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Tag Archives: transportation

How to travel

31 Friday May 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco, Observations

≈ 4 Comments

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blue streets, chefchaouen, co, culture, getting lost, hotel parador, Morocco, serendipity, tourist, transportation, traveler

You can be a tourist and get on a bus or van and go where the guide tells you to go, or you can travel and experience the people and the culture of a place. Either way, you make plans, but being a traveler, you let your day unfold as it will. As a traveler, you’re happy with however it happens. You’re willing to get lost.

I have the luxury of being a traveler because I’ve already been to Morocco and have already done the stuff the book recommends. (And because I have a Moroccan travel companion who’s in the business!) But I think it’s important to always add a bit of serendipity to a trip; to let things happen as they will. For example, it’s good to have a day in which you can sleep in, if you choose, or to run typical errands like you might at home. Meet the people with whom tourists never see! Be normal in a place. Talk to the people. Possibly get lost and make yourself have to rely on others to find your way!

I don’t think everyone is cut-out to travel for sure. It takes a lot of work to allow yourself to be free and to not worry: about how you look or how stupid you feel not knowing the language, or worrying about finding your way. But what I’ve learned is that someone will always help you. Always! So I say, get lost sometimes!

When in Chefchaouen, Morocco a few days ago, I became confused on the blue streets and alleyways; all of them looked alike! I have an excellent sense of direction but with all these blue doors and streets, it’s no wonder I couldn’t find the Hotel Parador. Or at least that’s what I thought the name of the hotel was where I was to meet Mokhtar after 2 hours of taking pictures. So after walking for what I knew was too long, I stopped and asked someone. He didn’t know English so I tried some French. It worked. He knew where I was to go. So off I went, following him past all the men waiting to get in to Mosque. He explained to each one he was taking me somewhere to show me my way, as if he needed to explain to these traditional men why he was walking with a woman, even though I tried to maintain a 3-step distance behind him.

He walked like he was in a race and I was exhausted within seconds! My god these people who are accustomed to walking in the desert or in hilly villages can walk! We proceeded into the market, me following trustingly behind. I looked to my right and thought, ‘That’s the way I’m supposed to go!’ but instead I followed, partly for the adventure of it and partly because I wasn’t sure of myself at the moment.

We got inside the market and he passed me off to another shop owner, wishing me good luck as I went on my way, blindly trusting man number 2. We walked, and walked, and walked inside that market, up steep hills like goats. Are you kidding me?! I kept thinking. But now I knew there was nothing more I could do except trust him. So when we got outside the market to another steep hill with a sign, ‘Hotel Parador’ at the top, I was devastated! This was not the hotel I was expecting to see. It looked like a rinky-dink hotel when the one I was looking for was palatial, with a big fancy pool and lots of public parking outside. I sat down on the steps and nearly started to cry. So disappointed and now getting a little scared because I had purposely left my phone, but now I had no way to contact Mokhtar to tell him I was lost. So I was feeling in a real pickle. “Maybe I told you the wrong hotel. Maybe I’m wrong,” I said to him. “Parking public?” I said to him. ‘Piscine et terrasse?’ I added desperately! “Oui, oui!” he emphatically assured, with the most beautiful smile! “C’est Hotel Parador! Oui!” So I sucked it up and took a deep breath and tackled the hill. We got to the top of it and my man, my savior, made a sweeping gesture to the parking lot and I hugged him and he said, “You said Hotel Parador and that’s where I brought you! To Hotel Parador!” I gave him some dirhams, probably a zillion too many, and we hugged and waved and said good-bye over and over and I calmly walked to Mokhtar as though nothing strange had happened. But he knew by my crazy sweaty hair and face that something was up!

It’s a good feeling to be out of control, to be at the mercy of strangers, to trust. To be free! It’s the adventure of travel! I see the good in others and I see the fact that we are all the same in the world. We are all the same. The same. Each and every one of us. It is really profound to me. And out of all the things in life so far, travel is the thing I think I value the very most. It is the singular thing that has taught me the most about others and about myself. If I someday have nothing, I have my memories and my experiences and I know that I have touched the lives of others as much as they have touched mine. It is very good. Tres bien.

