Karl's curry night collage, Superbowl night in Maroc

Restaurant du Port collage, Cande's last night in Maroc

Dénouement

I truly did not try very hard to Parlay Voo Frawn-Sayz while I was in Maroc, but there is a word I remember from my days doing theater that works perfectly to end this blog:

“Dénouement”, English definition:

The final resolution or clarification of a dramatic or narrative plot.

The events following the climax of a drama or novel in which such a resolution or clarification takes place.

The outcome of a sequence of events; the end result.

[French dénouement, from Old French desnouement, an untying, from desnouer, to undo : des-, de- + nouer, to tie (from Latin nōdāre , from nōdus, knot).]

Read more: http://www.answers.com/topic/denouement#ixzz1EMHFrbk0

So, as we sally forth into “real life” there are always things that get left behind.

Eg: Innocence

Naïveté

Pieces of great aspirations and grand dreams

And the idea that we are immortal

My girlfriend Wendy Sue said,  “Hey, welcome home and thanks for, you know, freeing Egypt!” She’s hilarious.

There is a lot to be said for witnessing history, and retrospect is great for turning a remembrance of abject fear into a prettier emotion, but here is what is real and true:

I cannot pretend any more.

Myth: I thought by wearing a wedding band and having a “faux fiancée” that I would be immune to the perils of being a piece of meat in a Muslim world. Wrong, it’s nothing more complicated than white meat or dark meat on the menu and men get to choose. If they are willing to pay.

Myth: Being truthful and honest with others gets the same respect returned to you. Wrong, reciprocation is to be praised, but not expected.

Truth: Life is precious and you damn well better be enjoying it.

Truth: If it hurts, you’re doin’ it wrong.

I wish only the best to my friends Anthony and Bob with their marriage plans with their beautiful Moroccan women. Hope is eternal.

 

“If it is to be,

It is up to me.”

This is a quote from my BFF, Michelle Gallagher Ricca.

Everyone loves a "Happy Ending"

Monday, Phase 2

8PM- After luxuriating in a wonderfully fragrant bath of citrusy Verbena toiletries, we shared a fabulous gourmet Greek meal with our new BFF and war-time compatriot, Polly on the top floor of the Sofitel of Greek salads, stuffed squid, moussaka and some fabulous mushroom provencale side dish, which we all agreed won. And Ouzo, of course.

Feelings were jubilant and grateful as we recounted how very fortunate we 3 were, literally plucked to be #’s 68, 69 & 70 out of thousands. Then there was the good fortune of going to Athens instead of farther east to Bahrain. We agreed to exchange photos and keep in touch with Polly from opposite coasts and she gets credit for most of these photos on the blog on Egypt. My camera is back in Tampa with Chris, where I will be in a week. Thanks to Walker Travel, I got to fly directly back to Maroc via Gatwick from Athens, so I spent an extra night in the hotel we had already booked for him with Chris that was not planned. And I got a Boots, the Chemist fix at Duty-Free!!!!

Important lessons learned:

1.       The power of 3 way exceeds the power of 2

2.       Never cheap out on your hotel

3.       You CAN open a beer bottle with an eyelash curler

4.       The police are not always there to protect you

5.       Sometimes having a bomb in the trunk is a good thing

6.       There is no such thing as packing too light

7.       And my favorite - If you’re going to be dumb, you gotta be tough (Thank you, Mead!)

The Power of 3

Still Monday, the day of escape

Noonish - The first plane evacuated out was supposed to be filled with diplomats and their families and was going to Bahrain, but they had space for 3 of us wankers on it, we were told at this point. We probably weren’t close enough to the front of the lines to have even made it onto plane#2, but we heard them ask for a family of 3 from the front table that were processing folks in. We yelled to them that we weren’t related, but we were a threesome (which threesome? I ask you!) and they said to come on down!!!

So we were plucked out of the seething masses because obviously, they DID know who we were and sent inside to wait some more, albeit in big, overstuffed leather chairs. With the destination now known, or so we thought, I enlisted the help of Walker Travel and Jim began the search for our onward journey.

4PM - As it turned out, we got on the 2^nd plane out, which was going in the right direction to Athens. (Sorry, Walker Travel!) As soon as we had passed through the security check and entered the terminal, organization had gone straight down the tubes because we were now in the charge of the Egyptians.  On the way to board the Lotus Air charter somewhat worn but precious Airbus 220 which carried 170 of us, we saw that the crowd of people who had showed up expecting to get airlifted out had probably doubled again.

