
http://www.hostelsclub.com/pics/3791/003791-1220288581.jpg

Our tall ceilinged room at the Hotel Olympus, in the heart of the city, was a cool, spacious and most welcome reprieve after spending so many hours travelling in sunshine. And that luxury cost us each the "exorbitant" sum of $6.50 CDN per night!

Donna, of course, was hungry and went down to the lobby to ask where she could find food at midnight. Figuring that she would not be gone for long, I immediately monopolized the sink, finally cleaning my legs after my orange juice bath at Patras.

I then hand-washed my sticky clothes and hung them to dry over my bed's iron head and foot boards. In that wonderfully spacious room, all my clothes dried in less than one hour!

Unbeknownst to me, at the time, Donna had eaten her supper with the handsome green-eyed blond Greek named Kosta.  He ran the hotel's front desk and didn't speak English well. But he did order food for her and help her to understand what she was eating.

Upstairs, I revelled in my solitude, watching the street scene below our window till my eyelids drooped. I, thus, only vaguely registered Donna's return to our room around 2 am. I had hit the sheets right after finishing my laundry and re-organizing my backpack for our upcoming tour of the Greek Islands.

Next Time

July 15-18

GREECE

Greek Islands Cruise

Mykonos 

Rhodes

Crete 

Santorini

I am taking a break from writing about my past 

to live in the here and now for the summer! 

See you in September for the remainder of my 

1976 Grand Tour of Europe

Chapter 6 - Day 7:Estepona to Tangier (60 miles by land and sea)

A quien madruga, Dios le ayuda.
(God helps those who get up early)  

MY ROAD TO MOROCCO – Chapter 6: Day 7
Day 7 Estepona to Tangier
60 miles (by land and sea)
Spanish Sunrise 

photo by kind courtesy of juliabeverly.tumblr.com 

The first light of morning upon my face woke me from a deep slumber. It was almost 8am and Anton was already on his stomach, tent flap open, camera in hand, his whole body alert, poised to capture the perfect sunrise shot.

I also propped myself up on my elbows, watching, through sleepy eyes, for the sun to emerge on the horizon. Within a few moments, a perfect glowing sphere, orange in a deep red sky, emerged out of the Mediterranean Sea. 

  

My tent-mate furiously clicked the shutter on his camera, emptying an entire roll of film.  Elated by his success, Anton impulsively pulled me towards him, as if about to kiss me!

But, at that precise moment 

 the beach sweeper's motor  

RRRRRRRROARREEEDD 

to life,  heading straight towards us!

The unholy noise woke up the rest of our group, and we all hurried to take down our tents and get off that beach camp, pronto!  

Although it was barely 8am, we were all so eager to get to the port of Algeciras where would would board the ferry to Morocco, that we chose to skip breakfast. 

NOT a good idea! 

We arrived at Algeciras far too early, which aroused suspicion in the Spanish port officials who delayed for us hours while they inspected every inch of our "Love Bus".

They were probably looking for drugs, but may simply have been admiring the hippie wagon's art work! 

Whatever the reason for the frustrating delay, our bus was eventually released from official clutches just in time for it, and us, to board the noonday ferry to Tangier.

By then, our hunger pangs had turned a few of us (including me) into snarling beasts. 

Leaving the Iberian Peninsula 

We anticipated that our trip across the Strait of Gibraltar would mean a further two hours' wait before we could eat. And we were not at all 'happy campers' by this point!  

In the midst of much group moaning and groaning, Anton ushered me away from the others, telling me that he we had some unfinished business that required our attention. 

Curious, I followed as he led me towards the rear of the ferry.  There we watched the sunlit south face of the Rock of Gibraltar grow ever smaller as we sailed from Algeciras towards Tangier. 

And what a majestic sight it was!

The Rock of Gibraltar

photo by kind courtesy of: www.es.wikipedia.org

We watched in comfortable silence as our ferry put sea miles between the amazing Rock and us. And just before we left our secluded viewing spot, Anton kissed me for the second time, this time so ardently that my toes curled! 

