Of all my travel adventures, this one felt like the biggest risk.
Why? Because this was a VERY last-minute trip, organised off the back of a 10 minute video call with a stranger from Facebook.
I’d been considering getting into cat-sitting for a while, as if I do have to leave London then it’d be a cost-effective way to travel, at least some of the time.
And just days after receiving my latest Section 21 eviction notice, I spotted a post in a group for female travellers asking for a cat sitter for the following week.
I commented, she asked me to DM and other than the call the arrangement was made out of pure vibes; neither of us asked very many questions, or did a sensible amount of research.
I’ve written before about going with my gut and that’s what she and I both did to arrange this trip.
And that’s how I found myself, just days later, sitting in an Uber at 2:30am driving through torrential rain to the National Express bus stop.
I don’t know what it is about the National Express to Stansted – maybe it’s the blue lighting – but it always feels like I’ve entered another dimension.
My intention had been to TRY and get an early night, so I could get a few hours’ sleep before leaving but everything was so last minute the day had run away from me, time slipping uncontrollably through my fingers, and it had soon reached the point where I knew it would be better to power through than try and sleep.
I’m naturally a night owl and having to wake at 2am after just a couple of hours would have left me feeling groggy and ill…that’s if I managed to wake up at all.
So sitting on that coach, under those blue lights, felt like having an out of body experience!
Stansted was surprisingly busy for 3:30am. A couple of people were asleep in the departures area but mostly it could have been any time in the day.
The Ryanair bag drop area wasn’t specified on the board, but I knew where the Ryanair zone was and anyone with a flight before 7am was being directed to head on over to the machines.
It was at this point that I realised my tired brain wasn’t functioning properly: I’m no stranger to airports yet somehow got surprised when the lady at the entrance to the bag drop area asked to see my passport, and when rummaging to get it I somehow dropped the foundation bottle out of my little plastic baggie (I keep them both in the front pocket of my backpack for easy access at security).
The bottle clanged noisily as it hit the floor (thankfully it didn’t shatter), but the top did come off and roll somewhere. Thankfully, another passenger found it and handed it to me.
I don’t know why, but when I’m tired and/ or anxious I seem to get even clumsier than normal – and I’m pretty clumsy normally.
Thankfully, the rest of the airport processes went smoothly: I tagged and dropped off my bag without issue, was through security in no time and quickly found myself navigating what looked like a ghost ship in airside departures.
People were sleeping everywhere and most of the shops and places to eat were still boarded up.
I’ve been trialling the Amex Gold credit card this year, to try and ramp up my air miles so I can unlock the achievement of travelling in Business or First class. It gives me 4 free lounge passes a year but as I hadn’t been able to travel since May, when I got it, I hadn’t used any yet.
I decided today was the day.
So I joined a queue for Stansted’s Escape lounge (it hadn’t yet opened).
Once the barrier was lifted, we descended a flight of stairs into what appeared to be a basement area. The staff sorted us into those who had booked and those who hadn’t, then we were individually shown to our seats.
I was taken to where most of the pilots and air stewards were sitting, probably because I was alone and so were they. It was right at the back of the lounge area, with windows that looked up to the airport shuttle train.
The lounge was quite dark, decorated in shades of brown and green. It had silent tv screens dotted periodically, only one of which displayed the departure board: the rest were displaying BBC news without subtitles.
It wasn’t quite on a par with the lounge in Mauritius, but it was a relatively quiet space with free WiFi, food and drinks.
There was a small hot food section serving British cooked breakfast items like bacon, sausages, tomatoes, beans and eggs; a small cereal and pastry section; Greek yogurt, seeds and fruits and fresh juices in dispensers.
For non-alcoholic drinks there was a coffee machine with hot water for teas, a coke dispenser and one for water. A manned bar provided a range of alcohol, including Prosecco on tap – which I’ve never seen before.
As airports are lawless places where anything goes, I decided to have Prosecco with my breakfast.
I have no regrets.
The food in general was mediocre but definitely an upgrade on paying £20 for a Wetherspoons breakfast!
