Anyhow, Bozena left Morocco yesterday, as well as another friend, my dear, little, self-named Puppsimaeuschen Tina. Tiny Tina’s flight home departed from Fes yesterday via Ryan Air. So at noonish we departed from Rabat-Agdal station for a scheduled arrival at 14.45, all of which occurred very punctually. En route, somewhere before Meknes, a passing train in very close proximity frightened me, and the rest of the train car. Now this isn’t unusual for me, because frankly a train passing at full speed in parallel usually startles me to pieces. But this time, somehow, something hit the window directly next to me (and my precious head and other parts) and cracked it into an intricate web of thankfully still connected shards.
We pulled the shade down to keep the glass from falling in on us if it were to break apart. The women across the aisle insisted that someone threw a rock at the train, but I am not so sure.Anyhow, arriving at Fes was unremarkable, including the super persistent, aggressive taxi hacks waiting outside the station. To one particularly aggressive chap I finally said ‘on n’a pas besoin d’aide,’ (we don’t need any help), to which he demanded in French, “why are you so racist?” Let it be known that for this gentleman, refusing unsolicited, unwanted help is racist. Good to know. As Tina and I crossed the street, he circled back over to me and babbled some nonsense about Moroccans not eating tourists, and that I need not be afraid. What a freak.
Eventually, with the help of a few slightly clueless (but not too clueless) Fessies, we found the special navette (shuttle) that delivers people to Fes Saissi Airport, which may be the only airport in the world that doesn’t have any food. The ‘cafeteria’ had tuna sandwiches and almost nothing else, which was unhelpful since Tina already had a tuna sandwich prepared by her host mother that she had been avoiding eating since we’d left Rabat. So I ordered a couple of pains aux raisins and a diet coke (I should have had water but I try to avoid drinking anything that’ll make my body ‘function’ properly while traveling away from home). Tina checked in and we said our goodbyes. The real fun was about to begin for me. I brought my book, Feminisme au Maroc, to pass time en route back home. Since it’s an important part of my lit review for my dissertation, I have been marking it up with notes whenever I am forced to read away from my computer. After leaving Tina, I sauntered over to the bus stop, where I stood under the dark sky debating whether I should play snake or read. I decided on snake since my phone was fully charged, and played for a few minutes before a man came over to inform me that I had better take his taxi since the bus wouldn’t come until 19.00 (It was just before 18.00 at this point). I assured him that I didn’t mind waiting (20Dh for bus vs. 120DH for taxi=waiting wins). A bit later, he pulled up in his private, distinctly un-taxi, car and again entreated, “mademoiselle, c’est moi de toute a l’heure” (miss, it’s me from a few minutes ago). This guy really did expect me, a solitary traveler, to board his private car and go off into the darkness with him. Perhaps more annoying was my compulsion to offer yet ANOTHER ‘non, merci’ to get this jerk off my back. Cripes. Eventually the navette did arrive at around 18.15, but the very helpful gentlemen aboard informed me that it wouldn’t even leave the airport till after 19.00, so as to coincide with the arriving flight from Frankfurt. Well that was singularly bad news, considering that my already purchased train ticket for 18.50 would go to waste AND there wouldn’t be another train to Rabat till after 1 AM.
I reflected on my options—get a room at the Hotel Ibis next to the train station, try out CTM to see if any buses were leaving that night, or catch the 1 AM train. The idea of staying at Ibis was starting to appeal to me as I considered the comfortable bed, the in-room heater and the en-suite bathroom.
The gentlemen in the navette offered many suggestions, including trying to catch the local bus 16 to the strain station, which makes many stops, unlike the navette that shuttles nonstop between each destination. At 18.23 bus 16 pulls up and I made a run for it. The nice gentlemen yelled an amiable ‘bislama’ and off I went, making it onto the vessel just in time. I paid the 3.40 Dh and calculated the likelihood of arriving in time to catch my train, in consideration of the fact that a non-stop journey from the airport to the train station is usually 20 minutes. With only 25 minutes to catch my train, it felt increasingly unlikely that I would arrive in time. But alas, miraculously I managed to sprint from the bus stop in front of the train station, avoid slipping on the ridiculously and incomprehensibly slippery (even when not wet) floor of the station hall, stairs and underground corridor, and board the train just after 19.00. I stood for a while in the packed hallway of the train about an hour till eventually I was offered a seat. Somehow I survived the obnoxious music screeching from the cell phones of a couple different young men (Brian Adams, Avril Lavigne and other terrible stuff), and the child who wouldn’t sit still, and arrived back in Agdal famished. My roommate had lovely Thai food and chicken soup waiting, and I was relieved to have made it home. Ah traveling!
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