So that's what he'd meant by 

"unfinished business" 

Our growling stomachs interrupted the romance of that moment, and we both laughed nervously, keenly aware of our immediate need for a full meal.  

Following the wonderful aroma of simmering spices, we found a dining room set with linen tablecloths, napkins and silverware.. The place was almost deserted so we enjoyed a quiet but tasty Mediterranean luncheon.

Quel Surprise!      

One simply does not expect to  

find haute cuisine on a ferry!

With the Rock of Gibraltar at our backs, the Mediterranean to the East and the wild Atlantic to the west, we were sailing towards Africa through what were historically known as being turbulent waters. 

Yet we experienced only calm waters and a steady crossing to Tangier, almost as if Morocco was bidding us "Welcome"! 

Eating on board, via credit card, had been an expensive, but impressively wise, decision since the rest of our starving group still had to wait for the ferry to dock before dining for the first time that day.

 Moroccan Dirhams

photo by kind courtesy of: http://www.worldcoins.biz 

Assuming banks would be open upon arrival in Tangier, caused yet another delay that day.  

Nobody had thought to purchase any Moroccan currency before leaving England - or Spain. So, everybody needed to visit a bank, to exchange our English pound notes for dirhams.  Till then we were 'penniless'.

Amazingly, we had all failed to realize that, in Tangier, (in 1972) everyone and everything, including the banks, shuts down every afternoon for a 4-hour siesta!

Several self-styled "entrepreneurs" had crowded around our vehicle as we'd driven off the ferry. But we'd ignored them and driven straight to the bank, where several more opportunistic outdoor vendors taunted us with tasty foods and Moroccan textiles.

With the banks closed, and no money to purchase even a snack, my fellow travellers were still hungry, whereas Anton and I had just feasted like kings. Feeling sorry for their plight, I devised a cunning plan to help alleviate their hunger pangs.

Leaving the Love Bus, my bodyguard at my elbow, I took my wrist-watch from my pocket and called over one of the dubious looking "vendors". Within minutes, I was haggling like a native and eventually, sold him my watch for a lot more than I had paid for it in the High Wycombe Market, three years earlier.

Delighted by my success, I motioned for the others to leave the bus and then gave them most of my dirhams, suggesting they buy lunch for themselves, from a nearby vendor.  It was heart-warming to watch them haggling for enough goat cheese, bread, watermelon and wine to sink a small army.  

Goat Cheese on slices of Baguette 

photo by kind courtesy of: www.dashandapinch.com

We already knew not to drink the local water at all, since regulated, safe, bottled water was still a generation away.

So, despite the early hour, everyone drank the wine, and some even washed it down with bread, cheese and fruit.

While our group was busily munching their impromptu lunch, or getting a head start on their latest hangover,  I took my few remaining dirams to the itinerant clothes merchant, eventually purchasing a blue and white, striped cotton djellaba for myself.

The djellaba is a traditional shift, similar to the caftan because of its long flowing style.  Made of cotton, it does not have a belt, comes with a hood and covers the body completely. 

Moroccan Djellaba  

photo by kind courtesy of http://www.berbertrading.com

 

Mine was similar to the one shown in this picture, except that was striped in pastel blue not brown, and was made of thin cotton that enveloped me from top to toe.

The djellaba is very easy to wear as it allows the slightest breeze to circulate beneath around your legs and torso, keeping one comfortably cool in desert heat. 

The sun seemed much hotter here, though I, too, was a bit light-headed from the wine.  Because of the daily siesta, we would have to wait several hours for the banks to re-open so that we could pay for our campsite that night and have spending money for the next day.  

Following lunch, our wine-weary drivers took a long nap in the bus, urging the rest of us to stretch our legs by exploring the hilly city. 

Tangier Medina 

photo by kind courtesy of nagual.yuku.com

Anton and I were more than ready to soak up 

a little of the history, culture and colour 

of this acclaimed Moroccan city.  