Time-wise it also worked out perfectly, as I had just the right amount of time to eat, faff about trying to get my Air tags reconnected (I hadn’t realised that when you change the batteries you have to switch your phone off and then on again to reconnect them) and walk to my gate.
I pretty much got straight on the plane fairly close to its departure time. My seat was in the last row and by the window, which is how I like it.
Next to me were a couple speaking Portuguese.
Now, I love… love. But when it’s almost 6:30am and I haven’t yet slept, I really don’t want to be up-close and personal with continuous PDAs, including slurping kissing noises. Those sounds were legit turning my stomach. I had to turn my Airpods up to max volume to try and drown them out, which was in itself more than a little jarring.
Other than that, the flight was a fairly smooth affair and I am fairly certain that the pilot was the same pilot who was sitting next to me in the lounge!
As the flight was nearing its end I am fairly sure we passed over the Atlas mountains: dramatic landscapes with sheer drops and winding roads.
The landscape then gave way to fields with a patchwork of what I assume were greenhouses. They looked like a haphazard mosaic of broken paving slabs.
This was followed by sugar cube houses, random green fields standing in relief against the dry grasses and a polka dot landscape of stumpy little trees.
And then we landed at Agadir airport, Morocco.
Disembarking the plane, we walked across the outside of the airport to reach arrivals. It’s a low, terracotta-coloured, building with beautiful tiled detailing and a water fountain.
Inside, we immediately joined a large queue to get our passports checked.
Travellers from the UK don’t need a visa for stays under 90 days.
The queue moved a little faster than it appeared it would and soon enough my passport had been stamped and I emerged straight into the baggage area.
As I approached the belt for Stansted, I could see my case heading in the opposite direction. I started to trot towards it and a member of staff noticed and got the bag off the carousel for me; this was my first experience of Moroccan kindness but it wouldn’t be my last.
I popped my winter jacket and hoodie in my case and headed for the money exchange booths. I needed cash to get the airport bus, so exchanged a little money as I knew the rate would be better in Agadir itself.
In this area there are also mobile phone data company booths, with students handing out free SIM cards.
The only research I’d done was:
- Entry requirements
- How to get from the airport
- How to get data – eSims are too expensive here.
I’d learnt that the students will hand you a free SIM but then try to upsell you a very expensive data package, and that there would be a teeny amount of data on the free SIM but, as in most places, getting a data top up in the city would be far more cost-effective. This proved to be incorrect.
I did, however, successfully secure a free SIM (two, in fact) from a student handing out Maroc SIMs, which I’d read gave some of the best coverage.
My limited research had also mentioned how Moroccan airports have numerous bag and security checks but this wasn’t my experience at all. I did have to put my bags through a scanner (you don’t have to take any items out) before I left the airport but this is the same in Kenya and many other locations too.
I’d asked the lady I would be cat sitting for (I’m going to call her Anna from here to preserve her privacy) the best way to get from the airport and she said to take the ALSA airport bus.
It was actually super easy to find the bus: it’s directly opposite the exit, across the road and a little to the left.
Signs direct you this way to ‘Buses’ and the ALSA bus is the first you encounter.
The driver didn’t speak English but for the second time this year my GCSE French came in handy and I was able to ask for a return ticket. It’s 50 MAD (£3.90) one way and 80 MAD (£6.25) return and will drop you at any of a handful of stops in Agadir.
I made my way to an empty seat and waited for the bus to depart.
The bus leaves on the hour, every hour. We’d landed at around 10:15 am and I was on the bus by around 10:50am, which was far quicker than I’d been expecting.
It was relatively empty, considering (my flight had been full) and left exactly on the hour.
Before we left, the driver walked the length of the bus and checked with each passenger which stop they wanted.
The man in front of me had a map of the stops and so I asked him if I could look at it to check if mine was the last one; Anna had said she’d meet me at the name of a stop but hadn’t mentioned there were more than one.
