Back in Agadir

Back in Agadir, but not for long. For the whole journey from my home in Polranny to the room in the Tildi 14 hours later I had been fueled by adrenalin. As soon as the night porter closed the door of my hotel room behind him I fell on the bed in a deep sleep. Once I'm 'on my way' I tend to relax. I have no problem to leave worries about the next day behind once I'm in the state of traveling. However before I'm on the move I'm totally, insanely nervous and sick with apprehension. I contracted this in my youth. Before I started on another hitchhiking adventure I was ill for a week, but the desire for adventure and the urge to get away always won from the sickening panic. It was delightful to wake up knowing I was in Morocco once again. I thought I would be picked up by Aisha's friend around 2 o'clock. That meant I would miss the beginning of the 'Reunion'. But I didn't care. Now I was in Agadir I didn't worry anymore about if and how to get to Tiznit or Iligh. I felt confident again. However before I went down for breakfast I got a message that Abdellatif Jhilal would be at the hotel at 10 o'clock. During breakfast I had just enough time to make a sketch of the view from the terras of the iconic hill and the fortifications that gave Agadir its name. The complementary fruit basket the hotel staff had so kindly put in my room was hurriedly stuffed into my shoulder bag. At least some of it.

Irish-Moroccan or Moroccan-Irish?

The flight from Dublin to Agadir with Air Arabia was supposed to leave at 10.35 PM. Checking in started three hours before departure. I had arrived at 17.30hours in Dublin with a lot of luggage as I would fly from Agadir to Amsterdam and was going to spend at least 2 months there. That meant I had to cart a lot of medical stuff around. Sightseeing in Dublin was no option. Instead I dragged my heels, looked around a lot and made three detailed sketches to pass the time. The crowd that was going to Agadir was an interesting lot. I never knew there were Moroccans in Ireland. Moroccans certainly hadn't been hired away from the villages to do the dirty work like in the Netherlands. Traditionally people left from Ireland to find work someplace else. Who were those Moroccans on the flight with me? Turned out most were Moroccan men married to Irish women and their families. Around me I heard Moroccans speak English with strong Irish accents. This was cute. It was a few days after Saint Patrick's Day and a week before Easter. Were the mixed families going back to Morocco after visiting Irish family for Saint Paddy's or were they going to Morocco to visit Moroccan family for Easter hols? For most of the flight I slept. Funny: every time I go through passport controle coming into Morocco a Moroccan in front of me is getting into a fight of words with an official. Of course I can't understand what they are saying, but it is always very emotional: the return of the immigrant to the mother country. Never easy.