Day three
As the politicians say “I have nothing more to add” to the two posts on Marrakech and the Mamounia, but of course I will.
We flew British Airways, an airline that has made huge profits under the stewardship of Willie “Slasher” Walsh but also has had a strike, left passengers stranded and generally declined since its golden era as the world’s favourite airline under Sir Colin Marshall and Lord King.
Bob commented on the obesity of the stewardesses.
To get down the narrow gangway you have to be nimble but those on our flight were not. One in dealing with a duty free order took the seat of a passenger with his leg in a brace who looked distinctly uncomfortable standing.
The hotel is marvellous, rightly winning accolades.
However you can see the makeover was the work of an interior designer. Everywhere there are small steps, it’s easy to miss them and stumble.
It’s also a shame that the clientele are dressed in scruffy jeans and trainers. One such dressed woman paraded through the bar loudly on her mobile.
What is it about a mobile that everyone has to clutch onto it and peer every few minutes?
In the bar I sat near to lady on her mobile.
She was peering into it intently but I could see the content was photographs.
Another lady in the spa held the queue up as she texted. It’s generational thing and I don’t get it. I’m perfectly happy to leave my mobile in the room for long periods.
The amenities and serenity of the hotel have posed a problem as we have not ventured outside.
At the exit a gaggle of people await to importune. We cannot face them but not to see the sun setting over the amber walls of the El Fna square with a mint tea would be pity though we all have been there and done it in the past.
