Traveller is in mourning.
Summer has officially, and unequivocally left Britain.
Today, Traveller had to extract her winter wardrobe from the depths of her storage container (if anyone has lived in a small room, in a London flat, you know what T's talking about) and replace it with her shorts, singlets and all other summer paraphernalia that she won't see for the next six months.
A solemn occasion.
The good news?
Traveller was able to enjoy one last sunny jaunt to an exotic occasion before hibernating for the winter.
The chosen destination?
Most European countries that T visits tend to play host to a significant level of contrast. Indeed, 'city of contrasts' is a cliche that is thrown around many cities throughout the world. There is always the rich and the poor. The beautitful and the ugly. The delicious and the repulsive. The irritable and the placid. Those that are in a rush and those that have all day.
Marrakech was one of these cities.
The first and most obvious example of this was our girl's visit to a Moroccan spa.
On our last day in Marrakech we decided to treat ourselves by visiting a local spa for a mud scrub, facial mask and massage. There were five girls on the trip and we all woke up in anticipation of the delicious pampering that was bound to occur. We arrived at our destination after our guide wove us through the many bustling, motorcyle-ridden side-streets of Marrakech.
Thoroughly lost, we were pleased and impressed upon arrival at our spa. It was so beautifully designed and tranquil that we almost high-fived each other right in the courtyard. Instead, we composed ourselves and giddily changed into our plush robes and flip-flops.
Our spa attendant did not speak English and instead we communicated through a variety of confused sign-language. She guided us upstairs to a hallway of three rooms which faced the courtyard. Pausing, we all looked at each other, eager for the pampering to begin. With no warning, the attendant put her hand on Traveller's arm and gently pushed T into one of the concrete rooms, stripped her robe off (revealing T's last clean pair of underwear) and left her facing her horror-struck friends. T started to feel nervous. What on earth was the attendant going to do with her? The concrete room had two beds in it, a sink filled with strange looking pastes and a large shower head that was streaming hot water which covered both beds and the ground.
Suddenly, the door closed and Traveller was left in the dark room by herself, wondering what to do. She decided to sit and wait and grew more nervous by the second. One minute passed and then RF was suddenly shoved into the room. T breathed a sigh of relief. At least they could experience whatever atrocities were going to occur, together. They sat on the bed, in their now soaking underwear, and started to giggle hysterically. Tears of laughter started to trickle down T's cheeks as she struggled to compose herself.
Soon, the attendant came in and proceeded to scrub RF down in front of T. As RF's dead skin trickled onto the concrete floor, T started to feel a little squeamish which helped in calming down her severe case of the giggles. RF was then washed down which involved being doused in water thrown at her in little buckets. Copping a splash right in the face, RF struggled to blink and breathe which caused T to descend into giggles once more.
One girl, afterwards, likened it to being reminscent of receiving your weekly prison wash.
A truly awkward experience.
T is happy to report, however, that the massage was lovely.