I walk past the post office on the South West corner of Djemma Elfna almost every day when I'm in Marrakech.
You have to go there once a month to pay the telephone bill - I wish you could mail the money in, but you can't.
I have learned by experience to go at 8 in the morning when it's almost empty - if you wait until 11am. the whole PO is a seething mass of people collecting pensions and sending money to family abroad and the whole thing gets quite impossible.
Since I'm basically British, I like queues; Moroccans are not much interested in them.
My friend J. who is much more assertive than me taught me a useful phrase: "Ana Louwel" - I'm first!
I only use this when I get really fed up!
This is a picture of the front door. I would like to take pictures inside but think there is some sort of rule against it.
The basement - where they store your packages is cavernous and vast.
If you have been reading the blog for a little while, you know that the airport is being enlarged and made modern and swanky, ditto the railway station.
I have a certain affection for the old and the charming - so, needless to say, the day after I took the picture of the front door of the Post Office, I noticed they had put up metal barricades and were setting about doing 'renovations'.
So far they have removed the stucco to reveal the mud-brick beneath.
The French colonial building is something of a landmark so I hope they don't do anything too drastic.
Our mail - not that we have much of it - is delivered by a very nice man on a yellow moped who sensibly knocks on our door when he has something important for us. Sometimes letters arrive from America and England in three days.
Sometimes three weeks.
Most of our Christmas cards arrived in January.
There is no way of knowing what items are swirling round somewhere out there..........
