Moroccan Arrival

My taxi which was old, tired and beat up inside. 

Tuesday, September 12^th. continued...

As the plane was coming in for a landing, the plane's sound system which had been playing middle of the road music, suddenly played Psychotic Reaction by the Count Five; very strange.

When I got to customs the guard asked me if I had been to Morocco before and I told him, yes in 1979. He looked surprised but then looked it up on the computer and said that I came in via Tangier by ship (I thought he said 'sheep'). Actually it was a ferry from Spain. Remember there were no computers in 1979, so who entered all that data?

When I went to pick up my bag on carousel 10, I couldn't help but notice dozens of Muslims all dressed in white gowns all around carousel 9. And when I got my bag and tried to exit the building I met all of their relatives. The exit was a madhouse with everyone there to meet someone. I thought that maybe someone famous was coming. I asked a guy who was standing there holding a card with a name on it and he told me that a plane had just come back from Mecca and all the relatives come to meet them. It was a mob scene.

I had to push through to try to find the taxis. I had spent all my Euros before I left Spain and here I was armed only with my credit card. Unlike Europe none of the taxis accept cards, they want cash. As one said “This is Morocco”. I certainly wasn't thinking and stupidly I wasn't prepared. A few of them talked to me and couldn't believe I had no money. After a bit I was going to try to push my way back through the throng to get back into the airport to find an ATM or something, but one of the drivers said he would take me for 300 dirham. I no idea how much that was, or if it was good or bad, but at 11:00 pm in this craziness, I figured I didn't have much choice. He put my bag in his trunk and I climbed in with another tourist, a guy from Spain also going downtown but to a different hotel.

Maybe you can imagine the thoughts going through my mind on that drive. It was long, at least 40 minutes, and the speed limit was 60 and he was doing 90+ while talking on his cell, texting, changing cables on the phone and honking at other cars. I still didn't know how I was going to pay for the drive. Finally we arrived at the Novotel and the Spaniard got out. Now it's just me and this seedy guy who hasn't said a word to me since we left the airport. We drove around a few more streets before he finally pulled up in front of the Maamourac Hotel. He came in and wanted the hotel to pay him and put it on my bill, but they wouldn't do that, which upset him. I asked the hotel was a cab from the airport should cost and they told me, given the time of night and the fact that the bus doesn't run then, it should be about 300 dirham, so obviously the guy wasn't trying to rip me off. (One Canadian gets you 7.66 dirham, so the trip cost me $39.14). A young man from the hotel walked me up to the main street to an ATM where I got the money (and then some) and we went back and paid the driver. End of adventure and my welcome to Morocco and the Third World.

And to top it off, I have gone back in time, back to London time. The clock is now one hour earlier than Spain. Again, that is strange if you check a world map.