I hadn’t yet had time to put my new SIM in my phone but thankfully the free airport WiFi extended as far as the bus and I was able to communicate with her that I was in the bus so that she had an ETA.
The bus itself was meant to have WiFi on board but this also wasn’t correct.
As we left the airport, the man with the map turned and struck up some conversation. He lives near Birmingham and had come to Agadir to escape the cold, wet, weather we’re currently having in the UK.
When I explained to him I was here to cat sit for someone I’d never met he was dumbfounded. He wasn’t even aware that was a thing!
A Colombian man to our right inserted himself in the conversation, asking us and the girls behind us if we were here to surf (the surrounding areas are best known for surfing). None of us were and he seemed disappointed. He’d been on the same flight as me and it wasn’t his first time in the area; he’d come as he’d heard that the surf would be particularly good due to storms coming from Portugal.
He paid particular attention to the girl sitting behind me, who was a Polish girl who’d been brought up in the Netherlands and was now living in Ireland. She patiently answered his endless questions and she’d booked even more spontaneously than me, also looking to escape the weather.
Once he’d ascertained that both her and I were travelling on to Anza, as he was going in that direction too he suggested we share a taxi. When I explained that I had a lift and she said she knew the bus she wanted to take he seemed thoroughly disgruntled. I have a feeling this man is perpetually disappoined.
The bus was a bit jiggly but really pleasant, with all the open windows providing a cool breeze.
I got my first glimpses of the city and saw lots of buildings in the style of the airport and palm-lined boulevards.
After almost exactly an hour the bus pulled into a bus-station-like area, which was the end of the route.
Those of us left on the bus disembarked and said goodbye and see you around. No one exchanged contact details.
I couldn’t see anyone who looked like Anna, so I sat on the stone bench in the shade of a tree and people-watched as I applied sunscreen.
Most people at the bus station appeared to be locals. I could hear a blend of Arabic and French in their conversations. The area was a wide, open, road lined with trees and I could hear birds singing all around me.
I swapped over my SIM cards and it was at this moment that I realised that I did NOT actually have any free data.
And therefore no way of communicating with Anna.
I decided to give her until at least 12:30pm, in case she’d been delayed or caught in traffic, and if she hadn’t arrived after that I’d go in search of a place with WiFi.
As time passed, my mind started to enter over-thinking mode: I decided if she’d gone AWOL entirely I would get an AirBnB for the night and figure the rest out from there and even though I was sitting on a stone bench, in a place I’d never been, I didn’t feel afraid.
I could think of a reason why she wouldn’t show, or any ulterior motive to leave me stranded in Morocco, so I just continued to people-watch and begin to absorb the culture.
This trip had been so last-minute, and Morocco hadn’t been at the top of my ‘next place to visit’ list, so I really knew very little about the country or its culture.
Eventually, I sucked up my dislike of initiating conversation with randoms and asked the woman on the next bench in French if she spoke English. She said not much and so we used a mix of languages for me to ask her where the nearest cafe or restaurant was where I could access WiFi.
She told me she didn’t know but pointed out a hotel that was situated across a busy road. It wasn’t obviously a hotel from a distance.
I thanked her and headed in the direction of the hotel.
Although the road had a Zebra crossing, I noticed as I approached that cars weren’t stopping for pedestrians and that the method for crossing the road was just to walk across it and dodge the traffic, or hope that they stop – which has been the consistent method for all the African countries I have visited to date.
By this point I’d been awake well over 24 hours, and I had my bags with me, but I breathed into the fear and made it safely across the road.
At the hotel, I stood outside the steps to the entrance and repeatedly tried, unsuccessfully, to connect to the free guest WiFi.
Eventually, a door man appeared and said “Bonjour”. I asked if he spoke English and he told me a little so I explained I was trying to contact my lift as they hadn’t arrived at the bus stop but I had no data.
He took my phone off me and walked closer to reception, but it wasn’t working for him either.
Another man then appeared; from his attire I’d guess he was a manager. They conversed, the manager took my phone and punched something in then the door man returned my phone to me.