Situated on the North coast of Africa, Tangier is built on a steep hill that borders the narrow Strait of Gibraltar, gateway to the Mediterranean Sea to the North, and the Atlantic Ocean to the West.

Many civilizations and cultures have influenced this city for over 1500 years, from Berbers to the Phoenicians to modern day Europeans.

Because of its colourful history, artistic appeal and key political location, Tangier has also been inhabited and colonized by modern foreign and colonial powers, attracting diplomats, spies, writers and businesses. 

Here, Muslim, Christian and Jew peacefully co-exist, creating a flourishing, diversified industrial complex that specialized in textiles, metallurgical mechanical and ceramic products.

Tangier Football "Stadium" 

photo by kind courtesy of susanreep.com

While Anton took photos of some nearby buildings, I spied and joined a soccer game with some local children.  

Their version of the game involved running up and down the long flat steps that were carved into the hillside.

It was certainly a very odd way to play soccer, but very good exercise for the legs, since both teams jostled for the common goal post - at the very top of those steps!  

Cooperation within teams was managed by a series of lightning quick hand-signals and facial expressions. The boys ran rings around me!  Thus my pitiful attempts to follow the game succeeded only in providing everyone with a good laugh.

When siesta was over, we all returned to the Love Bus, and our drivers took us to the bank. By now, tired of the day's delays, we all wanted to set up camp and relax for the rest of the evening.

And an ocean-side campsite 

was just what we needed!  

Our campsite was run by a hippie English couple who had visited Morocco in the 60s and never left.  It was situated at the western edge of the continent, with only a line of sand-dunes separating it from the Atlantic Ocean.

Upon our arrival, our noses told us that whoever they were, they could certainly cook!

A slightly fruity, warm aroma of roasted vegetables welcomed us, and we were told that hot food would be ready for us by the time we'd finished putting up our tents.

The outdoor courtyard was simple but spacious, providing plenty of room for all of our tents and a long rustic banquet table at which we all gathered for our evening meal.   

Moroccan Couscous (press here for recipe)  

photo and recipe courtesy of http://chefmichaelsmith.com/recipe/moroccan-couscous-chickpeas 

True to their word, this incredible pair then served us a hearty vegetarian meal of Moroccan couscous with roasted vegetables, all washed down with goat milk or wine.  It was the first time I'd ever tasted couscous!

Afterwards, as the Atlantic pounded the shore just beyond the dunes, we relaxed, sharing that afternoon's experiences with each other. 

Despite its delays and hunger pangs, today had been a good day!  I had seen the Rock of Gibraltar; sailed from one continent to another; sold my watch to feed my travel companions; haggled for a djellaba; and enjoyed my first taste of Moroccan cooking in Morocco.

And then there was Anton's unexpectedly passionate kiss, which had felt so wonderful at the time.  Yet, there was something about it that bothered me.  I just hadn't figured out what yet.  But I would, of that I had NO doubt.  And when I did, Anton and I would have a serious 'talk'.

 

I knew that broaching any personal issues with Anton would require finesse, timing and privacy. And a public campsite in Tangier just wasn't the right place for it! 

Convincing myself that there was no need to explore the ramifications of our kiss, or anything else, that evening, I focused only on enjoying my time in the company of others.

I rationalized that the right opportunity for a serious 'talk' with Anton would present itself, either tomorrow, or the next day.

Believing I had all the time in the world, I then deliberately, stupidly, chose to ignore that small, nagging voice of truth we call 'woman's intuition'. 

In the days and months that followed, I was to pay dearly for that mistake. If nothing else I should have remembered that:  "Life is what happens to us while we are busy making other plans."  

Fate was to about to throw me a curve, and would show no mercy till I had well and truly learned my lesson!

Tomorrow, we would arrive in 

the ancient Moroccan city of Fes! 

Coming Soon!  

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Section 3 - Chapter 7 

From Tangier to Fes 

Camels, Cameras and Clocks in   
My Road to Morocco - Day 8 Tangier to Fes