Then, what should open up for the 3M’s but 3 seats in the exit row with extra legroom! No-one was complaining (especially not us) and they fed us very well, which was a good thing because many people had spent the previous night at Cairo airport without food supplies, water or even toilet paper. Apparently, the Japanese embassy had impressed travelers the night before as one of the few countries who actually showed up with the supplies their stranded citizens needed. A cheer went up when we took off “Thank you for choosing Lotus Air” got a good laugh, and more applause when we landed in Athens a few hours later, right after sunset.

7PM - We were greeted by the ambassador to Greece at the bottom of the stairs as we deplaned, shepherded through the paperwork and baggage claim detail and assisted into discounted rooms at the beautiful Sofitel hotel across the street by a very organized team of US embassy folks, one of whom said she felt like they were in a play. They were all excited when our plane (the first!) landed and she wanted to say “OK, places, everyone!”

We were interviewed as we exited baggage claim “for the embassy”, which I’m sure gave Chris the idea of giving an interview to ABC news “film at 11” when he got home to Tampa. Hopefully, it’s still on WTSP's website at:

http://search.wtsp.com/default.aspx?ct=r&q=Egypt

Tanks for the memories

Monday

Cell, but no internet. Curfew moved back to begin at 3PM. So much for our 3:15 flight on Thurs.

Polly arranged to leave before 8AM lifting of previous night’s curfew (smartest move ever) with her favorite driver and guide, Mohammed, to whom she bequeathed her excess bag full of goodies. She was told by the task force that we were allowed 1 checked and 1 carry-on each for the evac.  She had been on a 3-week trip. Was it genetic imperative that they didn’t bother to tell Chris that?

Polly was most worried about the cab ride to the airport, even before we realized that the cab was fueled by a tank of benzene in the trunk.

Besides the obvious, this left little room for suitcases and the cab was full with 5 bodies (Mohammed and the cab driver, plus the 3M’s), so her big, purple American bag had to be tied to the roof. On the bright side, gas stations had been closed for days and we happily scurried past many long lines of cars waiting for fuel that morning. Insallah.

Despite being marked as tourists, we cleverly travelled with headscarf disguises (!) 



At least they were good fun - I think I know what I'll be for Halloween

 The tension created by 8 or 10 military tank and vigilante checkpoints which funneled us down to 1 lane from 3 was offset my Mohammed’s optimistic reasoning and faith that things were getting better. It looked like a war zone most of the way along our 90 minute trip (normally 45) which included going right past Mubarek’s residence. The biggest delay was approaching the airport, although the relief was culpable that we were beyond the major trouble spots. God help us if we had waited for the curfew to lift!

9AM- pulled up to Terminal 4, out of which no commercial flights ran. Maybe 150-200 people were there waiting inside and out of the small terminal.

10:30 - American state dept employees (good little border collies that they are) arrived with bullhorns and began the process of herding us into lines and into categories- diplomatic status, US citizens and non-US nationals, telling us more about the luggage limitations and that we would each have to sign promissory notes to pay back the govt. for these flights the amount of a normal one-way ticket to our destination, which we were told was either going to be Athens, Istanbul or some city in Cypress. No animals allowed. By now there are at least 1000 of us, with more buses arriving at an alarming rate.

Polly had to jettison about 15 pounds of weight from her big American bag, but luckily our little bags could expand and still be less than 44 pounds to handle her overflow. Asian Americans near us were very, VERY popular with their luggage scales. We were standing outside in the sun at this time, still euphoric.

Then we won the lottery.

Polly

“Resilience: the ability of humans to not merely survive trauma and stress, but to bounce back and be happy and productive”

Amazingly, the smog had cleared up. We met Polly when we asked her to take a photo of us, now that you could clearly see the pyramids from the pool deck. I knew she was our kind of people, as she nursed a glass of red wine and stared at her Kindle at 11AM. It turns out that she had just gotten confirmed that her flight back to California on Monday was cancelled and she was spiraling into depression at having to wait until Wed. locked down in the hotel.  Her room shared the same balcony as ours and we formed an alliance, sharing info on the news of the US evac, the rest of our beer and asking her to dinner with us and the Brits that night, although dinner options were dwindling with only 1 restaurant open. She helped us, too by finding out on the 24^th try that the US embassy Egypt task force was saying that the US evac was “not starting today”.

What IS that smell?

