Arrived at Tangier train station, a pristine marble structure. I sat nervously for several hours before summoning up the courage to introduce myself to a large coral of English-speaking peoples. I was then introduced into a world of secret deposits of toilet paper & toilet squatting stategies, gap year curriculum vitae, & descriptions of around-the-world itineraries unmatched by Marco Polo.












The train was for Marakech and travelled overnight. I bedded down in a cabin alongside Osama, a tall Kasakhstani engineering student, James, an Englishman seeking the surf on the south coast, and a polite Moroccan gentleman, whose name I have forgotten, who was visting his family in Marakech. On attempting to board the train, James was blocked by an assiduous guard who refused his surfboard permission to stow. We negotiated its safe passage and custody in the cabin, whilst being amused by an attentive toothless cigarrette tout. Osama told us about Kasakhstan, a vast country (ninth largest in the world), and the wealth of many of its citizens, grown rich from natural gas supplies. James' aspiration was to be contracted to work on Nigerian oil rigs as a technical consultant, and he bemoamed the restrictive religous education of his girlfriend by her family. In response I & Osama had some measured comments about God & Mammon. I was expected to speak on the Archbishop of Canterbury's behalf.

Osama barricades the water closet whilst James indicates the signage.




















A room with a view (I).