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Maroc redux

25 Saturday May 2013

Posted by seejanesblog in Morocco

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boston, casablanca, charles degaulle, hand luggage, logan airport, lost luggage, pink princess, transportation, travel

After sales training in Boston, I left for Morocco. But it was during severe storms and our plane was hit by lightening before reaching us. So that led to many hours of uncertainty whilst I waited in the Air France lounge. Thank goodness for that lounge because it kept me from having to deal with the thousands of people milling about who were also temporarily stranded at Logan Airport. And it made for an interesting time watching people! Always interesting to watch people, especially from other cultures. More Americans there than I usually see traveling, but then we were in Boston, after all.

So we were crammed in to the Air France lounge and a phone goes off inside someone’s hand luggage. Everyone was looking around waiting for the person to answer it because the ring was super loud. Finally, after a lot of scrambling, a 6-year old girl grabbed the iPhone out of her pink princess backpack and talked to her mom. It was cute and fun to watch her.

After many false starts, the plane finally took off, about 3 hours late. It made for a long day. And the flight was jam-packed so I was miserable and going crazy from sitting for so long, what with the sales meeting just prior. I was miserable. I managed to sleep for about 3 hours of the the 6 hour flight, which was better than nothing. It was a fairly tight connection in Paris but I made it with about 20 minutes to spare.

Having left my eyeglasses at home and having had taken out my contacts, I navigated Charles DeGaulle basically by luck. But not before seeing my own self in a mirror and trying to ask my own self a direction question, not recognizing it was me! I was embarrassed and rushed away afraid someone might have seen me make this crazy mistake!

We arrived in Casablanca on time. It all seemed smooth until we got to customs and there was no real direction about what to do. Two lines were long and slow-moving, so a few of us moved over to another line, yet it was unclear over there, too. A Moroccan man in front of me spoke English and I was able to communicate with him and understand him when he said, “They have couscous in their heads” and I laughed, knowing this is a common saying when someone doesn’t understand you or when someone is difficult. I reminded him that it was Friday and we both laughed. (Couscous is made and eaten on Friday all over the country). It was a nice connection and he was a nice man.

The customs agent asked me a zillion questions about my stay: with whom was I traveling, where was I staying, what’s the address of where I’ll be, what hotels and in which cities will I be staying. None of these questions I know the answer to, except with whom I’m traveling. “Is this your first visit to Morocco?” he asked. When I told him my third he relaxed a little and finally stamped my passport with a big smile on his face and sent me on my way, wishing me bon voyage.

Waiting for the luggage, my main piece came quickly around but I waited until the carousel stopped to no avail for the backpack. Luckily, the man who spoke English came to my rescue. He started when we were both waiting for our non-existent luggage by asking me where I’m from. I told him ‘Minnesota, USA’, my standard answer. He said, “Really? Wow! Minnesota. You betcha!” and I laughed a little but then realized how common (and tired) this joke is in the USA, but then remembered I’m in Morocco and how does he know this? He said, “I’m from Minnesota!” Knowing that men everywhere I travel are always trying to find commonality, I reacted coolly. So he went on.

Man: Where do you live in Minnesota?
Me: Minneapolis.
Man: Where specifically? Uptown?
Me: (surprised he was so specific) Northeast
Man: Oh! By Surdyk’s? (the best liquor store in the state)
Me: YES! YOU KNOW SURDYK’S?
Man: Yes! I live on Minnehaha Parkway. I’m your neighbor! You betcha!
Turns out he’s lived there for 18 years, he’s a surgical assistant at Fairview Hospital, and he’s back here to visit his mother. And he’s just a really nice guy! It was delightful to have him to talk to.

But the best part, he had a man helping him with his luggage so when ours were among the missing, he whisked me and my passport away to take care of the situation. The whole while with a smile and a laugh that we are neighbors! It was delightful. And instead of struggling through the situation, we were in and out within an hour and a half (others had to wait much, much longer!). I didn’t have a business card to give him, nor did he. He showed me his Fairview entry card with his name as if to confirm he was telling me the truth. After being together for so long and feeling connected, and after he told everyone huddled together in that small room ‘our story’, the whole thing was over and I was leaving to meet Mokhtar. I was sad to say goodbye to that guy because he was a respite of happiness for me. Cheerful and kind!

So I left with my bags out of that crammed little room and headed confidently in the wrong direction! To which some of the other men in the room hollered, “Madame! Madame! Please!” and pointed in the other direction with their hands over their hearts. God I love Morocco. The kindness and helpfulness oozes from this place.

Mokhtar met me at the assigned spot after he had been waiting about 3 hours for me. With no cell reception and a waning battery, we were unable to keep in touch. It was great to see him anyway and we departed the airport into the crisp, cool Casablanca air. I was so happy to be back!

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