El Jadid, Morocco
Trip Start
Dec 12, 2010
1
99
147
Trip End
Jan 05, 2012
Casablanca, Tanger-Tétouan, Morocco
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
The flight was uneventful and I even assisted the guy sitting beside me with the TV screen selections (obviously his first flight and ME Ms UNTECHNO!) and got to know the 3 of them throughout the trip due to unusual conversations in 1/3 Arabic 1/3 English and 1/3 mime . They were part of a large group visiting Marakesh in Morocco for a weeks holiday. (Wives obviously at home looking after the kids I guess). As I have travelled around this past few months I have been addressed by many names and now (on this flight) I have been given a new one. Since December 2010 I have been called Madam, Miss Eve, Miss Elizabeth, Ms Hedley and now (of all things)…… Australia…. Every time these guys wanted to speak to me they would yell "hey Australia" and then I knew they wanted to converse with me. In a funny kind of way I thought how similar this was to the experience that Elizabeth had ( the Author of Eat, Pray, Love) had when meeting her Texan friend in India. He would refer to her as “groceries” and here I was being addressed as “Australia”. I chuckled at the similarity and the way that this appeared completely normal for them to do. Lunch time arrived and I duly ordered wine with my Pork and rice dish while they received their special Kosher meal and that made me feel a tad bad (for a whole 2 seconds). I did notice that the whole time I was eating though the guy next to me turned his back so as not to see what I was doing (coincidence?? I don't know). Aside from that the guys in the row with me and those in the row in front were nothing but pleasant and polite the entire trip.
I felt pretty confident arriving in Morocco , Casablanca to be exact, I knew it was a Muslim country and I knew I was a woman (blonde at that) travelling alone however when I lined up at the Customs check point I was somehow 'herded’ into a double line where I found myself standing next to an obviously very inebriated Irish guy. Only young (in his twenties I suspect) he opened his mouth to slur.. Z#$#^&%$$ @@$###%%$#**^%% Great all I need! Arriving in a Muslim (NO ALCOHOL permitted) country with a drunk Paddy who is standing next to me swearing like a trooper is not what I wanted to be doing as people may think we are travelling together. He was well and truly WASTED ! How he got in that state (on a plane in 3 hours) I don’t know (obviously responsible service has not been adopted in the air yet). Every 2 minutes a string of expletives would leave his lips… he appeared in a hurry and was sweating profusely. Now I have watched ‘ Border Security’ shows to know the tell tale signs and I had this guy summed up as a drug filled, condom swallowing, low life in five seconds and as I summed him up I looked around the line for support…. Hmmm none forthcoming. As I inched closer and closer to the counter it was clear that not only was on my own (in this situation) but it was going to take at least an hour for us to be ‘processed’. As I thought that to myself the next expletive #$#^&** came and I looked at this guy and encouraged him to stand in front of me and go first. He couldn’t/wouldn’t nahhhh he slurred …you go… I smiled and gestured that he go first and then I realized he probably couldn’t go first because the pole he was leaning on was also assisting him to stand up ! . Inch by inch I became more worried ,his swearing became worse … ewww those words can cut ! then his phone rang.. and he held the funniest conversation I have ever heard!
“Ye its me … is that ye?
Broooooooooo how are ye I am me
Yeah I am standing in the $#%%&** line at customs
Reckon 2 $^%^** hours then ye cume past pick me ye
%^&^** cant weit broooo ^&&*(K(&^%$ @@% “
Then as we moved forward he nearly fell over I just DIDN’T want ANYONE thinking he was with ME !!
Suddenly its my turn to present to customs so I dash and hope I never have to see the guy again… well I probably wouldn’t because he is probably gonna be safely in jail real soon .
My luggage arrives and I am feeling great until I step outside and cant see a bus or train stop anywhere. All I see is Taxi’s lined up (which is very unusual for Airports). I approach a Taxi driver and ask how much to the address that I have written down (my accommodation)? When he tells me it will be 700 Dihram I quickly work that out to be around $80AUD. “What?” I reply that’s way too much ! No he is insistent…. The place I want to go to is over an hour’s drive and there are NO bus or train services from the airport.
I stand on the pavement in disbelief. How the HELL do I get myself into such predicaments without trying?!! I refuse the service and I go back into the airport even though I have to have my bags scanned again. I approach a security guard (who doesn’t speak English) and then a guy in a bank/ money changing shop who reconfirms that the place that I want to go to (El Jadid) is in fact over an hour away. This really cheeses me off because the web site where I booked the accommodation did NOT say that the place was so far away and on the map (which I did check) it kind of looked close by. This is not the situation and now I am in a country I have no experience in and with men all around with no way to get to my accommodation.
Feeling smug (for all of 2 seconds) I remember that I have included the hotel phone number on my note and that one person (Said ) at the accommodation speaks English so I traipse back into the airport terminal and with the one coin I received when changing my currency I make a call to the hotel. Someone answers the phone in Arabic and discounting that I ask how far the hotel is from the airport and all I hear in response is “no English” , “no English”. I ask for the person who speak English his/her name is Said. “no work today, come tomorrow”. Now I wasn’t sure if the person on the other end of the line was telling me that Said wouldn’t be there working today or if I didn’t have a booking until tomorrow. Oh this situation was becoming worse by the moment. I hung up and decided to take my chances with the sharks outside.
As I walk outside I notice two younger boys and they ask if I need a Taxi “Yes” I say do you know where this address is ? (showing them the address on my note book). French the boy says. What? French you speak? NO I don’t . Bloody hell they speak FRENCH here in Morocco (I thought it was an Arabic country?) and this boy didn’t understand me at all. Along came another man and in English asked me to wait there he would get the taxi for me . It looked like I had no choice but to pay the $80AUD for the trip so another lesson learned I figured! I stood and in the heat I was feeling like a nice cold drink was in order but there was nothing I could buy close by and I didn’t want to miss the cab. Suddenly it arrived. Hmmmmm I looked at it and could sum it up in one word …. BOMB !
