Finally... I made it to my hotel in Fez at 11:00pm after almost losing my carry-on luggage on two separate occasions. Here is a rather long account of what happened, and some of my first impressions of Morocco. Normally the blogs will be shorter and with more pictures, but here we go!
Everything was running smoothly. I knew I was in Paris when I saw baguettes in the Starbucks display case and the luxury goods in every corner. I quickly made my way to the gate for the flight to Casablanca, which began boarding 10 minutes later. It was a quick connection... apparently too quick for the bag handlers.
I arrived in Morocco with light searing my eyes and I began following the crowd to customs. I quickly realized the range of clothing, style, and modesty for the men and women, and I began to wonder if I should have packed some 3/4 length pants for the heat or my black high heels. It was painful to leave them behind, but it didn't seem practical to bring such attention-grabbing shoes when my blonde hair was already enough.
After customs, I arrive at baggage claim. I wait and wait, and sure enough my bag did not make it. Fortunately, a girl waiting beside me was Moroccan, but had just graduated from Harvard. She assured me that this happens all the time, and as if it were routine, she brought me over to the baggage handlers and looked up when our bags would arrive. Just eight hours from now... no big deal. She went home to her family to have lunch, and I waited in the airport. In fairness to her she had wanted to invite me home while I waited but she said she had family affairs she had to attend too and it was impossible. I didn't object out loud but my tired body and heavy eyes told the truth. Thus, I entertained myself with a second viewing of Casablanca, people watching, and drinking tea. When I couldn't sit anymore I walked around the relatively small airport and made friends with the money exchange guy, and cafe waiters.
At 4:30 sharp I saw my bright red bag, and headed towards the train.
I got my tickets with relative ease, and a train had just pulled up that I asked if I should take. They looked at my ticket and motioned for me to get on. As I was jumping on, the doors began to close, and my bag was caught in between the closing doors. I began to panic, but forced myself to stay calm. A train attendant was motioning for me to let go of my handle and allow the doors to close with me on one side and the bag on the other. I resisted for awhile, not wanting to let my bag go after waiting for so long, but I finally consented and released the handle. Because of the weight, it flew back and the doors slammed all the way closed. I barely retracted my hands in time, and thankfully my fingers were not caught in the crossfire. The train had shut down. All the lights had gone off, and the buttons that open the doors were not working. I told myself it was just until they got the train running again, and I held my breath waiting for the lights to come back on. After a few minutes, the lights came on, and the train began to move. I have to admit, I was already thinking of ways to get to my bag, looking for something heavy to break the glass with... but I decided to use the stranded tourist tactic instead and conjured up my best helpless face for the train attendant. I only needed it for a few seconds, and the train stopped again, only a few meters away from my bag. The doors opened, and I hungrily grabbed my bag and moved to an open seat. All the sympathy I got was the train attendant walking by and making fun of my fear stricken face from behind the glass door. It wasn't mean or anything, but I was too exhausted to do anything but smile back.
I found another American girl on the train and we happened to begin a conversation where a young man sitting across from her offered to point me to the train going to Fez. He was going there too and I decided to stick with him. His name was Soufyane, and he was studying to be an Engineer in France. I was grateful to have him, and we talked for a couple of hours on the four hour train ride from Casablanca to Fez. The train was terribly hot, and thankfully he had convinced me to get food before we got on to the train so I wasn't starving. When we finally arrived in Fez, it was already about 10:30pm, and very dark. The train lights had only come on about a half hour ago when the train driver decided to check the tickets, but otherwise, it was pitch black. I just kept thanking God that I was with Soufyane, and not alone in the dark. When we got to Fez, Soufyane took the Taxi with me and made sure I got to my hotel safely.
Relieved to finally make it to the hotel I lifted my bag up the stairs and checked in, only to find that there was no reservation made for me. Luckily there was still an open room and the young concierge began chatting me up. He even asked for my facebook. I guess thats the new way to ask for someone's number... Finally, he said that I must be tired and would like to sleep, and I kindly asked for my key to the room. He had forgotten to give it to me... it was not by choice that I stood there listening to his life story.
