This site is about our journey as we swap out the working life to be ‘freelancing’ travellers. We are living nomadically, moving from one destination to another, staying longer term so that we can get a feel for what it would be like to live there. We are slow travelling, not yet ready to settle down in one place as ex pats, on the hunt for those cities or countries where we wish to return to for when we want or need to slow down. Staying for about a month at a time allows us to ‘live’, shopping locally and exploring our local area to find favourite restaurants and cafes, meet some of the locals and still have time to take in the sights.
Check out our itinerary so far here.
The journey begins – getting from Australia to Morocco
We left Oakey feeling sad as Colin’s Dad is not well, but it was wonderful to be able to spend some time with him and Mum. We managed to only get a bit lost finding a petrol station on the way to drop the hire car off – love google maps! We still had plenty of time to check in and sit around the airport waiting for our flight from Brisbane to Sydney and got a lovely surprise when we were asked if we would like to be seated in an exit row. Need you ask?
We arrived in Sydney and decided, wisely, to get a cab to our overnight Airbnb – Sunny Mascot was fabulous – close and very comfortable. I apparently forgot to tell Colin that we didn’t have the whole place to ourselves – just a bedroom – but he really didn’t make that much noise. After a good night’s sleep we checked out early and taxied to the airport for the big exit from Oz. Check-in wasn’t open so we cooled our heels for a couple of hours and then the fun began. Flying Premium Economy meant we skipped ahead in the queue which is always nice, and then the show started. Just how much luggage do people really think they can get on a plane? We watched the economy line move quickly while we got stuck behind families trying to put 40kg bags plus cartons of ‘stuff’ through as checked baggage. It’s always interesting to see inside other people’s luggage while they try to stuff the excess into other bags.
Of course, things were going too well. We approached the extremely patient check-in lady thinking we would be a quick job until she tried to scan Colin’s passport. When she asked if he had ever used it before, the panic set in. Another swipe – still no registration of his passport. And another. And another. Now we’re starting to think I was going to be travelling solo. Finally, his passport registered and we were handed our boarding passes. Seriously don’t need that stress.
We earned a few steps on our way to the American Express lounge but it was well worth the walk. We enjoyed a couple of free drinks and a decent, hot meal courtesy of the Amex card and relaxed in the relative civility of the members lounge until our flight.
We happily settled into our seats onboard and played with the controls to see just how comfortable the flight was going to be. Definitely extra legroom and the recline angle meant our heads would stay in place once we started snoring. The movie selection was a bit lame and forced us to watch movies we probably wouldn’t have chosen, but they were ok to kill the time. Landing in Hanoi was very pretty – a fantastic lightning storm as we flew over the city lights. It’s a big place! We both got a solid 4 – 6 hours of sleep on the Hanoi to Paris flight so the time didn’t drag and even though we left Hanoi an hour late, we still arrived into Paris on time. A short train ride from arrivals to baggage claim and a sigh of relief to retrieve our luggage and make our way through immigration and customs.
With almost 12 hours looming before us before our flight to Morocco, we searched out the luggage storage (and clocked up 10000 steps) and checked our bags in for 6 hours, with a plan to find our way to one of the small towns located not far from Charles de Gaulle. Not brave enough to navigate the rail system, we opted to take a taxi to the nearest town of Mesnil-Amelot which a website suggested for a Parisienne layover. For just 14 euros a rather confused taxi driver dropped us in the middle of what appeared to be a quaint little town. We should have taken note of one, the taxi driver’s obvious confusion about why we wanted to go to Mesnil-Amelot and two, the complete lack of activity on the streets. But the streets look quite quaint, so we naively thought perhaps being typically European, shops and cafes didn’t open until 10 am.
After wandering the streets and accumulating another 10000 steps, we returned to the only open and staffed business to seek help, sustainance and rehydration. Angelina spoke a little more English than we spoke French and was kind enough to order an Uber for us using her app as we didn’t think ahead far enough to one, have any data or two, have the Uber app downloaded. Our grand adventure has started showing us how underprepared we are. We ate our delicious pastries and, thanks to the kindness of a French girl, we managed to get back to the airport. We still had hours to wait, but we had had one too many frights so we wandered up and down the terminal, accumulating more steps and killing time.
I got a message from Booking.com to say our flight from Casablanca to Marrakech had been cancelled, so that set us off on more steps to try to work out what we were going to do. My faith in Royal Air Maroc (RAM) is low as they have not responded to any of my requests for communication regarding the change in flight from Paris, but, after speaking with check-in staff, I re-checked the message and realised Booking.com hadn’t updated the flight change and that it was an old message. Disaster averted…again.
Feeling a bit frazzled and very tired, we boarded the flight to Casablanca. It was very crowded on the very full flight, but we got fed and watered, and arrived into Casablanca with plenty of time to get to the next flight. It was a surreal layover as we followed the signs to domestic transfers, especially when the group in front of us all turned around and went the ‘wrong’ way. We continued going against the flow and, undaunted, followed the signs until we came to two sleepy security officers who had to turn the scanner on to let us through. We were still the only people, so in total confusion we got scanned and followed the directions to gate 6. No customs or immigration yet, but an official looking woman confirmed we were at the right departure point so we found a spare spot on the floor and waited with the masses for our flight. By this stage, it was more than 40 hours since we left Sydney, but watching the families and men and women praying whiled away the time.
Finally, our flight to Marrakech began to board. Onto a bus to our plane which was a prop job and an old one at that. It was a very basic flight, but as we landed at midnight, we were just glad to get to the airport. Marrakech airport is much fancier than what we saw in Casablanca. Immigration didn’t take too long, but that was the end of the smooth travelling. Colin’s bag came around the baggage carousel and after another 20 minutes of futile waiting, we accepted that my bag was not going to join us. Almost an hour later, I had a report from lost luggage, an assurance that my bag would be on the 10 am flight the next day and that I would be contacted when it arrived. Remember my lack of faith in RAM?
Our transfer to the Riad was waiting, somewhat cranky at the delay, and we drove through still busy streets at nearly two in the morning. It’s warm and does not bode well for daytime temperatures. Thankfully, our driver waited until our guide to the Riad arrived so that we weren’t left on the corner surrounded by questionable locals. The walk to the Riad only took about 10 minutes and we were shown to our room without bothering with any of the formalities of check in. In Morocco at last.
Townsville
