Anxiety attack

Slightly scary to be alighting at the Jamaa el Fna with no idea of where the hotel is other the “near the Jemaa el Fna”. Two tourist policemen had no idea either. A boy outside a shoe shop sent us in what turned out to be completely the wrong direction, but smiling. With only the phone number and no street address I tried calling, but no combination of prefixes -- country, city -- would get me through. Eventually the surly owner of the Hotel CTM took us to a nice chap who spoke a little English and who phoned from his own mobile. But was it actually the Riad Monceau he was calling? I heard the name a couple of times during what seemed an unnecessarily long conversation, but for all I know he could have been telling his accomplices where the fresh chumps he had located thought they would be staying. Then off we went and before too long, at the entrance of a tiny alleyway, was an official-looking brass sign. And at the end of the alley, a heavy dark wood door with ornate brasswork studs and decoration. We rang, and were welcomed. Our guide (and how could I have doubted him?) seemed satisfied with 20 dirhams, less than 2 euros.