So we arrived in Marrakech safe and sound. We found a taxi driver who spoke English and seemed to be offering us a reasonable fare to our hotel. We'd read that you must confirm the price before getting into the taxi, and we were pretty pleased with ourselves for having achieved this.
But where was his taxi?
"Over here, over here," he says. We can see a long line of parked cars but no official taxi.
"Where," we insist. "Is it an official taxi?"
"Yes, yes. Here it is."
And sure enough there was an official taxi parked on the side of the road. Phew. We get in and the man bows his head toward the steering wheel.
"Oh," I think, "he must be praying before our journey. That's nice. I feel safe being with such a religious man."
The prayer though seems to be coinciding with some screechy noises coming from the engine. And it's going on for a bit longer than the "bless us on this journey" type prayer I'd imagined. So I lean over and follow his line of sight. It's squarely placed on the ignition, with which he seems to be having an almighty fight. And losing.
Oh my goodness, he was praying for his car to start?
If I wasn't so loaded down with my bags I would have been out of there so fast he wouldn't have seen me. Unfortunately, or fortunately, Bindi was oblivious to the praying and the fighting with the ignition since she was sitting behind him. I am trying to tell her when he gets out of the car, lifts his bonnet, shuffles around in there and woosh, the car starts!
We crack up laughing. I mean, it's better than freaking out, right? He looks at us and asks what we're laughing at. Is he serious? Anyway, we're on our way, there's no stopping that car now, that's for sure! And we arrive safely, so someone's prayers worked.
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