Andrea and I have done about a week in Morocco now and while still extremely exhausting, we are starting to get used to the thieving culture ever-present to the average tourist. There have been some really dark moments along the way. Being ripped off by the tag-team combination of a Taxi driver and his guide at midnight along the dimly lit alleyways of Tangier's Old Media was an interesting experience. Getting sold a fake bus tickets on the way to Tétouan wasn't too bad either. I really should have seen that one coming - my bad.

We arrived in Fès yesterday and met a group of anglo-backpackers staying at our pension. What a relief! It had been quite a while since we had meet anyone that we could really identify with. Sure we were all backpackers, and yes we shared same mother tongue, but the thing that really bound us together was the fact that here in Morocco, we had all been hustled on a daily basis. For the first hour, it was the only thing we talked about. Everyone had a story - several in fact. And while those events were initially unpleasant, for once we could all just laugh. It was one of the most cathartic experiences in my life.



When night came we all strolled outside along the tiny broken streets of the old medina. It was much more entertaining to be hustled while being in a group of 6 (3 Australians, 1 Briton, 1 American and 1 Canadian), compared to that of being alone with Andrea. I guess it's the whole safety in numbers thing.

One of the guys recommended a quaint little restaurant that he had been to for the last few nights. The food was great but the owner was a bit of a nutter. He revealed to us an English word that none of us had ever heard off (it sounded so non-English that it has already escaped me). We told him that we were very sure that it didn't exist but he wasn't to be persuaded.

We finished the night off in a small quiet bar with an apple-flavoured shisha. Smoke is good, but I really do miss having a nice alcoholic beverage.