Dear Reader (AKA smelly child from Class 5H … yes, I smell you),
If you are reading this, you need to stop now. Immediately. This is an incredibly private TOP-SECRET journal that nobody (especially you) must ever read, under any circumstances. Stop. Now.
Yours sincerely,
Margie Haggis (Mrs Haggis to you)
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.2 Here we are at last! Three withered Year Five teachers on leave for five whole days in majestic Morocco! Aren’t we the luckiest?
My only hope is that the man sitting next to me on the flight, with a cough like a dying pit bull, was not contagious. No amount of Dettol wipes could protect me against the slime bucket he coughed into my lap, over my hands and onto my meal.
I feel a tickle in my throat.
No, Margie. Pull yourself together. You have five days in Morocco. The nasty man with the nasty cough is not going to ruin this precious holiday for you. Time away from those beasts in Class 5H will be enjoyed, under any circumstances!
Now, to meet Irene and Mildred, teachers in breeches. Partners in crime. Ladies of adventure. Margie, Irene and Mildred take on the world, one country at a time!
But mainly, we will relax, and undo the horrible trauma those school children have inflicted upon us.
Morocco – we have arrived!
Well. That Irene. I told Mildred we should leave her at home. But no. Irene had to tag along like an unpleasant smell. And look, I’d put up with it (the smell and Irene) if it wasn’t for that hideous purple tracksuit!
Let me backtrack one moment to the mild and dusty afternoon in the central square, where a snake (which was meant to be dancing to the dulcet tones of a flute) decided to dance up my kaftan.3
Oh, the look on poor Mildred’s face before she collapsed in the street with terror! Didn’t that snake know Mildred has a weak heart?
I shouldn’t blame the snake, I suppose. It was the snake charmer who was to blame. He was making eyes at Irene, instead of watching the snake. I did wonder, Why is he looking at Irene? Irene is wearing that tracksuit and those white sneakers!
I knew that purple tracksuit would ruin my day. I just knew it! I should have insisted Irene change. But no. I am too kind. Too generous. I let her swan out into the streets of Morocco dressed like a moonwalker.
Just thinking about that tracksuit and that horrid snake is making me flushed. Frazzled! This is not what I had in mind for my peaceful Moroccan holiday. I am here to relax!
Breathe, Margie. Breathe. Take a sip of something strong. Yes, that’s better. Hmmmm.
Margie Haggis – a snake will not ruin your holiday. Nor will Irene’s tracksuit. And that is why you, Margie Haggis, teacher extraordinaire, woman of the world, will head to the Moroccan Museum of Antiquities first thing tomorrow, and let your stress wash away like the sands of time.
Hmmm. How To Relax In Morocco (12th Edition) has a very unusual understanding of ‘museum’. I always thought a museum was a large building, displaying interesting artefacts, terracotta bowls, bones, that kind of thing.
But here in Morocco, a museum is packed full of naked people.
Where do I start? Well, there I was, queuing up for the museum, looking for Irene and Mildred. The snake charmer from yesterday was giving me eyes this time. Probably because Irene wasn’t there to distract him. Irene and Mildred had already gone into the museum, I supposed.
Finally, after a dreadful wait, I was let inside. The first surprise was that the museum was very hot. Hotter than outside, and wetter than a damp towel. I would have thought the artefacts would not fare well in such conditions.
The second surprise was that the lady at the ticket booth instructed me to take off my kaftan. Well! That seemed highly inappropriate! What would the artefacts think, if they saw me in my underwear?
But the lady was very firm about it. She ended up shoving me into a changing room, with a bunch of other women in their underwear. Some had nothing on at all! Quite a shock!
I thought I better do the right thing, and respect the local culture. Fortunately, I was wearing my most glamorous underwear. My polka dots. So I hung my kaftan with all the others, and proceeded into the main hall.
I looked everywhere for artefacts. And everywhere for Irene and Mildred. I couldn’t see them, or the artefacts, anywhere! What was more bizarre was that all the naked and semi-naked people seemed to be sitting around in bathtubs! Curious.
I went from room to room. Opened door after door.
Ahead was a sign in Arabic. I whipped out my handy Arabic to English translation guide, which I’d cleverly stored in my underwear, in case of emergencies, and translated:
Wrong way! Go back!
Since this particular translation guide can be very untrustworthy, I decided that it had the translation wrong. I pushed the door, expecting to finally see Irene, Mildred, or at the very least, a terracotta bowl from the Byzantine Empire.
But no. I was outside. On the street. In my underwear.
The only positive about this situation was that the snake charmer with the eyes happened to be walking past at that very moment, and threw his cobra at me in surprise. His cobra provided just the right amount of coverage, so I could get back to the hotel without raising too many eyebrows.
