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The Beer Run

beer runWhen we first arrived in Morocco I was intent on getting into the local Muslim vibe, deciding that I could exist perfectly happily without alcohol, content with the country's fantastic patisseries and mint tea for the duration of the trip. This state of nirvana lasted two days.

The only bar we could find was a depressing hole with old tourists drowning their sorrows, so, unable to handle another night in the heat without a beer, Colin and I set off on a quest across Marrakech in search of an alcohol shop. Once again we made the mistake of trusting the Lonely Planet's crackhead authors and their hallucinogen inspired maps so what should have been a quick trip across town turned into a three hour, traffic dodging epic.

Most cities in Morocco have a shop that sells alcohol somewhere, but invariably it's hidden, unmarked, down a side street, in the bowels of the town. In Marrakech this means risking your life dodging, Frogger-like, through manic traffic until finally arriving at the shop to find that it closed ten minutes earlier. After much more searching we eventually found somewhere that was open, stocked up with two black carrier bags of Heineken cans, and made the long trek back to Hotel Afriquia. There, relaxing on the tiled roof terrace and looking out at the floodlit Koutoubia, warm beer never tasted so good.

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