I can tell you now. I couldn't say this as long as I was living there. The bouncers who were resident day and night (what was my first clue?) would have been happy to eject me before I had another place to go.
The hotel I first stayed in upon arrival in Maroc was the kind of place you spend only 1 night in. It might even be a memorable night. But you don't want to live there, trust me.
The Sabah has a disco. The music begins to get good at midnight and closes down at around 3:45. That's 1:15 before my wake-up alarm goes off. The music of choice is Arab techno with a great dance beat. Heavy percussion. The construction here is solid concrete with no wallboard or other insulating factor to help absorb sound. Are you feelin' me? No matter where in the 5-story hotel you are (and I tried quite a variety of rooms), you can feel the music in your bones and in your fillings.
I, who never watch TV, learned to keep the TV on for background noise and I found that 1 of the few English-speaking channels was non-stop chick flicks. Amazing coincidence or Insallah? You tell me.
I also had a pillow over my head and an earplug. Over the 2 weeks I was there, I slowly wore down to a nub. I had to go to Gibraltar to get 1 good night's sleep.
However, when the music finally died, no amount of background noise could cover the sound of the spike heels on the tiled corridor floors. And the conversations and laughter during which time it was decided who was with whom in whose room. Then there were the straggler spike heels that came along a short time later, knocking on doors to see who was up for more company.
Now, I'm no prude, but in this world, this style of sexual encounters appears to a type of commerce that is accepted as healthy and normal. Even if the women don't accept payment per se, there appears to usually be a very definite expectation of gaining something. For instance in the disco, if you're a man and you sit at a big table, you must buy a bottle of booze for all of the girls and their many friends to drink from. To the tune of $160 or so per bottle. But, hey- mixers are free!
The hotel I first stayed in upon arrival in Maroc was the kind of place you spend only 1 night in. It might even be a memorable night. But you don't want to live there, trust me.
The Sabah has a disco. The music begins to get good at midnight and closes down at around 3:45. That's 1:15 before my wake-up alarm goes off. The music of choice is Arab techno with a great dance beat. Heavy percussion. The construction here is solid concrete with no wallboard or other insulating factor to help absorb sound. Are you feelin' me? No matter where in the 5-story hotel you are (and I tried quite a variety of rooms), you can feel the music in your bones and in your fillings.
I, who never watch TV, learned to keep the TV on for background noise and I found that 1 of the few English-speaking channels was non-stop chick flicks. Amazing coincidence or Insallah? You tell me.
I also had a pillow over my head and an earplug. Over the 2 weeks I was there, I slowly wore down to a nub. I had to go to Gibraltar to get 1 good night's sleep.
However, when the music finally died, no amount of background noise could cover the sound of the spike heels on the tiled corridor floors. And the conversations and laughter during which time it was decided who was with whom in whose room. Then there were the straggler spike heels that came along a short time later, knocking on doors to see who was up for more company.
Now, I'm no prude, but in this world, this style of sexual encounters appears to a type of commerce that is accepted as healthy and normal. Even if the women don't accept payment per se, there appears to usually be a very definite expectation of gaining something. For instance in the disco, if you're a man and you sit at a big table, you must buy a bottle of booze for all of the girls and their many friends to drink from. To the tune of $160 or so per bottle. But, hey- mixers are free!
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