According to Irene and Mildred, who were sipping mint tea in the foyer, the museum had lots of terracotta bowls from the Byzantine Empire, and next to no naked people. Perhaps they were in a different museum that whole time.
The good news is that tomorrow we, the girls, will be heading into the mountains for scenic views, and pots of mint tea. I am very excited about this. It sounds more relaxing than the hot, wet, naked museum I visited today. I might even get to ride a camel!
Here we are in the mountains. We are not meant to still be here. But there has been a slight glitch.
It all began (once again) with Irene’s awful tracksuit and white sneakers. This time, the sneakers were to blame.
I told Irene she should change into appropriate hiking gear. Like me.
But typical Irene, she refused. So there we were on the mountain, Mildred and I in kaftans, as appropriate, and Irene in her awful tracksuit and sneakers.
We rode a camel (my dream!) until my camel spat on Mildred, which I personally thought was humorous, but Mildred thought was the end of the world.
So we found a man with a donkey. It turned out the donkey was happy to take three reasonably sized school teachers on its back. This was an effective mode of transport, and it got us up the mountain.
Unfortunately, the donkey passed away just as we reached the summit and the glorious view. It was a terrible time for him to die, really. We had come this far, and just wanted to enjoy it! But instead, we found ourselves burying a donkey in a mound of sand.
We also had to worry about how to get down the mountain, and worry is certainly the best way to spoil a good view.
After much argument (mainly caused by Mildred), we realised that we had only one option. To walk.
So we did. We walked. I was quite enjoying it, actually. The fresh air tickled my lungs. I even forgot about my wretched itchy throat.
All of a sudden, who should go slipping off the mountain in her fresh white sneakers, but Irene.
She fell down a mountain or two, and it was very inconvenient. Without a donkey or a camel (thanks to Mildred), we had to walk two whole mountains to get to Irene.
Poor Irene. Broken into three pieces. A terrible way to go. I will miss her, despite her hideous fashion sense.
If only the rug-seller, who is hanging around like a bad smell, would give Mildred and I a moment with our beloved friend.
Lucky that rug-seller turned up when he did and offered us an incredible bargain on a very nice red mottled Moroccan carpet. Lucky too that Irene was not alive, so could not protest when I raided her bumbag4 for the remaining dollars needed to make the purchase.
We probably paid more than we should have, but the carpet was exactly Irene-sized. So we rolled her up in the rug. The seller was feeling generous and donated his donkey.
This donkey was larger than the last one. Still, we didn’t want to risk the loss of yet another life. So Mildred and I had to walk the entire way back to Marrakesh leading a donkey, who carried Irene like a sausage roll. I would have found the exercise pleasantly stimulating and relaxing had it not been for Mildred’s constant moaning about blisters.
Come on, Mildred. We are Year Five teachers! We are used to blisters!
Fortunately, the first car hire place we came to had a lovely little blue hatchback available. Thanks again to Irene’s bumbag, we paid more than the car was worth, and set off with Irene rolled in the carpet and strapped to the roof.
I was just reflecting on how glorious five days in Morocco had been for my mental health, when the fuel light came on.
We rolled into a garage ten kilometres down the road.
It was all Mildred’s fault, really. She wanted crisps. I told her to stay in the car and keep an eye on Irene. But she insisted on coming into the store, sure I wouldn’t select the right flavour.
So there we were, buying crisps and fuel (I knew Mildred would pick salt and vinegar – just saying) when a lousy individual came and unstrapped our lovely mottled red carpet (and Irene) from the roof of the car, and made off with it.
I only wish we’d chosen a less attractive carpet. Then we could have returned Irene’s tracksuited body to her family in more or less one piece, for a proper burial.
DING!
Could passengers on Flight 616 to Sydney please make their way to the boarding gate.
Ah. Our flight. When I review my current mental state compared to when I first arrived in Morocco, I can say with immense satisfaction that our Moroccan holiday was a success. I no longer remember those ghastly children from Class 5H. And despite the ever-growing tickle in my throat, my body feels more-or-less fantastic. All that mountain walking.
It is a shame Irene cannot be with us on the flight home. She and I could have ignored Mildred’s dreadful moaning. We could have laughed loudly about our Moroccan adventures and looked at selfies on our phone. But all things have a silver lining – I am looking forward to making the most of that spare seat dear Irene left behind.
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2 Long, relieved and incredibly happy sigh.
3 A very exotic and flattering oversized dress.
4 A hideous bag worn on the bottom, that only Irene would wear (bless her cotton socks).