Morocco, surprisingly, was not as hot as my present locale, it brushing the top end of the 30s here in Hong Kong. Hong Kong? You exclaim! But you were meant to write about sand raiders and lost tombs and whatnot from your magic wireless in the desert! Alas, my friends I lost my magic wireless somewhere in Berlin after a bad poker hand.
But even with no magical wireless internets, and often no internets at all (shock horror!) a marvellous time was had by all. Morocco was filled with amazing sights and sounds, often awful smells and seemingly endless touts and hawkers who were summarily ignored, and shooed away with the ever useful No-stare.
Everything about morocco is different to what I have encountered elsewhere on my travels, the people, food, architecture, and even how often they eat (I do not suggest going during ramadan). Alas my visitation to north africa was cut short by lack of working phone numbers for the finn air Paris desk, thus I had to return to try to change the flight or, failing that, catch it (not liliputian style) and go where the pilot decides to take me. Obviously I could not change it, and the pilot decided to do what he was told and go to Hong Kong.
So here I am, in Hong Kong with a slight cold (it seems whenever I go to Asia I am with cold just before I arrive, thus freaking out the quarrantine minions at the airport and wasting valuable asia time. Luckily this time I avoided quarrantine, it was like frogger).
I am very happy to be here, as a fan of Hong Kong cinema (well the kung fu/police movie bits)I am simply happy to be where Jackie Chan might have been. I keep expecting to see running battles between rival Kung Fu clans or a lone fighter taking on a horde of hooligans in a back alley complete with slow mo replays and awesomely cheesy 80s soundtracks. Although this has not yet occoured, I remain hopeful.
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