Morocco, day nineteen: Tangier

"You've been to Casablanca! Of course you've got a disease!"

So spoke Guide on hearing that on my return from the metropolis I'm coughing like a thing that coughs a lot and and not feeling entirely wonderful. But I shall not be deterred because it is sunny and wonderful outside and some random lurgy is not going to ruin my last week here, although it did limit my activities a little as I punctuated my day with little snoozes, as befitting one so out of sorts.

There had been some talk yesterday of getting the early-morning bus from Tangier to Chefchaouen, but local opinion on whether it's worth a day is mixed; some are "meh, tourists" and other are "ooh, blue" – all academic as in the end it didn't happen, although I was awake early enough to have been able to. My new bedroom is between the Jedida Mosque (which appears to have a loudspeaker pointing directly at my pillow) and the Grand Mosque, and as the clocks have changed to accommodate Ramadan, the first call-to-prayer-off is at about 5am. This did not foster peaceful or godly thoughts, but I managed to force myself back to sleep once it had finished only to be woken again by the gentle clatter of the waking up of the Café Tingis on the rue Almohades, the terrace of which is right under my bedroom window.

By the time I'd given up on sleep and found my way down onto the terrace of the café for breakfast, I was slightly frazzled. However, the sun was up and I, and a Spanish woman who insisted on listening to whale music on her phone while sunning herself, enjoyed a mostly peaceful breakfast on the terrace in the sun. I had coffee and Moroccan pancakes with honey – oh my actual deity – with exquisite freshly-squished orange juice to help temper my affliction.

Once I'd had enough whale-cum-mood music, I decided I would venture forth in a direction I have not ventured forth before and after some incredibly enjoyable distraction down various here and there side streets found a lovely artistic café, the Cafe Culturel Cherifa, where I sat basking in the sun and nursing a mint tea while to my right, two British ladies discussed at great length the comparative merits of Marks and Spencers and Aldi, a conversation that almost completely consumed my will to live. They eventually left, thankfully, and all was looking bright until what will to live I had been left with was slowly eroded by a couple of American students with irritating rising terminals who used words as a way of not having sentences made up entirely of the word "like" like repeated like again and like again?

I took my leave, fearful that I might have to try to stab someone with a bookmark, only to learn that the man in the café was also having a most disgruntled morning. He'd discovered some French people using his toilet which he'd closed after having only spent 15 dirhams on a cup of coffee, and was expressing his dislike of humanity in a way which brought flutters to my heart. I could sort of see his point – "why should I clean up after you for 1,50€?" – because I thought to do otherwise would be foolish, as he was quite angry. The view from the café is lovely, however, and if you're into art, it's, like, probably, like, awesome?

Of art, I have discovered a local street artist called Pun Ksy, although his social tag is all one word. When I was here first time round I'd noticed some groovy decoration of exterior electricity metres, and then it became apparent I was seeing more of them. I think, but am not certain, that Pun Ksy is responsible for the fabulous decoration of the cultural café, and so I've started looking for more electricity metres in an attempt to "collect" as many of them as possible.

In an attempt to inject some culture into my day, I decided I would try to find the Phoenician tombs, but was interrupted by Guide who suggested we stop for yums at the Syrian place where I had the lentil soup (again, oh word) and some falafelly goodness. My trip to the tombs shall have to wait for another day, but I did find places I'd not been before and spent plenty of time getting in my vitamin D and doing some walking. Guide had work at 2pm so after lunch we walked back to the Petit Socco and I had a coffee and a date from the coffee place which was then consumed in the sun on the little terrace next to the youth hostel.

It was most civilised.

There was a snooze, followed by Caliente in a sandwich which was very filling and left me not actually needing the harira I'd set out to find. Host wandered me to the Gran Café de Paris for mint tea where there was an attempt to sit on the terrace but, as it was late, we ended up sitting on big leather banquettes in a large slightly tired wood-panelled and mirrored room, where a suitably cheery man in black trousers and a waistcoat was attentive and friendly to his customers. All the waiter take pride in looking fabulous in a Parisian way, but with much less disdain for human life. It is most civilised.

It wasn't long before lurgy caused me to admit defeat and call it a night, and I wandered back past cheery waves from the friendly people in the spice shops on the rue de la Liberté and down the now-quietened streets of the old medina to my lovely bed.