A Virtual Holiday

Well I supposed thats it; restrictions via lockdown and social distancing on any chance of a holiday outside of a Hertfordshire house and back garden. Just think of the basic logistics now; from booking a taxi to get to the airport, reduced flights, visa restrictions, compulsary quarantines, curfews, closed bars, restaurants and the potential of limited supplies of toilet paper.

But for our intrepid traveller all is not lost. Fancy a trip to lets say Morocco without getting out of your armchair?

Ok, prepare for take off. Straighten up your recliner, put away your breakfast tray and bon voyage.

Morocco is a sort of paradox among countries, for though it lies south of Potters Bar, yet it is purely Oriental in character, and though it is but three hours’ by plane from whats left of our airports, yet it makes you feel as if you had been taken up by the scruff of the neck and set down in the Old Testament.

There is much to see and experience as we penetrate effortlessly to Fez and Wazan, see the lovely gate at Mequinez and the Hassen Tower by Rabat, feast with sheikhs, live in an atmosphere of Moors, mosques and mirages, visit the city of the lepers and the slave-market of Sus, and play loo under the shadow of the Atlas Mountains.

Luckily we have on the trip a local guide and translator, lets call him Abdul Karem. Quite a necessity, as the Moorish language is so guttural that no one can ever hope to pronounce it right who has not been brought up within hearing of the grunting of camels; being consequently, the only way by which a European can acquire anything like the proper accent.

The Sultan who we are introduced to does not know how much he is married, but he unquestionably is so to a very large extent: on the dual principles that you cannot have too much of a good thing, and as a woman is valued in proportion to her stoutness, so far from there being any reduction made in the marriage-market for taking a quantity, you must pay so much per pound. Hence the need to establish to the populace your rightful place in the pecking order.

It is also a religious country, and the Arabs believe that the Shereef of Wazan to be such a holy man that, if he is guilty of taking champagne, the forbidden wine is turned into milk as he quaffs it, and if he gets extremely drunk he is merely in a mystical trance.

Ah, but time to return to Blighty. Effortless boarding, immigration and no jet lag. Where shall we go next?