The manager had given me staff access.
Relieved, I headed straight to my Facebook messages where I could see Anna had messaged to say she was in a beige car.
I replied, explaining my situation and she said she would come to the front of the hotel.
In less than a minute, I saw her across the road. We waved and I navigated the crossing once again to reach her.
As I reached the car, Anna got out and kissed me on the cheeks.
I liked her immediately.
We placed my bag in the boot and as soon as I got in the passenger seat she said, “You must be hungry; let’s go and get some lunch first and then we can sort out your money exchange and SIM.”
Anna drove us to a local spot with a rooftop terrace and we sat side-by-side on cushioned benches in the shade. We chatted like old friends, not strangers, exchanging travelling stories.
Once we were handed menus, Anna made some recommendations for Moroccan food and checked on the allergy situation with the waiters.
She suggested we get her favourite dish, a chicken and almond pastry dish called Pastilla along with a beef and plum tagine so that we could share and I could taste both. The tagine did have slow-cooked onions in it, but as long as I don’t eat the actual onions themselves I knew I could just about cope with slow-cooked (it’s like it breaks down whatever is an issue for my body).
Anna told me to use the bread to scoop from the tagine. The bread looks like round, flat rolls with a crusty exterior sprinkled in a coarse-textured flour. The tagine tasted good but the Pastilla was on a whole other level.
The filling was spiced, shredded chicken and almonds and sprinkled on top was cinnamon and powdered sugar but somehow it worked! Apparently it’s more of a ‘special’ dish, commonly served at festivities such as weddings. Whereas the tagine is more ‘everyday’ food.
I took Anna’s lead on drinks and so we both had a lemon Schweppes. She said Coke is also commonly drunk here but I’m doing my best to avoid that.
If you know, you know.
We both ate half of the Pastilla but Anna barely touched the tagine and no way could I finish it.
Definitely food perked me up and I was able to fully absorb the beauty of the terrace.
Anna insisted on paying and we set off, heading for her place.
She lives in the small town of Anza, a short drive from the city of Agadir.
On the hills ahead of us I could see Arabic writing and asked Anna what it meant. She told me it’s the motto of Morocco: God, Fatherland, the King.
We passed some industrial areas along the coastline and the rebuilt fort (Agadir was largely destroyed by an earthquake in the 1960s). Cable cars stretched overhead in the direction of the fort.
Arriving in Anza, we pulled into a community of blocks of white, grey and beige flats, at the heart of which was a mosque in neutral tones.
We passed a stray cat being followed by a tiny white kitten by the bins and headed inside.
Anna’s flat is light, airy and homely. She gave me a tour and introduced me to cat #1 (again, names withheld to protect privacy); cat #2 was at the vet’s and we’d be collecting him later.
She made us coffee in a stovetop Moka pot and our conversation moved easily through Palestine, colonisation, languages and travel.
I learnt for the first time about the Amazigh – the indigenous people of Morocco (using the term Berber is considered derogatory) – and how they’ve preserved their language orally.
And that there is beef between Tunisia and Morocco over a section of the Sahara…and Israel is involved.
It’s interesting the parallels between here and the other colonised countries I’ve visited. Including Wales.
How the language of the oppressor can be seen as the better, more beneficial, language to use; how young people often don’t want to learn their native language(s) and how often colonised people see colonisation as something that was good, bettering their country.
I had no idea that a lot of young Moroccans travel to France to study and then end up staying there as France is attractive to them and it’s beneficial for France to retain young talent.
Finishing our coffees and chat, we headed back out to return to Agadir.
Anna pointed to an empty space close to the flats and told me there is a market there every Wednesday that would be worth me checking out. She said it’s mainly used to thrift clothes but that there are other goods too.
As we drove back to the city we discussed how colonisation also determines what side of the road you drive on and how different driving is in different countries.
The money exchange place was in a little square of buildings. We parked and Anna accompanied me inside. I exchanged the rest of my cash and she really had my back as she even calculated the rate and questioned the guy when the amount he gave me didn’t seem quite right; it was right, it’s just the machine doesn’t count the coins.
