Morocco has these swell little rides called petit taxis (briefly mentioned in Marrakesh post), which are small Fiat Punto/Uno-like cabs that roam around the cities hunting for passengers. Charmingly, their colour varies from city to city: in Agadir they're a pale sun-dried rouge, in Marrakesh a sandy beige, in Fes a bright sports car red.
Me and Sarah are sitting in the back of a Fes petit taxi, on our way to the Ville Nouvelle part of the city to get a pizza (we're both sick of couscous and tajines, delicious as they are).
"Centre ville?" says the driver as we head out of the old Medina.
"Yes!" we say.
"In Spanish it is 'centro'!" he says, with much flair.
"Ah!" we exclaim, in French accents.
"How you say in English?" he asks, turning round in the seat, and swerving a little.
"'Centre of town'," we tell him. He really isn't looking at the road now.
"How you spell 'town'?" he babbles. I wonder if he is, perhaps, drunk. We tell him how to spell it. Alarmingly, while overtaking a slower car, he starts wildly writing the word in the air in with his finger.
I start to wonder whether it'll be the authorities or the scavengers who'll be the first to peel the passport from my bloody carcrashed corpse.