The Party Hostel

At the time of writing the last blog we were staying in a hostel we had stumbled into after our walk which was, amazingly, about 2.50 a night. Bargain. Unfortunately we later learnt that sometimes sleeping that cheaply just isn't worth it.

It started innocently enough. They brought in an extra mattress for us and nice blankets to the sounds of 'aaaawww how sweet.' We had a little nap and woke up to the smell of damp and wet dog. It must be us - post walk - we thought. We then climbed up the waterfall which Setti Fatma is famous for, pulled groins and all. We could barely laugh we were in so much pain but refused to miss out on the one reason we had walked that far. We spent the afternoon being typically British and getting in the freezing waterfall when no one else would dare.

When we returned we noticed that there were no other guests in the 'hotel' and that the Arabic hip hop was gradually getting louder and more offensive. Shrugging it off as 'the party hostel' we continued considering it a bargain.

As dusk set in things began to turn. Slowly the place began to fill with boys offering us marriage, but not in a funny 'i'll give you ten camels' way but in a 'you come back to mine, eat cous cous and ...'. We stopped them there. When the realisation dawned on us that this hostel was run by the local 'hashish' dealer no words were spoken, we simply knew it was time to go to bed and lock the door.

'Girls, don't they have a master key to all the rooms?' Ofcourse they did. So we did what any North Oxford girl would do, we tied Ellie's pashmina through the door handles. Triple strength. There was a hole in the door which I feared they could look through. A plaster was quickly whipped out and the problem was solved. Our bum bags were clipped to us for a swift exit through the window, the Sanex and bug spray were held tightly and head scarfs were wrapped round us for extra protection (not entirely sure how this would work but it felt great). We were the safest we could possibly be. Clever girls.

Midnight came and went and we heard a banging on a door. I thought it was our door but we are still not sure. The Sanex was grabbed but thankfully nothing came of it. What with the pashmina and the plaster we felt totally safe and were able to nervously giggle throughout the night. In the early hours of the morning the hip hop stopped and Ellie began to snore. We had got through the worst of it. That was until we heard tapping at our window causing us to sit bolt upright in bed but it was just a confused bird.

In the morning we snuck out with a very feeble 'shukran' and jumped into the nearest taxi bound for Marrakech. Looking back, we definitely, unhelpfully, syched eachother up ('girls there are markings on the wall, do you think they are the names of all the people they've captured?', 'what if they get a tiny pair of scissors and cut the pashima?' 'what if they make a hole in the plaster?' and the classic 'what was that, did you just hear that?') and can laugh about it now. But there was a lesson learnt: don't lose your sanity and sleep just to save a few pounds.

Essaouira has been just what we needed. The chance to read, lie, sleep and do very little walking. The 'windy city' has blown the bad memories away. Unfortunately it also blew something bad into Kate's ear and she has developed an ear infection as a result but is on the mend. It's time to go to Agadir where we can do more of the same, without the wind and in a hotel exceeding our budget. Perfect.