Even when the 3 of us were smoking “sheesha” out of beautiful hookahs on the lanai (gotta love the outstanding photo op) and spending time with other interesting folks, the spookiness of hearing and smelling gunfire, taking cover where possible and camping out in the hotel farthest from the windows after calculating possible bullet “tajectories”, I was doing some drain circling of my own. I was going into resignation that we were stuck and I was becoming inactive. Chris, my hero, was instinctively doing just the opposite. His energy was up and he was thinking back on the words the embassy used “not starting today“, so right after midnight on a brand new day, he called the task force and was answered on the first ring by a concerned human. She registered us for the evac and told us to be at the special VIP terminal at Cairo airport that day, Monday the 31st, no later than 11AM to be ready to board military transport to undisclosed, safe European cities. You’d have loved to see the scene of Chris elatedly jumping around. We called and woke up Polly, who was happy to be woken for such great news. She signed up and we pledged to stick together for the ordeal, officially forging our status as the 3 muskateers.

Cairo Airport is a no-fly zone



Tank across the street from our hotel made us feel safe, until it moved out on Sunday

Sunday

Back to no internet. Our link to the outside world, the business center had a “closed” sign, directing us to the harried front desk personnel. Cell phone was working, though. Curfew is now 2 hours earlier- at 4PM. Still no ability to get info on our Egypt Air flight, but curfew time is obviously headed in the wrong direction for a 6:55PM scheduled departure the following day. We received a crucial nugget of info from our Welsh friends' daughter who was able to get up on Egypt Air.com that our flight was nowhere in evidence, not cancelled, but just like it didn’t exist.

With Jim’s help, once we knew that Royal Air Maroc was tripling fares for earlier flights out, we went ahead and booked partially refundable flights to Casablanca for Thursday at 3:15PM, earlier than curfew, we thought. Chris would have missed his BA flight back across the pond by 2 days. Jim later heard the news bulletin that the US was rescuing stranded Americans with emergency evacuation flights, which was great news in any event because the horror stories of Cairo airport were surfacing.  Here is what was on the web about it a couple of days later:

Day 2 in BFE

Who said we didn't get to see the pyramids?

But this is a “smart phone”

Saturday morning dawned and Voila! – Internet and cell service were up – for part of the day, that is.

So even though my fabulous Droid “Global” phone wasn’t so fabulous out of the country because Verizon doesn’t have agreements with the strong networks over here, we were able to get e-mail messages out to loved ones from the hotel business center, which was just the beginning of much unexpected Cha-Ching.

After a fabulous buffet breakfast and some perfect opportunities to rehearse for when I’m a little old lady stealing Sweet-n-lows, we ventured out the hotel entrance for a quick look-see to observe the tank and heavy equipment lorries that had been stationed across the street and next to the Pyramids, which were now officially closed. How do you close a pyramid, you might ask? It was a moot point because our hotel security weren’t letting anyone out, period. Police were nowhere in evidence. The sounds were of heavy equipment on the move and occasional gunfire, but no sirens at all.  Reports of damage done to the Egyptian museum artifacts were contradicted by tales of young Egyptians linking arms under the tanks that were guarding the museum to protect the priceless items that are their most important legacy.

The criteria we heard about by word-of-mouth were that no flights were taking off after curfew. Attempts to get through to Egypt Air by phone or internet were unsuccessful. We were able to contact the American embassy, who was routing calls to consular officers at their homes, since the embassy was already on lock-down. Their wisdom was to wait and call back on Monday, the day of our scheduled flight out at 18:55, to see if the curfew had been lifted.  OK, we still had a few beers left. We could do that.

I had almost forgotten that I now had cell service, but luckily Jim Walker called from his home in England because he hadn’t heard back from us. He was the perfect accidental travel agent, trying to find the best route out for us- also unable to get to Egypt Air to even see if our flight was still scheduled and having to navigate the price gougers (thanks, Royal Air Maroc).  

The hotel staff had to stay over at work because of the curfew. All 3 of the restaurants there and the poolside bar and grill were still open.  Front desk staff was showing signs of stress, but were still able to smile. They handled all of us whiny babies and drama queens with charm and tact.

Curfew was still 18:00 on Saturday, and we went to dinner at the hotel’s Tex-Mex (yes, imagine it!) restaurant with our new friends John and Chris from Wales and met Bryan and Joy from Boston, in the UK.