Back at the car, Anna handed a man some coins and we drove off.
It wasn’t obviously a car park, though there was an unobtrusive ‘P’ sign near one exit, but these areas apparently are manned car parks. Charges are only 2-3 MAD, though – for the whole day.
We then headed to the vet to collect cat #2. To access the vet, we climbed some stairs in an unobtrusive building and rung a doorbell on what looked like a residential door. But through the door there was an empty clinic.
It was late in the day, and the clinic was empty, so we were pretty much taken straight through to the vet. She talked Anna through everything she needed to know and took payment herself.
Cat #2 was completely silent and gorgeously floofy.
Before heading home, we stopped off at a corner shop, as that’s where you get data in Morocco.
The shop was long and narrow and stocked with all sorts of wares. The fridges contained canned and bottled drinks I’ve never seen before, including a range of Chupa Chups drinks.
Anna consulted with the man at the counter and ordered the data card for me. She then also set it up, as you have to call a number to activate the data you’ve bought – and everything is in French and Arabic.
Connectivity restored, we headed back to the car and headed for home.
Once back, Anna informed me her friend would be coming over to pick up come clothes and change.
All three of us then headed out to dinner. Anna’s friend drove us to the sea (which is actually only a 10-15 minute walk), to a modern and stylish beachfront cafe.
Due to my allergies, my choice was either the lamb tacos or the beef burger. I chose the tacos and it was a GOOD choice!
As we ate, we watch the sun sink below the horizon over the ocean and the sky turn in to red and purple hues.
The sea here is perfect for surfing, but unfortunately not really good for swimming. But I do love being near the ocean regardless.
Our chat revealed that men are pretty much the same everywhere (okay, not ALL men, but the common experiences women have are pretty much global, it seems).
I was thankful for my hoodie, as the wind meant it was pretty chilly at the beach. I ordered a Moroccan mint tea but had to be helped with the assembly process as I received fresh mint in a handleless mug and a silver teapot; I thought I had to pour hot water from the teapot over the mint but apparently you put the mint IN the teapot and then pour. Everyday’s a school day.
We sat there chatting long after the stars had emerged and the moon had risen.
And I felt content: I knew my gut had been right and I’d made a good decision.
Anna’s friend dropped us home and I was super touched that not only had Anna made space for me in her wardrobe and drawers, but she was giving me her bed for the night. I’d been a little apprehensive about where I was sleeping whilst we were together as I’m generally not used to sharing spaces, but I had expected her to have her bed whilst we were here together.
She also told me she’d be sleeping at her sister’s the following night, as she’d be heading to the airport early on Thursday morning.
Cat #1 was giving me lots of love and Anna remarked this was unusual; I do, however, tend to have this impact on cats. We have an understanding.
Coming here was literally a leap into the unknown. But I’m already glad I did.
And if you’ve read this far: TAKE THE RISK!
It may just be worth it.
Read about my second day in Morocco here >>
This article really resonated with me! The spontaneity and trust in your gut to embark on such an impromptu adventure is truly inspiring. Your vivid descriptions made me feel like I was right there with you, navigating the chaos of the airport in the early hours. It’s a great reminder that sometimes the best experiences come from taking risks and embracing the unknown. Thanks for sharing your journey!
Thank you so much, Charles! And you’re so welcome – I’ll be sharing all of it 🙂
The best experiences absolutely often come from taking risks and leaning into the unknown. And even when there are not-so-good experiences these too often lead to the best.
Sam I’m speechless. Wow. Your tenacity and your ability to navigate pretty much on every front is phenomenal. I would be confounded by the technology required for starters. Researching and finding a cat sitter needed in Agidir is again so random! You’re writing I can tell is at its best the wilder your life becomes.
Gosh, thank you so much Mimi! I didn’t research her: I’d joined several travel groups on FB, including ones where they ask for pet sitters and just happened to see the post on that particular day. She just happened to live near to Agidir!