Judgement daze

sam and megan are taken for mugs


a mugging was on the menu and I didn't want to try it.

























being mugged is probably favourable to getting a haircut here.







































Our late night stroll in search of a meal had very recently taken a distinctly sinister turn.


Much as i like regional specialities, a mugging was on the menu, and I didn't want to try it.


I transferred my handcrafted Lagouille knife from my jacket to my trouser pocket, ran my fingers over its olivewood handle. It's a mean weapon for spreading vegemite on stale flatbread…but did I have what it takes - to spread vegemite on another man?


It's funny how travelling in foreign countries and out of your comfort zone can skew your judgment. If you were walking at night in your home city and someone ran after you yelling "my friend my friend where you go?" would you pay them attention at all, let alone some money to take you to a restaurant.


It didn't even seem like a good idea at the time, since his 'restaurant' (if it at all existed) was in the exact opposite direction we heading. Now we were being led up a dark alley.


At least we weren't carry any valuable items on us – only our passports, wads of cash, iPods and Megan's camera. I'd luckily left my Ming dynasty vase and fossilised dinosaur egg in the hotel room under a pile of dirty washing.


Two young men materialised out of the dark ahead. The lane was littered with building rubble and one man held a large rock in his hand. From the corner of my eye I caught Megan's, searching for mine.


Our faux guide called out a salutation. It seemed like he knew them. "Don't worry, the restaurant is just there on the corner," he said, gesturing further up the alley.


Fuck that if it was. Suddenly I lost my appetite – in fact I felt quite sated, what with that meagre lamb tajine for lunch and all those tasty sugary treats on the bus.


But it was Megan who took decisive action, suddenly remembering she needed to check her email right now at that very cyber café we chanced to be walking past. What were the odds! I gave silent thanks that we weren't walking past a 'coiffure' – being mugged is probably favourable to getting a haircut here.  


"I wasn't sure whether you were going to be a man or not and tell him to piss off," she said once inside. I wouldn't have bet my dinner on it.


We waited ten minutes, then, checking our companions had well and truly gone, we slipped back onto the street, our fluoro green, pink and purple coats camouflaging us perfectly into the grey and brown shadows of that darkest of alleys in Ourazazat.