A global dine and dash was hard work but someone had to do it, writes Besha Rodell

On Mother's Day, I lay sprawled across a bed on the top floor of a riad in the middle of a medina in Morocco, trying desperately to remember where I'd woken up that morning.

I couldn't recall the room or the building where I'd been less than 12 hours earlier, but more distressingly, I couldn't remember the country. As I listened to the long, low moan of evening prayers ringing out over Fez, the closest I could guess was Europe. That morning I

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