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.
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.
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.
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.
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| Outside of Tangiers in Maroc. Not bad for 120 km/hr out of the driver's window, eh? |
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| Another Moroccan sunset. One that will always remind me of a prison break! |
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