We were asked to sit in the back of the dining room, away from the windows. The whole thing felt a bit like a hurricane party, but it was going on for days.

Later that night, John and Chris (seated nearest the camera) witnessed a shooting from their window. A man in military uniform shot one warning shot in the air and then aimed the next shot at someone who was out of their view. Presumably it was a looter, but we never knew. It was reported as fact that Mubarek had pulled a Sadam trick and emptied out his prisons, provided the “escapees” with weapons and told them to go and loot. This was in order to prove that chaos would ensue without him as head of the government. Looters were picked up with ID’s saying they were the feared and dreaded plainclothes police, also.

How we got E-gypped out of a vacation

Trip of a lifetime

Chris came over to visit me in Maroc and I jumped on the possibility of having my favorite person in the world be my travel mate to see the treasures of Egypt! I had all but given up on going by myself while I was here, so imagine the excitement and thrill of it all for both of us. We caught the red-eye overnighting on Thursday, Jan 27^th and planned to stay thru Monday, Jan 31st, knowing full well there were peaceful demonstrations happening in the wake of Tunisia’s uprising, but we weren’t too concerned because we assumed the media was just hyping it. Wrong!!!!

We had a fun flight over, covertly drinking libations we bought in the terminal and making fun of the way the female flight attendants on Egypt Air have to wear dumpy apron-frocks (can you say “subservient"?), whereas the male equivalents were spiffily dressed like pilots with epaulets and gold braid. We got just a little sleep, hit the ground running on Friday morning in the customs/ immigration (for Americans only- there is a visa you buy at the bank in the airport for $15. It’s printed in English with dollar signs. ) / leaving the terminal with your baggage dance that we had been warned was going to be ridiculous. Negotiating a cab was another melee, with even more snake oil salesmen than in Maroc. They told us it was a holiday and that traffic was going to be smooth sailing once away from the airport. Egyptians take Friday and Saturday as their weekend, as do many Arab countries. Exhaustion from many sleepless nights had set in, and all we wanted was an early check-in at our lovely hotel, le Meridien Pyramids, in Giza so we could get some sleep and be ready to do some serious sightseeing.

That was the one and only day we could have visited national monuments, it turns out. All were closed for the remainder of our stay. Unbeknownst to us, had we arrived later on that same day, we might have had to wait out the 6PM curfew at Cairo airport. Although they probably still had food, water and toilet paper there on that first day of chaos.

When you come to a revolution, make sure you stay in a 5-star hotel

We came to Egypt to witness the fall of a government where the opposition had no succession plan. The opinion of the Egyptians we talked to was that the army could step in and control the situation until the new government was formulated. They had absolute distrust of the police and they appeared to be relieved once police had disappeared from the streets. All they wanted was President Hosni Mubarek out at all costs. He had been in power for more than 30 years, and the “election” results were always so much of a landslide that they could not have been anything but rigged. The phrase “Beware the anger of a patient man” was one of the media buzzwords we heard a lot of. And the Egyptian people were very, very sweet and hospitable to us and very optimistic that the troubles would soon be over.

Before curfew and after a sumptuous late lunch around the pool, we struck out for supplies, OK- for water and beer specifically. We were treated to a cab ride down into a very, very poor village less than 5 minutes from our opulent hotel where we felt extremely out of place, but that didn’t stop us from negotiating our Stellas. And we learned a new skill:

So for the rest of that evening, we obeyed the 6PM curfew, listened to events, coming to realize that there had been no internet or cell phone service that day, which meant no banks, credit cards or ATM’s were working. Even the on-site bank had a teller sitting there with nothing to do. All of the front desk staff was helpful, but harried and completely unsure of how to advise us, saying “this has never happened here before”.  Reality notwithstanding, we got info from the concierge on all of the fabulous tours we were going to take in the following days (as if), ate snacks, drank beer and watched movies in our room with the balcony overlooking the Giza pyramids. Never mind that it was only one story higher than and right next to  the security wall, so it also overlooked the street beside the hotel, which was complete squalor at ground level. As you may be already deducing, we were within striking distance from outside our safe haven.

La belle femme

Moroccan women are absolutely gorgeous. That is why there is all kinds of interest in my work group about "bringing back a souvenier". I'm learning more than I ever wanted to know about what it takes to marry a Moroccan woman here, bring her home to marry or get hitched elsewhere. Even down to the visa form numbers and the requirements and waiting times for each. Don't worry, Mike's mother. You're safe, so far.