By now I have ascertained that the language of the Moroccan population is French AND Arabic (neither of which I can speak) and as I got into the Taxi (as advised) I immediately have reservations. There was a guy (Muslim) white hat, white long robe and black beard driving and this other dude (who had asked me to wait on the pavement) in the passenger seat (opposite side to our vehicles in Australia). They talked animatedly as we appeared to drive around in a circle then the driver got out and the other guy swapped seats and drove us around the circle again. At this point I was feeling very uneasy one because I was in a taxi with TWO men I didn’t know and two because they were obviously having a row between them in Arabic which I couldn’t understand. Then he explained to me that the driver must show his credentials (a passport sized paper with a photo) to the Police so as to exit the airport area (strange situation if you ask me). The driver then got back in the driver seat (as we pass him showing the police his papers) and the two of them take me around the roundabout again ! At this point I ask them to stop the cab and let me out! They stop (in the middle of the road) and I open the door of the cab and with one leg out I ask the man “do you EVEN want to know the address where I am wanting to travel to?” Obviously he is going to lose a BIG fare and so he (and the driver) turn around to address my question . “No worries” the English speaking dude says ! You will go there no worries.” But you haven’t even looked at the address” I reply “just the name of the suburb is not enough to know where I am going “!! “ No No NO “ he smiles “we get you there, you go now” and with that he gets out of the car. Great I am in a car with a non English speaking man, the car is a WRECK of all proportions and I am supposed to sit for an hour being taken to god knows where ! I don’t even have a map with me to check we are going in the right direction. All my instincts tell me to run …and FAST but I feel that that will not resolve anything. So I sit there and as we leave the safe confines of the airport perimeter I look for ANYTHING , ANYTHING at all that indicates that I am going in the direction of this unknown beach town of El Jadid.
There is not a THING that indicates where I am going or that I am going in the correct direction until about 10 minutes into the trip. I have been taken via a series of freeways north (my guess only) and suddenly I see the road sign that indicates that El Jadid is 80km away. HOLY MANOLY ! they were all telling the truth ! (why am I surprised by that?) The landscape is quite flat, quite dry and quite baron. There aren’t the familiar townships that I am used to here, they are more like groups of flat roofed stone buildings with walls that contain them. They look like they have been involved in a war with ‘bits’ missing from some buildings and stone , rock and other materials strewn around the local area.
I am feeling VERY nervous and very unsafe, the taxi does not have a dial that is in working order on the dash board (I even asked the English speaking dude if there was petrol in the car because the dial indicated EMPTY) . The seats in the front (I sit in the back) are tied together with the (what used to be a safety restraint) seat belts and I note that there is nothing about the car that I would KEEP if it were mine. The seats are dirty and ripped and there is no Air conditioning only open windows that ensure the loud humming grinding noise that is emanating from the engine is louder. My door has no window winder nor lock (its permanently BOLTED so as to prevent opening once closed) and Mohammed (my nick name for him) is sitting in the front listening to what sounds like repeats of the past 4 months ‘early call to prayer’ messages which are presented with a 'droning' tone and really I don’t know how he heard anything at all anyway between the wind entering the 4 open windows, the noisy engine AND the cars rattling parts.
I have till now omitted to inform you that the car is travelling at a VERY fast speed. Due to the non existent working dials I cant tell HOW fast he is driving but I estimate around 130kmh to 140kmh and that is NO exaggeration. I am not sure where I am going, if I am going to get there and if I will arrive in one piece (not a pleasant feeling at all). I suddenly have an idea and I pull out my camera and start taking pictures out the window. In between those pictures I line up the camera in the back of the car to take pictures of the state of disrepair this cab is in and that if I NEVER make my destination and I am feeling that this is the END of my trip I will have pictorial evidence of the last days of my time! (I really did feel I had made the WORST mistake of my life at this point) . Actually thinking about it the ONLY indication that this is in fact a Taxi is the very old sign that is bolted to the rear shelf in the back window. Oh Dear, I think to myself, What the hell have I done this time?
The driver having now driven for nearly an hour is now looking very tired, (obviously he doesn’t usually take passengers one or more hours from the airport on a regular basis) and as he winds his window down fully (air to keep him awake possibly) he keeps veering to the side of the road ,shifting in his seat as he suddenly heads straight for a long line of witches hats and barricades to the right of us that have been placed there whilst road works are in progress. I can’t believe he is heading straight for them and I actually get as far as putting my hand between the front seats to grab the steering wheel to steer him back onto the road! I can’t believe he is not watching what is happening and as I reach my hand between the seats and past his body he is startled into consciousness! “Are you ok”? I ask him and he eyeballs me in the rear vision mirror and nods in the affirmative. That was a close one and I am now even more nervous until I see the sign post to El Jadid that confirms I am actually going in the right direction and with only 28km to go.
I am aware that my children and those who are dear to me are reading this entry with possible disbelief and horror that I should get myself into such a predicament. Can I just say in my defence…. I NEVER MEANT TO!
I finally see the coast line (up until now its been country driving with a few derelict groups of buildings in the distance every now and again. I find that the sight of the ocean brings tears to my eyes. Nearly there I think to myself and I feel a bit more at ease. My whitened knuckles released from my back pack handle (where they have been tightly positioned for the past hour) I rub my hands to get some circulation into them. As we approach El Jadid I am aware that possibly this guy is NOT going to know where the address is that I have carefully written directly from the accommodation web site. How the HECK am I going to find the place when Mohammed and I have virtually driven one and a quarter hours (at least 130kmh) without a word ?
