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Northward Bound

The following afternoon, we caught the coach, hung-over, to Seville. Since we'd left Scotland there were only three days in which we hadn't been travelling so we were feeling quite exhausted. It was my first time in Seville and it seemed beautiful with it's wide boulevards and old buildings, but with only a couple of hours to spare we made the most of it by having coffee and stocking up on beer for the flight. Flying back with Ryanair, the beer was essential, helping to numb the pain of their hard plastic seats.

Back in Britain, I spent a restless night trying to sleep on the airport floor then caught an early morning flight back to Finland. Stepping off the plane into the northern sunlight, it looked so different - the light was soft and blue after the bright sunlight of Morocco, and the autumn trees were full of orange and red colours. Dropped back into the luxury of the developed world, I spent the next few days seeing everything as an outsider. I would catch myself standing staring at motorways and neon signs, and watching people who had everything, going around looking absolutely miserable.

The trip had turned out really well, and I think during our time in Morocco we saw some of the best and the worst of the country; the intense friendliness of the people, and the desperate aggression of the touts. Although the Moroccan government have been trying to tackle some of the problems by introducing tourist police, it's hard to say whether, as tourism increases, things will get worse or improve. I'd definitely go back but I'd probably try to stay off the beaten track and maybe travel further in the south, where the atmosphere seemed more chilled.

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