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    Morocco: Without a Pit to Hiss In
    Morocco: Without a Pit to Hiss In
    Morocco: Without a Pit to Hiss In
    Ebook62 pages1 hour

    Morocco: Without a Pit to Hiss In

    By Joei Carlton Hossack

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    About this ebook

    After a 2 day visit to Morocco, author Joei Carlton Hossack and her husband Paul return for a much longer visit foregoing a guide to venture out on their own. They discover a new world filled with great food, belly dancers and thieves.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJoei Carlton Hossack
    Release dateAug 24, 2013
    ISBN9781301438198
    Morocco: Without a Pit to Hiss In
    Author

    Joei Carlton Hossack

    Joei Carlton Hossack is the author of 6 main stream travel books and produces her own line of books called Mini Reads. She is an entertaining and inspirational speaker, a travel-writing and memoir-writing teacher and an amateur photographer. She was born in Montreal and has traveled extensively. She has spent 25 years as an RVer and when not traveling she resides in British Columbia.

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      Book preview

      Morocco - Joei Carlton Hossack

      Morocco

      Without a Pit to Hiss In

      By: Joei Carlton Hossack

      Surrey, British Columbia

      JoeiCarlton@Hotmail.com

      JoeiCarlton.H@gmail.com

      www.JoeiCarlton.com

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical including photocopy, recording or any information storage or retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher, except for a reviewer who may quote brief passages.

      Copyright: 2010 Joei Carlton Hossack

      ISBN: e-Book Edition: 9781301438198

      Other books by the same author:

      Restless from the Start

      Everyone’s Dream Everyone’s Nightmare

      Kiss This Florida, I’m Outta Here

      A Million Miles from Home

      Alaska Bound and Gagged

      Free Spirit – Born to Wander

      Chasing the Lost Dream

      Mini Reads:

      How I Lost 3 Pounds in 30 Years

      Down on the Farm

      Stuck in Grease Greece

      One Scared Chick

      We had been on the road exactly ninety-two days, only recently having stopped counting off the days and then weeks of our ten-years in the planning, trip-of-a-lifetime, when we boldly drove into a piss hole of a town called Tarifa in southern Spain.

      Like most of the villages along the way, we saw very little that impressed us. If a structure was completed it was heavily taxed so most buildings had a completed first and sometimes second story with anything above unfinished and unsightly with rusted iron rods sticking straight up or right-angled towards heaven. Amidst the rubble, which was the town, was one hole-in-the-broken-down-concrete-wall travel agency offering trips to Africa. My fair-haired husband’s eyes opened and bulged to the size of a giant goldfish with what seemed like a little twinkly star pattern in the iris. I’m sure it was just the sunlight glinting off his glasses but he sure got excited in a hurry.

      Oh, he said. Please, let’s go! I really want to go to Africa," giving me that please-please-please face with his bushy, blond brows knitted into a unibrow and his forehead creased like a shar pei puppy.

      Noooooooo, I moaned, giving him my exaggerated expression of terror for all things new and different along with my look of unspoken desperation. Since I was sure his desire sprang from a knee-jerk reaction to seeing the sign, he didn’t take much convincing to get back behind the wheel of our motorhome and drive on to Algecirus – a slightly larger and more populated piss hole. Unfortunately there were travel agencies on every corner offering the same sort of trips.

      Rats, I mumbled.

      At his childish pleading and throwing little air-kisses my way, I finally relented and we walked through the door into the agency called Tour Africa. We were greeted with a smile from a dark-haired young woman in a neatly tailored charcoal gray suit and after a few pleasantries Paul asked about purchasing two tickets on the ferry. I went into shock, my mouth hanging open like my jaw had popped out of its socket and as arid as if I had just finished licking dust bunnies off a shag carpet.

      Ticket, I roared in a throat-strangling whisper. You’re not even talking about taking a tour. You just want to go and find your way around on that heathen continent where they would just as soon kill us as look at us. Just tickets!

      Come on, Joei, he said. The English said the French were unwashed sex maniacs and the French referred to the Spanish as war-mongering Arabs and we’re having a good time here, aren’t we? We still haven’t been murdered in our beds, have we?"

      Only because we keep our doors locked at all times and you’re bigger than most of them, I retorted.

      It was a look of exasperation but I had seen it so many times on the trip that I refused to comment and obviously they had seen it in the agency more times then they cared to think about because they just stood around and looked at each other without interrupting. So we wouldn’t discourage other potential travelers who had wandered in and were picking up brochures, we were sequestered in an unoccupied office with red velvet walls, I assumed for soundproofing, behind closed doors and we could hash it out in private.

      I’m definitely not going to any part of that country without a tour," I said emphatically and stood with my feet apart, my hands on my hips to show that I couldn’t be budged or bowled over. He stepped closer.

      Everyone we spoke to said that they never felt safe in Morocco and always brought a dog along, even if they had to steal one along the way, so their vehicle wouldn’t be broken into because the Moroccans are afraid of rabies, I whimpered. I don’t understand why you feel you have to go EVERYwhere and see EVERYthing."

      Please, please, please, please, he moaned, his lower lip puffing out in a pout.

      It didn’t take long and, with his arms around me and guaranteeing his undying protection, kissing the tip of my nose and licking my glasses that always pissed me off and got me laughing at the same time, we came to an agreement. We would purchase a two-day tour and if we (or should I say I) liked it, we would go back on our own for a longer visit. Yeah…..like that was going to happen!

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