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Casablanca

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ephidryn

Oct 20, 2009 23:46

Read 290 times, Dig?

Normally I'm pretty laid back even when I'm in situations like this.
Sometimes it gets the better of me though.

What follows is a cut and paste from an email to someone that demanded
an email from me with his wit and prose. I wish I could send you his
email as well but I didn't ask for permission:

jesus dude. where do you come up with it all?

becapped?

have you been flogging your dendrites with poisonous substances that
kindle euphoria from your nose all the way down to your... dantian?

africa took me to the cleaners in less than an hour. we left bcn the
smart way and got to the airport with falsified onward ticket
documents to placate those pesky immigration officials. did we have
enough money for our stay in morocco? ppppphhhhtttt!!!! of course we
did! (if we slept in a tent and ate out of the trash for three months
and the moroccans somehow magically decided that we were not those
rich white tourists that didn't deserve to hang on to any cash that we
happened to have.)

on the plane cecilia seemed a bit dissapointed that i was so excited
that we managed to find a couchsurfing host last minute. she said she
wanted to be lost in a country where she didn't speak the language and
experience that feeling in all it's greatness.

customs and immigrations was much easier than i had anticipated. the
agents just seemed to be doing their job and fortunately their job was
not hassling people from the usa and argentina. that night at least.

the first time that morocco got me was in the airport. i needed water
real bad and i was willing to pay for it. i walked up to one of those
cafe type kiosks and asked for "eau" the woman said "what?" in english
and i said "water". i asked how much it was and she said 12. i gave
her 22 and noticed that the register said 7.50. she gave me the change
and i looked at here right in the eyes as she smiled. 5.50RAM was less
important to me than getting back to cecilia who was sitting with the
bags outside so i ate it.

MOROCCO 1 - GARDNER 0

we took the train from the airport into town to a stop called oasis.
it seemed more like a ghetto to me than an oasis and there were all
sorts of guys with regular cars yelling "TAXI" at us trying to charge
150% of what the price should be. i found an old taxi driver. a legit
one. the old ones are always tired of banging and they just run the
meter and do their job.

he took us down to the twin center, through the second most accident
prone streets in the world, into a real yuppy part of town where i got
some credit for the sim chip and tried to call our couchsurfing
contact that happened to be out of town that night. downtown
casablanca, saturday night, fuckoff big backpacks, no language skills,
very little money,
deadpan-deer-in-the-head-lights-stupid-expression-on-the-face.

after we got the news that we were flying solo that night i just kind
of stood there in the telebotique for a few minutes thinking of what
to do. i had been awake since 4 am, moroccan time, and i contemplated
just sleeping on the sidewalk as it seemed like a popular option for
people that didn't have any other plans. as i walked out of the little
store full of phone booths, candy, and cigarettes, this kid with
bandages all over his face looked at me and indicated to me that he
was hungry by pointing his folded fingers towards his mouth. i made it
a rule a long time ago never to not give food to people but for some
reason, this time, i ignored him.

we saw some funky looking dudes hanging out by a scooter. big hair,
rastas, music t-shirts. and one of them asked what we were looking
for. i was tired and weary of any sort of "help" anyone might try to
offer but after talking with them for a few minutes they seemed
genuine and i took their advice on a hotel that costs about 100MAD (10
euro). We hopped in a petite taxi and the guy with big hair explained
to the taxi driver how to get there.

we drove passed a ramada inn and al sorts of fancy looking restaurants
and clubs. then i saw a sign for Hostelling International and i was
relieved. that sign means to me "cheap place to stay that doesn't
suck". the taxi pulled up into a plaza full of moroccan kids drinking
and homeless guys sleeping. i just told myself that we were near the
medina and this was a normal spread for a saturday night. There was
even a guy sitting on the stairs of the hostel waiting to greet us. a
feeling of relief flooded my body and subdued the tense apprehensions
that had been building up ever since we got off the plane.

the taxi meter said 8 so i got out and fished out a 10RAM coin and
said "merci" as i gave it to him indicating that he could keep the
change. at the same time the man on the stairs yelled something and i
asked him in spanish if he spoke spanish. he yelled again this time in
english asking if we had reservations. the taxi driver started yelling
something and tapping on the window with the coin. i told the man on
the stairs that we did not have a reservation and he curtly said that
he did not have anything for us. the taxi driver started screaming
louder and i ducked my head into the car to see what the damage was.
he was pointing at the coin and screaming something so i took the coin
and looked at it. it looked old and smashed. cecilia said "maybe he
thinks it's fake". so i gave him a different coin of the same
denomination and went back to ask the man on the stairs, the one with
the erectile dysfunction, if he knew of another place nearby but the
taxi driver exploded into a fit of rage banging on the window.

mr stairs, who was also yelling at this point and sounded a bit like
cartman from southpark, asked in english how long we had been in
morocco. i told him in spanish that we arrived today. he asked where
we came from as if to imply that our kind weren't welcome here.
perhaps he could smell the yank on me even though i do a good job
trying to hide it. it had become apparent that the balding man on the
stairs was hostile and the best strategy for dealing with him was to
ignore him.

my attention then turned to the situation relating to the taxi. this
fucker wanted more money than was on his meter. i do not pay more than
is on the meter. period. i started yelling at him in english telling
him that he should fix his fucking meter if he wants to get paid the
appropriate amount when i heard the man on the stairs say something
about police.