I found out when I was scanning the supermarche shelves for facial cleanser that Moroccan women are just like American women. We want whatever we don't have in terms of natural beauty. It's a given that we'll either be perming our hair if it's straight or straightening it if it's curly at some time in our lives. So the only winners are the providers of those services, forever and ever, amen.

At home, we worship tanned bodies and faces. I have the skin cancers to prove it. Being a ghostly white redheaded girl who would kill for the skin most Moroccans have been blessed with, imagine my surprise at the plethora of skin care products available for "fairness"! Yes, they bleach. A lot. It must be very big business.

My massage therapist here last week must think I'm a bleaching experiment gone awry. "Look, she even bleaches her hands and feet and belly and butt..." Michael Jackson had nothing on me, baby. I'm a Freak in Afrique!

the Green Bucket

There are bidets in every hotel room that has a toilet here. I'm going to broach a subject that has appalled and fascinated all of us Americans in my work group here - THE GREEN BUCKET.

The bidet is a very nice thing to have. The problem is - once you're used to having one, what do you do, specifically how do you wipe in a sanitary way- when you're away from home?
Well, at the co-ed bathrooms near us at the refinery, what you do is fill a little green bucket part of the way full of hot water from the HOT WATER SPIGOT ON THE MACHINE WHERE FOLKS GET THEIR WATER FOR DRINKS. Then you carry your littler green bucket into the bathroom and add just the right amount of cold water from the sink faucet to make it the perfect temperature for your little heiny.  You then proceed to eliminate whatever you need to expel and you use the water in the green bucket like a bidet. How, you might ask? By making a huge mess on the walls, toilet seat, roll of toilet paper, and especially the floor and then you trail it out on your shoes. As does everyone unfortunate enough to come after you. I ask you, is this good citizen behavior? Some of us are more sensitive than others and won't touch the hot water drinking spigot, either. Then some people don't give a thought.
I think you know which camp I'm in. 

the Hotel Hager

My new hotel is charming and very European, right down to the teeny, tiny elevator that will barely hold you and 1 American bag. It called the Hager, it's on fish restaurant row, near the port of Mohammedia  on a main street that it is named after.


There is a panoramique terrace restaurant on ther 4th floor that feels like you're in a wooden boat. It overlooks the Atlantic. The people are delightful and very warm.


The food is outstanding, too.

 

Techno and Hookers and Johns, oh my!

I can tell you now. I couldn't say this as long as I was living there. The bouncers who were resident day and night (what was my first clue?) would have been happy to eject me before I had another place to go.

The hotel I first stayed in upon arrival in Maroc was the kind of place you spend only 1 night in. It might even be a memorable night. But you don't want to live there, trust me.

The Sabah has a disco. The music begins to get good at midnight and closes down at around 3:45. That's 1:15 before my wake-up alarm goes off. The music of choice is Arab techno with a great dance beat. Heavy percussion. The construction here is solid concrete with no wallboard or other insulating factor to help absorb sound. Are you feelin' me? No matter where in the 5-story hotel you are (and I tried quite a variety of rooms), you can feel the music in your bones and in your fillings.

I, who never watch TV,  learned to keep the TV on for background noise and I found that 1 of the few English-speaking channels was non-stop chick flicks. Amazing coincidence or Insallah? You tell me.

I also had a pillow over my head and an earplug. Over the 2 weeks I was there, I slowly wore down to a nub. I had to go to Gibraltar to get 1 good night's sleep.

However, when the music finally died, no amount of background noise could cover the sound of the spike heels on the tiled corridor floors. And the conversations and laughter during which time it was decided who was with whom in whose room. Then there were the straggler spike heels that came along a short time later, knocking on doors to see who was up for more company.

Now, I'm no prude, but in this world, this style of sexual encounters appears to a type of commerce that is accepted as healthy and normal. Even if  the women don't accept payment per se, there appears to usually be a very definite expectation of gaining something. For instance in the disco, if you're a man and you sit at a big table, you must buy a bottle of booze for all of the girls and their many friends to drink from. To the tune of $160 or so per bottle. But, hey- mixers are free!

The UGLY

Have you ever had a dream you're in the middle of a prison break? Have you felt the press of a lot of angry human flesh all around you and you can't get out of it's way? Have you been right at the point of needing a snorkel to breathe because of the boxed-in closeness, rife with righteous indignation and murderous intent? Nah, me neither.