Everything was running smoothly. I knew I was in Paris when I saw baguettes in the Starbucks display case and the luxury goods in every corner. I quickly made my way to the gate for the flight to Casablanca, which began boarding 10 minutes later. It was a quick connection... apparently too quick for the bag handlers.
I arrived in Morocco with light searing my eyes and I began following the crowd to customs. I quickly realized the range of clothing, style, and modesty for the men and women, and I began to wonder if I should have packed some 3/4 length pants for the heat or my black high heels. It was painful to leave them behind, but it didn't seem practical to bring such attention-grabbing shoes when my blonde hair was already enough.
After customs, I arrive at baggage claim. I wait and wait, and sure enough my bag did not make it. Fortunately, a girl waiting beside me was Moroccan, but had just graduated from Harvard. She assured me that this happens all the time, and as if it were routine, she brought me over to the baggage handlers and looked up when our bags would arrive. Just eight hours from now... no big deal. She went home to her family to have lunch, and I waited in the airport. In fairness to her she had wanted to invite me home while I waited but she said she had family affairs she had to attend too and it was impossible. I didn't object out loud but my tired body and heavy eyes told the truth. Thus, I entertained myself with a second viewing of Casablanca, people watching, and drinking tea. When I couldn't sit anymore I walked around the relatively small airport and made friends with the money exchange guy, and cafe waiters.
At 4:30 sharp I saw my bright red bag, and headed towards the train.
I got my tickets with relative ease, and a train had just pulled up that I asked if I should take. They looked at my ticket and motioned for me to get on. As I was jumping on, the doors began to close, and my bag was caught in between the closing doors. I began to panic, but forced myself to stay calm. A train attendant was motioning for me to let go of my handle and allow the doors to close with me on one side and the bag on the other. I resisted for awhile, not wanting to let my bag go after waiting for so long, but I finally consented and released the handle. Because of the weight, it flew back and the doors slammed all the way closed. I barely retracted my hands in time, and thankfully my fingers were not caught in the crossfire. The train had shut down. All the lights had gone off, and the buttons that open the doors were not working. I told myself it was just until they got the train running again, and I held my breath waiting for the lights to come back on. After a few minutes, the lights came on, and the train began to move. I have to admit, I was already thinking of ways to get to my bag, looking for something heavy to break the glass with... but I decided to use the stranded tourist tactic instead and conjured up my best helpless face for the train attendant. I only needed it for a few seconds, and the train stopped again, only a few meters away from my bag. The doors opened, and I hungrily grabbed my bag and moved to an open seat. All the sympathy I got was the train attendant walking by and making fun of my fear stricken face from behind the glass door. It wasn't mean or anything, but I was too exhausted to do anything but smile back.
I found another American girl on the train and we happened to begin a conversation where a young man sitting across from her offered to point me to the train going to Fez. He was going there too and I decided to stick with him. His name was Soufyane, and he was studying to be an Engineer in France. I was grateful to have him, and we talked for a couple of hours on the four hour train ride from Casablanca to Fez. The train was terribly hot, and thankfully he had convinced me to get food before we got on to the train so I wasn't starving. When we finally arrived in Fez, it was already about 10:30pm, and very dark. The train lights had only come on about a half hour ago when the train driver decided to check the tickets, but otherwise, it was pitch black. I just kept thanking God that I was with Soufyane, and not alone in the dark. When we got to Fez, Soufyane took the Taxi with me and made sure I got to my hotel safely.
Relieved to finally make it to the hotel I lifted my bag up the stairs and checked in, only to find that there was no reservation made for me. Luckily there was still an open room and the young concierge began chatting me up. He even asked for my facebook. I guess thats the new way to ask for someone's number... Finally, he said that I must be tired and would like to sleep, and I kindly asked for my key to the room. He had forgotten to give it to me... it was not by choice that I stood there listening to his life story.