fucking a! why didnt i think of that in the first place. the cops
would sort this out. i remembered back to when some guy tried to screw
me at the airport in philippines. i got my bags out of the car and
just started screaming for police. the guy took off. positive
reinforcement will develop stupid behaviors. fortunately i had been
glancing around to see who was taking interest in our late night three
way of an argument and then i thought better of it seeing as how it
was 1am on saturday night and we were in a plaza just off the medina
surrounded by those kind of guys that love to nick your cell phone in
the gothic quarter in barcelona.

i had no idea who was friends with who or who might take offense to
me summoning police officers to the otherwise seemingly tranquil
plaza. i decided it was better not to. i also thought about hitting
the taxi driver right in the face but cecilia was still in the back
seat trapped under 40kg of shit we don't really need.

begrudgingly i fished out another 8MAD and gave it to the driver. i
got the bags out of the taxi and i hope i remembered to flip off the
fat balding guy on the stairs. the one with the erectile dysfunction.
i was really tired though so maybe not.

MOROCCO 2 - GARDNER 0 (you have to admire their coordination)

my stress levels had return to normal (normal for late night
casablanca). we stepped over the trash and homeless guys on cardboard
as we walked towards another door that looked like it belonged to a
hotel. i walked in and everything was so different from outside. the
place was lavishly decorated with pillars and lattice work. there were
pillows and chairs covered in some bright red velveteen fabric. the
marble tiles could barely attract a glance while the extra wide curved
stair case with it's dark wooden banister and the deep red curtains
adorned with gold tassels and fringe. there were all these old
europeans speaking french some even with portable computers. if there
wasn't bosa nova playing softly on the radio then there should have
been. i felt like i was in one of hunter s. thompson's dreams (or
nightmares).

there seemed to be a traffic jam at the bottom of the stairs and in
front of the reception desk. i slid in through the people and began
talking to the man behind it. he directed me to a man with a smile.
the man with the smile spoke english eventually and he asked if we had
a reservation. i said no and he said that they were full. very full. i
just wandered over to a bench and sat down. i didn't know what to do
at all. if we kept spending money on taxis we wouldn't have any left
for the hotel or the train to get to rabat. i was tired. mentally and
physically. i couldn't call to ask if a hotel had space. i couldn't
take a taxi all over casablanca looking for a hotel. i couldn't sleep
outside with the bitch in tow, my computer, and my 3000MAD bank roll
which was meant to support two people for the next month.

the man with the smile said that he knew of another hotel nearby and a
taxi would only be 30MAD. i sat there thinking about how that was more
than any taxi we had taken so far and how you should never really
trust a guy with a smile but i was tired. these two other guys, a brit
and a canadian/japanese/brit, were pushed out of their reservations
and were keen to head over to the other hotel. we all piled into a
huge mercedes and arrived at the other hotel much quicker than i had
imagined.

the man with the smile said we could leave the bags in the car until
we were sure that they had rooms available. i was not going anywhere
else with this guy but i decided to just go with it. i asked cc to
keep an eye on the car cause a trunk full of backpacks seems like
sweet pickins to anyone with a screwdriver. she stayed by the entrance
to

this hotel was similarly styled but had an elevator and some weird
bronze statues of half naked ladies holding up torches that were
actually incadesent light bulbs covered with molded plastic in the
shape of a flame.

the man behind the counter at reception seemed a bit shy. the man with
the smile said some stuff in moroccan to him and we were all offered
rooms. a double for two people was 450MAD. 450MAD is internet for two
months. it's 15 pizzas from a fancy pizza shop. 15% of my roll or half
a months rent. i gave him our passports and filled out the form. we
got in the elevator and went up to the third floor and some guy showed
us our room. it was a place to sleep. i had been awake for 21 hours
under stress and a 20kg pack for most of them. i needed to sleep. we
got settled in and i checked for a network connection but there was
nothing through the thick brick walls this high up.

cecilia passed out while i was looking for the gprs settings for my
phone in the heap of documents that i had on my drive. i wanted to
know where i was and where i was going. i wanted to confirm our host
in rabat and i wanted to know how to get there and formulate a backup
plan if we couldn't. i was all strung up.

i went downstairs to look for a beer. i asked the guy at the reception
and he said there was a bar next door which i could hear was playing
loud arabic music. he said there was a special: 2 beers for 36mad. i
walked over there and ordered two beers but when the guy went to open
the second one i told him that i was going to bring them up to my
room. he left the second one closed and took my 100mad note. it was
the smallest one i had at the moment.

you don't get change here. you just get an angry face accompanied by
wild arm gestures and angry french mixed in with enough arabic to
confuse the froggiest of frogs. they tried to explain something to me
but i just walked away. the bartender grabbed me by the arm and i
looked at him like i would kill him if there weren't massive security
guys at all the exits. he let me go and i walked back to the reception
desk and explained my problem in english. the waiter from the bar came
over and had a conversation with the guy at reception.

turns out there's two different prices. one for take away and one for
the bar. i had the take away price of 50mad per 240ml of beer. 100mad.
fuck that. the bar closed. the beer was open. i couldn't slug em in
the bar and i culdn't get my money back. the waiter gave me a discount
and it turned out to be 50 for the two of them. this guy just took me
for 14mad and made me feel like i got a discount.

MOROCCO 3 - GARDNER 0

i went back up to the room and drank the beers all too fast. when i
finished the bottles i propped them up against the two doors so that
if anyone opened them during the night they would fall on the marble
floor and make an alarming noise. i took a shower, got my knife, and
went to bed. i didn't sleep.

HOORAY FOR AFRICA!

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This story was written by ephidryn and has been brought you you by the letters Z and C.

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