So, on the return trip of my one-woman-traveling-fool-does-8-waking-hours-on-the-ground adventure, I have to travel back via Algeciras, Spain again. I realize how much time it's going to take me this time around and I set out by bus for that port from Gibraltar at around noon. It goes without a hitch boarding the jet boat and I eat lunch and settle in for a little nap before we even depart. Approximate departure of 2PM turns into 2:45, but no problem - I'll still be driving most of the way back in daylight once I get back to the rental car in Maroc because this is the FAST boat.

I noticed a small throng of people at the bow end holding their paperwork for passport control when I boarded, and when we left the dock an hour later, it looked like it hadn't gotten any smaller. I asked a young Arab gentleman what the deal was, to which he replied "They are illiterate and must need help filling out their paperwork."

I'm thinking "Whaat?"

A little while later the guy returns apologizing that he was wrong, that throng is where everyone on the boat must queue up to have their passport stamped before exiting the boat. So I join the throng. Thank God, there was a "line for ladies" off to the side of the velvet rope that only had a dozen or so women in it ahead of me. On the other side, the natives were becoming very restless and the ropes were starting to feel the pressure. Not to mention the men.

Did I mention that Arabs are not shy about the decibel level they project? Think "Marrakesh Casbah vendors" competing for the attention of the one lonely passport control cop who is having problems with his computer and so is VERY SLOWLY processing the group one at a time.

Then the tour bus lady (it was a car ferry) pushed the passports of all of her people in front of the cop, saying that they had priority. Shouts from the men became more a lot more agitated. Insult to injury, some insipid white woman was taking their picture and stealing their souls.

Then they announced over the loudspeaker that no-one was going to be able to get off of the boat until all of the passports had been processed.

Mayhem ensued. The ladies line was quickly infiltrated by persons of the other persuasion. The tour bus lady was long gone or her life would've been in danger. I had reached the first tier of people bearing down on the passport cop and had learned to lean in and shove my passport into his field of vision while he was busily processing some other poor slob. I could tell by the way he jerked his eyes up to mine that it was the only American passport he's seen that day. Not that he processed me any faster.

Of course, everything unfolded exactly as it should have and I only spent 4 hours driving home instead of 5. After the fog cleared (literally) I only had the last 1 hour or or so to drive in darkness. Insallah.



Outside of Tangiers in Maroc.
Not bad for 120 km/hr out of the driver's window, eh?



Another Moroccan sunset. One that will always remind me of a prison break!

Gibraltar- THE BAD a.k.a. "Lessons Learned"

Many people wouldn't even make such a long journey in a foreign country where they don't speak the language. Nobody who knew "the way things are" would even think of trying. I suppose the truth is that I'm afraid to stay still for fear of atrophy. So I went. There are no "bad things" when you 're able to learn. Here are the lessons.

Days 9&10 - Rocking Gibraltar - THE GOOD

I think my first name should have been Persistent, actually anything except Mary.

I was determined to get to the Rock of Gibraltar this past weekend and I did it! After all of the wondrous experiences that happen traveling by yourself in Morocco without speaking the language unfolded, I spent a total of 16 hours on the ground there, 8 of which I slept. But still, was it worth it?

Abso-frigging -lutely!

Insallah is a commonly used term here. It means "God Willing" in Arabic. In other Arab-speaking countries it means one thing. Here in Morocco, it means "there is no way this is going to happen unless God himself intervenes on your Christian behalf."

A.K.A. "NFW", "not a happening thang" and "I wouldn't count on it if I were you".

I drove our company rental car from Mohammedia to Tangiers (pronounced "Tawn-Gee" by the Moroccan guy who helped me when I was hopelessly lost in Rabat, Morocco's capital. He didn't know where this place was when I asked for how to get onto the road to "Tan-Jeers" and HE spoke English!)

This part of the odyssey took me 5 hrs. Google map said 3 hrs, 11 min. Google map has obviously not been here. Google map also refers to highway numbers. Ha! Numbers are not used on the roadway signs. Insallah.

 So, the thing to do in the absence of any ferry timetables to get across the Straits of Gibraltar from the continent of Africa to the continent of Europe is to just show up and hope for the best. Insallah. This is exactly what I did on the outbound trip. I set my intention for an easy journey, breathed deeply through Rabat city center (remember those pretty lane markings on the road? In Rabat, even the center lines are purely decorative on a Saturday at noon) and I got very lucky. I arrived in time to get a one-way ticket on the 4:30PM (approx.) slow boat out of Tangier Med to the Port of Algesiras.

