Once in Taghazout, I tried to look for the hostel I booked a room at. I found the owner and he informed that my reservation was cancelled because I didn't answer his phone call, which I never received. When asked him to check the phone number he used, it was definitely mine but the last two pair of numbers were misplaced. My bad.
The room I booked was already taken, so he suggested that he himself would look for suitable accommodation for me. Eventually, he hooked me up with his cousin who owns a house and rent separate rooms. I got a room in the second floor with shared kitchen, bathroom and living room. It was clean and in rather secure place, so I took it. Upon my arrival to the said house, I found to foreigners about to check in.
Besides the owners of the house, I was the only Moroccan amongst two Irish and a group of 3 Spanish surfers. My room was next to the Irish guys. The Irish guys and I arrived at the same time to the house, so when the tenant was showing me my room, his brother was showing the Irish guys theirs and asking for their passports to complete the formalities.
The Spanish group were settled in the roof floor, been there for almost a week, I heard. All I heard from them were the "hola" and the sound of their struggle to bring up or down their paddle and surfing boards. They were beyond sun-bathed and often stoned.
The room I booked was already taken, so he suggested that he himself would look for suitable accommodation for me. Eventually, he hooked me up with his cousin who owns a house and rent separate rooms. I got a room in the second floor with shared kitchen, bathroom and living room. It was clean and in rather secure place, so I took it. Upon my arrival to the said house, I found to foreigners about to check in.
Besides the owners of the house, I was the only Moroccan amongst two Irish and a group of 3 Spanish surfers. My room was next to the Irish guys. The Irish guys and I arrived at the same time to the house, so when the tenant was showing me my room, his brother was showing the Irish guys theirs and asking for their passports to complete the formalities.
The Spanish group were settled in the roof floor, been there for almost a week, I heard. All I heard from them were the "hola" and the sound of their struggle to bring up or down their paddle and surfing boards. They were beyond sun-bathed and often stoned.
The Irish guys, on the other hand, we became friends. One in his late fifties and the other in his late thirties. I learnt that the two of them knew each other on their flight to Morocco only and they have traveled together in improv. They visited Fez and Chafchaouen and they intended to go south. When I say friends, I meant friends who didn't worry about or bother memorizing the names of each other because it was fine.
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