January 17, 2003
We manage to peel ourselves away from the fellow at the bar who wants to commandeer our next four days and with our trusty non-map we venture into the souk again.
We return to the hotel and decide to dine there in the restaurant. It’s very hush-hush and elegant, but we convince a waiter who understands that we want to eat lightly.
There’s an American woman dining not far from us in the company of a nattily dressed European man and a younger woman who might be the woman’s daughter. The older woman has a Virginia Hunt Country Volvo station wagon look about her--turtleneck and blazer and thick straight blonde hair, a good scarf, and large but simple gold jewelry. The daughter says little, but as their dinner progresses and more wine bottles are brought to the table, the older woman gets more and more animated, the head tosses become more frequent, and the goo-goo eyes more blatant. Over dessert and coffee she starts to smoke his cigarettes. P and I definitely sense we’ve got an international jet-set gigolo situation here, perhaps even a ménage à trois in the making. Imagine our surprise when we find out later that evening that we’ve just seen the American Ambassadress to Morocco and the hotel owner dining together!
From journal The Road to Marrakech