Not to the Port of Gibraltar, which was my destination. But close. Only 2 bus rides away.

Looking back at it, it was unfolding perfectly.

 Algesiras is in southern Spain in the area called Andalucia. Wouldn't Nan be proud?

And if I has been on the fast boat, I would not have been allowed to take those great, clear photos of the Rock as we sailed past. They were taken from outside on the boat's deck. There were so few people on board the slow boat that I was the only one in the restaurant and I could leave my "stuff" there unattended and take those photos. On the jet boat, you had to take your photos thru the dirty, salt-sprayed windows. And if you walk away from your stuff on the jet boat, well - you'll see in the chapter of this saga called "the ugly".

But you'll just have to wait for it. I'm done for the night.

Tues, Jan 18th. Happy belated birthday, Bee!

Day 1- Hola! ¿Rioja for breakfast, anyone?

 OK, so right off the bat I can see that it's gonna be tough to lose twenty pounds on this trip.
First stop on foreign soil is in Madrid, Espana. The airport itself is a work of art- see solarized ceiling- but the business class lounge for Iberia Airlines is a throwback to the good old days of glamorous and fattening air travel. So at 2AM body time and 8AM local time, I feel great after a shower and 2 cappucinos.





Solarized ceiling- Madrid Airport

brought to you by my Droid-

Who needs Photoshop?




Karl on 2 hours of sleep (and no alcohol)

 

Day 4- Travels to Casablanca Casbah

The view from Salle 310-  my new, quieter room facing the sunset over the Atlantic.
I'm right at home (except it's not the Gulf of Mexico!)

Day 2- Early Daze




My first restaurant experience, Comptoir du Parc. Moroccans love PINK decor.

 

Here we go, my friends-

It’s been a whirlwind trip and a nice place to be so far. On Wednesday 1/5/2011, my boss Karl and I came from Tampa thru JFK’s Jet Blue terminal, Madrid airport on Thursday (fabulous!) to Casablanca and to my final destination, Mohammedia. It’s an Arabic country that is very French-influenced and Francaise is the official language, but younger Moroccan people have had English in high scholl and college. I’m told that their king is insistent on everyone learning English, to the extent that the Samir refinery I’m working in sends it’s workers without that skill to English classes in Casablanca, which is an hour away. So far the people have been very sweet and accomodating. Warm handshakes and hugs abound. However, it’s very “let’s make a deal” here which has a downside; the guy who rents cars to our team is quoted as saying “I’m Arabic , so it’s very difficult to say no to you. That is why I tell you I’ll do what you require in an hour and it takes me a few days. I’m not allowed to tell you I can’t do it.” The student interns who work next to our team, separated by a glass wall, were all a-titter at my arrival. My nickname is Cat. I wonder if they mean Cougar! J

My view out of Room 203

Morocco is very green, surprisingly. There are wildflowers blooming everywhere along the roads. The French influence is evident in the sidewalk cafes, beautiful parks and some of the upper crust houses have gorgeous private gardens and lush plantings. There is much poverty, as well as a middle class. (Remember middle class? ) I saw a man hand-clipping the grass at the bank today. Apparently, that’s pretty normal. Their greatest asset is their labor force and they know it. Workers are very well taken care of by the refinery.  They are transported to and from the refinery in Mohammedia in hordes of tour busses and fed subsidized healthy food, provided a giant sports complex with a pool where their kids can come and spend the day during school breaks. They are surrounded by parks inside the refinery as well as Samir-sponsored parks in the town. And there is a beautiful mosque on site at Samir, where Friday is the big prayer day for Muslims and workers get extra time off mid-day for that.

Mohammedia is a metropolis, but also a sea-side town that draws a gazillion people in the summer in spite of the fact that the refinery dominates the view from here. Tomorrow (actually later today) I get to explore beyond my little hood. I’m in a hotel called the Sabah, no frills, but pleasant. There is a disco here, as well as a restaurant and bar. And last night was a Friday Night Fever experience for me. It’s 2:53AM and the walls are still pulsating from the disco. I’m hoping that since it is Saturday, there may actually be hot water in the morning. Yeehaw! The Ritz Carlton, it ain’t. When the windows are open (no screens anywhere) the aromas of spicy meats cooking wafts up to my 3^rd story room. I like it, it reminds me of the Renaissance Festival.