Migrating with the Masses
"Hey! Are you going to Morocco or to war?"
The voice was gruff, loud, female and unpleasant, like Rosie O'Donnell on steroids. I looked to my left and caught a large, middle aged Moroccan woman riding in a purple Peugeot minivan, dressed in hijab scarf, jellaba. Her alleged husband was driving.
It was a rude awakening to hurried people, always trying to get ahead and cut in line.
It's been quite a summer away in Europe. Ah, smooth highways, autoroutes, autovias, etc.
Our return to Morocco via the Strait of Gibraltar was a re-taste of the frenzied rush, migrating with the masses of Moroccans resident in Europe, especially France.
First taste was at a rest stop between Malaga and Algeciras where a booth advertised "tickets for Tanger". I thought, why not buy ahead and save time at the port? We stopped and I waited for 30 minutes in a line which did not move. "heck, I'm wasting my time with these expat Moroccans." May as well drive on to the ferry and buy tickets there. Which i did.
When we merged from 8 lanes to 4 lanes, I jumped out and walked up to a booth. There was NO line. The Spanish clerk served me quickly. Hmm, serves me well!
The next merge, from 4 lanes to 2 was less smooth. I let a blue convertible go ahead of me and then it was my turn. Not! To my left was hijab Rosie.
Welcome to Morocco, except we were still in Spain. Aside from the urge to punch her in the mouth, (which I didn't) we creeped forward for 45 minutes until we parked in "lot 11". All around us was a sea of cars, minvans, SUVs and their passengers. The Spanish sun was hot, even for 6pm (4pm Moroccan time). Graciously, a golf cart was dispensing free water.
"How long until the next ferry for "Lot 11"? I asked a Spanish woman staffer. (boy that high school Spanish is coming in handy, even if I've forgotten most of it!)
"3 and 1/2 hours ... maybe."
She was wrong. We waited for 7 hours, until 1:00am before we boarded. The boat was crowded, so we wanted to sleep in the car. "No, not allowed! Bad fumes and it the ferry sinks, you'll be caught down below." they said.
We dragged our sleeping kids out and looked for a sofa bench to lie down on. I stood in line to process our passports. Thankfully, I was near the front of the line before it got really long. After that was done, I had to look for a sleep space. It wasn't easy. People were sleeping on seats, benches, on the floor, all over. A mess!
The ferry ride was 3 and 1/2 hours. Driving off the boat, we were confronted with another mayhem of customs booths in the darkness of 4:30am. There were hundreds of other vehicles trying to get through.
Once out of the port, we drove through the streets of Tanger looking for a parking lot to stop at and sleep. I settled on the train station. It was lit and there was a guardian. I placed the sunscreens on the windshield and towels over the windows for privacy, and we all slept until 7:30am.
Except I was interrupted at 5am by a wedding parade passing by. It was a caravan of a dozen cars, their horns blaring, celebrants shouting and singing. They stopped at the rotary in front of the train station, their vehicles blocking exits and routes, and took pictures to their hearts' delight. After 10 minutes, they shuttled on to their next destination, continuing to make merry music to any who was awake.
Welcome back to Morocco.
The voice was gruff, loud, female and unpleasant, like Rosie O'Donnell on steroids. I looked to my left and caught a large, middle aged Moroccan woman riding in a purple Peugeot minivan, dressed in hijab scarf, jellaba. Her alleged husband was driving.
It was a rude awakening to hurried people, always trying to get ahead and cut in line.
It's been quite a summer away in Europe. Ah, smooth highways, autoroutes, autovias, etc.
Our return to Morocco via the Strait of Gibraltar was a re-taste of the frenzied rush, migrating with the masses of Moroccans resident in Europe, especially France.
First taste was at a rest stop between Malaga and Algeciras where a booth advertised "tickets for Tanger". I thought, why not buy ahead and save time at the port? We stopped and I waited for 30 minutes in a line which did not move. "heck, I'm wasting my time with these expat Moroccans." May as well drive on to the ferry and buy tickets there. Which i did.
When we merged from 8 lanes to 4 lanes, I jumped out and walked up to a booth. There was NO line. The Spanish clerk served me quickly. Hmm, serves me well!
The next merge, from 4 lanes to 2 was less smooth. I let a blue convertible go ahead of me and then it was my turn. Not! To my left was hijab Rosie.
Welcome to Morocco, except we were still in Spain. Aside from the urge to punch her in the mouth, (which I didn't) we creeped forward for 45 minutes until we parked in "lot 11". All around us was a sea of cars, minvans, SUVs and their passengers. The Spanish sun was hot, even for 6pm (4pm Moroccan time). Graciously, a golf cart was dispensing free water.
"How long until the next ferry for "Lot 11"? I asked a Spanish woman staffer. (boy that high school Spanish is coming in handy, even if I've forgotten most of it!)
"3 and 1/2 hours ... maybe."
She was wrong. We waited for 7 hours, until 1:00am before we boarded. The boat was crowded, so we wanted to sleep in the car. "No, not allowed! Bad fumes and it the ferry sinks, you'll be caught down below." they said.
We dragged our sleeping kids out and looked for a sofa bench to lie down on. I stood in line to process our passports. Thankfully, I was near the front of the line before it got really long. After that was done, I had to look for a sleep space. It wasn't easy. People were sleeping on seats, benches, on the floor, all over. A mess!
The ferry ride was 3 and 1/2 hours. Driving off the boat, we were confronted with another mayhem of customs booths in the darkness of 4:30am. There were hundreds of other vehicles trying to get through.
Once out of the port, we drove through the streets of Tanger looking for a parking lot to stop at and sleep. I settled on the train station. It was lit and there was a guardian. I placed the sunscreens on the windshield and towels over the windows for privacy, and we all slept until 7:30am.
Except I was interrupted at 5am by a wedding parade passing by. It was a caravan of a dozen cars, their horns blaring, celebrants shouting and singing. They stopped at the rotary in front of the train station, their vehicles blocking exits and routes, and took pictures to their hearts' delight. After 10 minutes, they shuttled on to their next destination, continuing to make merry music to any who was awake.
Welcome back to Morocco.
posted by Carl | 6:36 PM
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